Colonial Madness (18 page)

“Not really,” I said. “That's one of the things I love about her. She never panics under pressure. Just starts trying to solve the problem.” I chewed my lip. “Huh.”

“What?”

“Maybe I
haven't
been giving her enough credit,” I said. “Everything that ever goes wrong, she eventually fixes. Whether it's her fault or mine.” I turned to Caleb. “And she'll fix this, won't she?”

He smiled. “I think she'll definitely try her hardest.”

“I guess that's all I can ask.”

He squeezed my fingers. “Do you want to go back and talk to her?”

“In a little bit,” I said. “This is the first time I've been able to hang out with you in public in
normal
clothes, and I kind of like it.”

We continued to walk up the road in the moonlight, listening to the crickets chirp and the mockingbirds call to one another. Occasionally, a breeze would sweep past, bringing with it the scent of wildflowers . . . and Chinese food.

I stopped. “Wait a sec.”

“What's wrong?” asked Caleb.

I sniffed the air. “Do you smell that?”

He flared his nostrils. “Smells like . . . something fried.”

“Out here?” We both turned slow circles, and then I saw it.

Headlights just around the curve of the road.

“Are you expecting visitors on the property?” I whispered to Caleb, and pointed.

He followed my finger and immediately broke into a crouching run. I chased him, kicking up clouds of dirt in an effort to muffle my footsteps. As we rounded the curve, Caleb held up a hand to halt me, then gestured to the trees on either side. We slipped from one to the next, sidling closer to the headlights.

A car engine drowned out the words, but I could hear two people speaking, and soon I could see a lit car-top sign that read
orient express
.

“Someone ordered takeout?” I whispered.

Caleb shushed me and crept forward. I followed.

“Did you remember the soy sauce this time?”

I recognized the voice before the headlights even illuminated the figure.

Dylan.

My hands fumbled in my pockets until I found the game changer I was looking for. The second my conniving cousin reached for the takeout, I popped out from behind the tree
and snapped his photo with my cell-phone camera. Great-Aunt Muriel would've been proud.

At the flash of light, Dylan glanced over and growled.

“Run!” I shouted to Caleb.

I was never more grateful to be back in my jeans and sneakers. Without the dress to catch around my heels, I easily outran my cousin, and as soon as I reached the light from the manor, I started shouting.

“Mom! MomMomMom! Anybody!”

“I'll get my dad,” said Caleb, dashing off to the servants' quarters.

After a moment, the back door of the manor opened, along with a few windows. People poked their heads out, including Mom.

“Tori?” She looked panicked. “What's going on? What's happened?”

“Look!” I held my phone high in the air.

Mom let her head drop. “Tori, if you woke me to complain about your cell-phone coverage—”

“No! Dylan's been cheating!” I shouted.

“What? I'll be right down!” she called.

Then I realized Uncle Max was standing beside me.

Oops.

“Uh . . . I mean . . .”

He held out his hand, palm up.

“Let's see the evidence.”

Without a word, I handed him the phone.

“Don't!” wheezed Dylan, trotting over. “Don't believe her, Dad.”

“Son, it's hard not to.” Uncle Max looked to him, eyes heavy with disappointment. “This picture is you, plain as day.”

I cleared my throat. “Also, you have soy sauce on your shirt.”

Dylan scowled and lunged at me just as Mom grabbed my arm and yanked me out of the way.

“If you lay a finger on my daughter, it won't be just your shoes that end up in a tree,” said Mom.

“Yeah,” I added.

Without taking her eyes off Dylan, Mom pushed me toward the manor. “Tori, go to your room.”

“Huh? But Dylan—”

“I will handle this,” she said. “Even though you think I can't.”

I tugged on her sleeve. “I'm sorry I said that. I didn't mean it.”

“Tori.” Mom clenched her jaw. “Room.”

I let go and took the tiniest step toward the back door.

“One,” said Mom, counting as if I were five again.

I sighed and hurried into the manor. Angel was coming down the stairs just as I was going up.

“What's with all the yelling?” she asked.

“Dylan's about to be disqualified,” I said, and kept going. I didn't hate Angel, but I definitely didn't feel as close to her as I used to.

My new room didn't have a view of the backyard, but when I sneaked into Mom's room to look out the window, it didn't matter anyway. Everyone was gone, no doubt to meet with Great-Aunt Muriel.

“She probably
should
have given the manor to her horse,” I said to myself.

I could hear voices coming from the first floor, so I sprinted across the hall to my room and dove onto the bed, sending up a cloud of dust. I was still coughing when someone knocked at the door. Mom opened it and fanned the air but didn't crack one of her usual jokes.

“It looks as if Dylan is going to be disqualified,” said Mom. “Apparently, tonight's takeout wasn't an isolated incident. The day we were at the airport, he called several places here and arranged for them to meet him at the property line so he could always have enough food to keep his energy up.”

I sat up on the bed. “What about Uncle Max?”

She shook her head. “He says he knew nothing about it, and I believe him. The disappointment in his eyes . . .” Mom
crossed to sit on the edge of my bed. “It's easy to see when you feel the same.”

She might as well have punched me in the stomach and body slammed me into the floor.

“Ouch,” I said. “You mean me.”

Mom gave a soft laugh and shrugged. “Is there anyone else here whose opinion matters?”

I ducked my head. “I said I was sorry.”

“Yeah, and you said that at the edge of the forest,” said Mom, picking at the quilt on my bed. “Then later you told everyone I couldn't do it.”

I didn't say anything.

“Tori, I haven't done many amazing things, but there are two that I can say I'm proud of: my dress shop and my daughter.” She sniffled, and I looked up to see her eyes filling with tears. “And right now it feels like I've failed both of them.”

I opened my mouth to argue, but the only sound I could produce was a squeak as my eyes welled up too. A single tear spilled over Mom's lashes and onto her cheek, and she quickly wiped it away.

“You should get to sleep,” she said, sniffing again. “It's been a long night.”

“Mom.” I took her hand. “I thought about it, and I
do
believe
in you. I swear it. You are a superwoman who does so many things. You heal me when I'm sick and cheer me up when I'm sad and put food on the table, and I've never once ever wished for a different mother, because nothing could be better than you.” I paused. “Except you with a million dollars.”

Mom laughed and rubbed at her eyes again. “I'd love to believe that you truly feel that way, Tori. But I can still see the worried look in your eyes.” She stroked my cheek, which brought all the tears forth.

“I'm worried,” I stumbled through the tears, “because . . . I let you down! I'm . . . a . . . bad . . . daughter!” I broke down completely, and Mom pulled me to her so I could cry on her shoulder.

“Shhh,” she said, rocking me from side to side. “This has been a tough experience for both of us. You're not a bad daughter. You're . . . you.”

I froze and looked up at her. “That still feels like an insult.”

Mom chuckled softly. “I'm grateful for who you are. It's what keeps me balanced and makes
me
notice ways I can change.”

“You don't need to improve,” I said. “If you were any different, we wouldn't have bathtub sundaes and graveyard hide-and-seek and Velcro Wars.”

She smirked. “It
is
important for every girl to know how many stuffed animals she can stick to her body while still running an obstacle course.”

There was another knock at the door, and Mom got up to answer it.

“Hello, Eli,” she said.

“As you know, Dylan has been disqualified,” he said. “As you
don't
know, Muriel has grown tired of this contest. Therefore, there will be one final event tomorrow morning to determine the overall winner.”

“What?” I scooted to the edge of the bed. “But it hasn't been two weeks! The contest is two weeks.”

He shrugged. “The contest is also hers. She can amend the rules as she pleases. Only the three families with the most points will compete. The others have been asked to leave.”

Mom asked him the question that was pounding its way from my brain all the way to my chest.

“Who are the three families?”

Eli counted them off on his fingers. “Deke and Zoe Baker, Max Archibald, and Jill Porter.”

“Jill Porter,” I mumbled to myself, and then gave a gleeful shriek. “Mom, that's you!”

She turned to me, jaw hanging open and arms thrown wide. I jumped into them, and we hopped around the room.

“I couldn't have done it without you, baby,” she said, kissing my forehead.

“Congratulations,” Eli said solemnly. “And best of luck in the final challenge.”

He closed the door, and Mom and I beamed at each other.

“You're going to do great,” I told her, and I really meant it.

“I wonder what kind of challenge it'll be,” she said. “Physical or mental or . . .” She started pacing my room, and I stopped her.

“Mom. Now isn't the time to worry. It's the time to rest.”

“You're right,” she said. “I should get some sleep.” She smiled at me. “Thank you for our talk tonight.”

I bit my lip. “So . . . are
we
okay?”

She kissed my forehead. “I could never stay mad at you. Even if you shaved off your eyebrows again and I had to make you another pair of tiny eyebrow wigs.”

I wrinkled my nose. “What
did
you make them out of, exactly?”

Mom cleared her throat and stretched. “Well, I should hit the hay. Night!”

She hurried toward the door.

“Wait! What were my eyebrow wigs made of?” I pressed.

“Caleb seems like a nice boy. I hope you two had fun tonight!” She grabbed the doorknob and closed it behind her.

I stared at it and laughed to myself.

Definitely wouldn't trade my mom for anyone else in the world.

I
'm guessing they wish I was still lost in the woods,” I whispered to Mom over breakfast.

The families who hadn't made the final cut were trudging downstairs to catch the shuttle back to the airport. They were all wearing their normal street clothes and massive frowns. Directed at me.

“Well, it
is
kind of your fault they have to leave,” said Mom.

“Hey!” I scowled at her.

“Sorry,” she said, holding up a hand. “It's not all your fault. Your cousins should equally share the blame.”

I sighed. “That's . . . better.” Because, honestly, I couldn't
argue with her. If the three of us hadn't frustrated Great-Aunt Muriel to her wits' end, the contest wouldn't be ending early, and the others might still stand a chance.

But now it was down to Mom, Uncle Max, and Uncle Deke and Aunt Zoe. Mom had said she couldn't see anything related to the challenge from her bedroom window, so we'd been spending the early-morning hours trying to figure out what it might be.

“Maybe it's a quiz about colonial history,” I said. “Do you know any?”

Mom shrugged. “I know the big topics, like the Salem witch trials and Jamestown and the first Thanksgiving. If it's multiple choice, I should do okay.”

I nodded. “Probably better than Uncle Max. But Uncle Deke and Aunt Zoe might have more combined knowledge. Let's go to the library and brush up on your history.” I got up from the table and waited for her to follow.

“Great-Aunt Muriel wants maximum entertainment,” said Mom. “She won't get any enjoyment out of watching four people take a quiz.”

“Maybe if you guys get a finger chopped off for every wrong answer?” I asked.

Mom shook her head. “It won't be a quiz. It'll be something exciting and something where every team has an equal
opportunity of winning. She might be mean, but she's fair.”

“Thank you for that character reference,” said a voice behind us.

Mom winced, and we both turned around to face Great-Aunt Muriel.

“Sor—” Mom began.

“Stow your apologies,” said Great-Aunt Muriel. “You wouldn't have said it if you didn't mean it.”

Mom blushed. “Actually, I was going to say ‘Sorry you had to hear that.' ”

Great-Aunt Muriel's laugh was hoarse and rusty, as if she hadn't been amused for at least two decades.

“Victoria, would you like to join myself and your cousins to view the final competition?”

I looked to Mom, who smiled and nodded.

“Go for it.”

I bent and hugged her. “Win this thing quick so we can go home.”

Great-Aunt Muriel watched our exchange with the emotion of someone watching a fly smash into a windshield. When I straightened and stepped away from the table, she beckoned for me to follow.

She led me around the servants' quarters to the edge of the peach trees, where four high-backed leather chairs had been
positioned facing a twenty-five-foot wooden pole. Another pole had been attached horizontally to the top, like the start of a game of hangman, and from the end of that one hung a large brass bell. On the ground beneath the bell sat a huge mattress.