Revolutionary Hearts (13 page)

Warren took a long sip from his coffee. He’d once looked at that globe in the same way Jerry did. At the single mention of a reassignment, he’d be all packed and in some new place by the end of the month. He would explore new cities, try new measurement collection techniques, and speak different languages. The thrill of the job always caused him to accept whatever reassignment he was given. Several months, several years—each location had a time limit. When his time was up, he left with no questions asked.

But then he’d never had any reason to stay in a certain place, either.

“I’m not working with the NBCI, FBI, whatever it is anymore.” His gaze drifted from the globe to his former fellow operative. “I belong here. Please tell the agency about my resignation.”

Jerry laughed. “You have to be joking! Why would you stay behind?”

It began with the robbery, the feelings of independence and hope that had coursed through him. The fight for freedom had become his fight as well. “I’ve found a reason to stay.”

The other agent clasped his hands together. He propped his elbows on his desk, the starched cuffs folded up before his wrists with neat precision. “Are you sure this is what you want?”

“I was assigned this job in India. This was always going to be my last assignment.”

Jerry furrowed his brow. “You always knew this was going to be it? What, this whole thing was planned out?”

“No. I definitely didn’t plan my last few weeks here.” The corner of Warren’s mouth quirked upward as the flashing eyes of a tanned beauty entered his thoughts. “But this is what I’ve decided. I’m staying.”

“I will relay back to the bureau your information about how Raj Singh is not an anarchist threat.” The man sitting opposite him sighed. “I hope you’re making the right choice, my friend.”

He’d never been so sure of a decision. Warren stood from his chair and walked away from the table. As he opened the door to leave, the other agent called something out to him. Warren glanced over his shoulder.

Jerry leaned back in his chair with his feet propped up on his desk and his hands tucked behind his head. He repeated the words to Warren again as he saluted him.

“You’ll be missed, Agent Warren Khan!”

He smiled. It had been a while since someone had called him by his real name.

The moon hung high over the quiet streets of Lucknow. Crickets chirped, and a few dogs barked. But no roaring motorcycles sped down the streets, and no marching British soldiers interrupted her sleep.

Not that sleep had been easy to find.

Parineeta pulled her knees against her chest and smoothed out the skirt of her sari over her legs. She pushed back her veil as she tilted her head up to look at the sky. She’d often imagined shapes in the stars, catching memories and scenes with nothing more than the string of a few lights. But there were so few stars visible over the city that she could barely count them, much less make shapes out of them. Maybe that was how drowsiness would find her for the night.

She squeezed her eyes shut then opened them again. The effort was useless. Counting stars would not help her find peace of mind any more than attempting to stop the thoughts of Warren from entering her head.

Focus on the money.
After the boys woke up, she and her brother’s friends had spent all afternoon counting how much cash they’d stolen: more than 10,000 rupees. If that didn’t create public attention, nothing would. The boys talked about splitting up, going into different directions to avoid capture for a few months and then meeting again later once more men in the HRA had been trained.

Her brother was returning to work in the general’s house since he’d heard a new general moved in. A few of the other freedom fighters were headed to the west to meet with more members of the Hindustan Republican Association and continue plotting. He didn’t believe the police would find them, but it was better for everyone to go their own separate ways until the next plan was made. Dev even offered his proposal of marriage a second time. She cringed at the thought of accepting him. To think that only a few weeks ago she would have accepted his criticism of her as fact. She had been so sure all men would never see past her race.

Not all men.
Not Warren.

She shut her eyes again, pressing her lashes against her skin as hard as she could. If only there was a way to erase all feelings for him. She opened her eyes and groaned. A mirage that looked just like Warren walked up the street toward her.

Of course.
She was even imagining him!

Her imagination conjured him up to look nearly the same as she’d last seen him: blood-stained kameez, beige sandals, and a smile lighting up his aristocratic features. The only difference was that the dust that had settled over his face had been cleaned up, as if he’d used someone’s washing bin. His dark hair swept back from the wind, contrasting his olive skin.

Her imagination willed him closer and closer.
That’s odd.
She blinked again, trying to push the dream away. Surely she could control her own visions.

The mirage of Warren stopped in front of her. “Parineeta, what’s wrong?”

The dream even spoke!

“No, you can’t be real,” she muttered. She resisted the urge to poke him in the leg to test his existence. He couldn’t be there. The real Warren left hours ago.

He sat down next to her. “Why wouldn’t I be real?”

The deep baritone of his voice sent a rush up her spine. He sounded real. He reached for her hand and interlaced her fingers with his. She squeezed his palm, and he squeezed back.

Definitely real.

“I thought you had already left.”

He frowned. “Why would I leave?”

She pulled her hand away from his. “The reason you came to Lucknow was to speak to another agent, you said.”

“Yes. I met with another operative earlier today.”

“Are you here to say goodbye now?” Parineeta clasped her hands together. She brought her knees closer to her chest and spread out her sari over her ankles. But she felt ridiculous, covering a piece of skin he had already seen before. “Do you leave tomorrow morning?”

“No.”

“No?” She leaned forward. Had she misheard him?

Warren cleared his throat. He leaned back, extending his arms behind him and laying his palms flat against the dirt. “Listen, there’s something I need to tell you. My real name is not, as you know, Warren Carton.”

She pursed her lips. “Clearly. So?”

“My real name is Warren Khan.”

Her eyes widened. All this time and she’d had no idea. “You must be joking. You look…you look…”

“My mother was white. My father was half-Indian.” He picked up her hand again, and this time she didn’t let her palm slip from his grasp. He stroked the top of her fingers with his thumb as he spoke. “I was born here in India. I grew up in my father’s village.”

“Why did you move away?”

She saw his Adam’s apple bob up and down before he continued. “My mother’s father never approved of her marriage. After my parents died, he sent me away to America. I was still a child when my parents passed away.”

Parineeta considered his words for a minute. He had seemed eager to join Raj’s friends for the robbery. “So you joined this mission to become a freedom fighter?”

He chuckled. “No, I did not. I was assigned my location. Over time, I noticed the effects of the independence movement.”

“I had no idea you were part Indian.” Sure, he was more tanned than most of the other British soldiers and his hair was darker, but his American accent had established him as a foreigner. She would have never guessed he had been born here.

“I’ve never let my race define my identity.” Warmth spread from the tops of her knuckles, up through her wrist, and along her arms until her whole body felt alight with the glow of his touch. “But I know what it’s like to grow up feeling like you don’t belong anywhere.”

“I always felt alone when I was growing up.” The words tumbled out of Parineeta’s mouth before she could stop them. “I’ve never known anyone else who belonged to two different worlds before. Everyone else knew what family they belonged to and what traditions to believe.”

“And what do you believe?”

“I believe in the Indian independence movement.” She grabbed Warren’s hand with her other palm and looked up into his eyes. She believed that he did, too. “Where do you think you belong?”

“That’s easy. Alongside you, in the fight for independence.”

Her arm dropped to her side. She scanned his expression, checking for any signs of deception or teasing.

But his tone remained serious. “When I was running with all of you and chanting, I’ve never had that feeling before. That feeling of complete belonging was foreign to me.”

“Until today?”

“Yes. I want to keep fighting for independence and against injustice. I’ve witnessed—and commanded—some of the racial injustice firsthand during my time here. It’s high time I fought against it.”

Parineeta leaned forward and clutched his arm. “This fight is dangerous. The independence movement could take many years to succeed.”

“Does it scare you?” The gleam in Warren’s eyes convinced her that he already knew her answer.

“Nothing scares me.”

“That’s because you’re crazy.
Pagal ladki.
”

“Crazy? You’re calling me crazy?” She lifted up her forearm as if to strike him. He laughed and held up his hand to block her blow. With gentle pressure, he lowered her arm.

“Maybe you are.” The corner of his mouth turned upward. “But this former general wouldn’t want his revolutionary any other way.”

She sighed. “I have dedicated myself to the independence movement. There will be no more village life for me.” She stared up at the luminescent moon above them. Somehow even the stars shined brighter all of a sudden. “We will be leaving Lucknow tomorrow. My brother believes the authorities will not find us if we split up for the time being.”

“Where will you go?”

“In Cawnpore, there will be an annual session of the Indian National Congress.” Parineeta rested her head against the space between his shoulder and the nape of his neck. “I want to be involved with the politics as well.”

“And may I accompany you?”

She couldn’t stop the smile from spreading across her features. “Perhaps.”

“Whatever we do, we will do together.” He kissed the top of her forehead then pointed to the sky. “See those stars?”

She nodded.

“They always keep moving across the night sky—during the night, during the week, during the month. They don’t settle down because they’ve found no reason to stay in one place for long.”

“What about them?”

Warren leaned closer and closer to her, until a slight turn of his head would land her lips on his. “That is who we used to be. But now we’ve found something here.”

“We’ve found our purpose.”

She pressed her lips against his. The tenderness swept her away, carrying her past the stars and into his warm embrace.

She knew they’d found more than their purpose. They’d found each other.

(From
One Last Letter
by Pema Donyo)

Jesse Greenwood looked up from the paper he was writing on to the blue sky in front of him.
A year.
A whole year
since he’d seen her long black hair flying behind her as she raced across the field on the back of a horse, challenging her mount with verbal commands and physical kicks every chance she found. A whole year since she’d made him promise he would keep writing to her while she was away. A year since he’d spoken to her at all.

Maybe she didn't receive his letters. The idea had dawned on him before, especially when he was all by himself out on the ranch. Maybe her father kept the letters from him. Maybe someone at that fancy school of hers burned them before they could reach her hands.

He watched the herd of cattle graze on the pasture. The cattle were lazy, chewing cud all day and staring blankly at any lone cowboy who tried to herd them. They didn’t worry about not receiving letters.

One letter out of—how many was it now? Thirty? Forty? Every spare moment he had ended up filled with writing to her. Maybe it was time to give up. He swallowed feelings of surrender. No, he’d promised to write.

Jesse sighed. After putting away the paper, he headed back toward his horse. Promises sure were hard to keep when you didn’t know if the other person gave a damn. As he herded the cattle to head back to the ranch, the sun began to set. The fading light filled the sky with deep purple and orange hues. There was no way Eve could see that sunset off on the East Coast, where the sun probably never shined and children probably never learned how to race horses.

“Hey, Greenwood!”

He turned his head at the call of his name. Another one of the ranch hands, Preston, rode up next to him. The beginnings of a beard peppered Preston’s jawline, reminding Jesse that he hadn’t shaved in days. He didn’t really shave anymore, ever. There didn’t seem much incentive when Evelyn wasn’t around.

As if reading his mind, Preston slapped Jesse’s back and whistled low. “Your girl’s coming home.”