The Peculiars (20 page)

Pansy possessively clutched Jimson’s arm. “I think it’s time you explained what’s going on here.”

Jimson looked at her blankly as if he had only just realized she was there. “I wish I knew.”

JIMSON ESCORTED PANSY TO HER ROOM, PROMISING TO RETURN
with a cup of tea to settle her nerves. “This must all be a terrible shock for you, especially when you’re still tired from your travels. I’ll bring you some tea and tell you everything that’s been going on.”

Lena dismissed them both with a snort. What was Jimson thinking? They needed to find Mr. Beasley now and confront him before he could do any more damage. Thank goodness the marshal had a plan in place.

The first person she found was Milo. He was in the kitchen, adding dried basil from the garden to a simmering pot of stew.

“Where’s Mr. Beasley?” Lena’s face was pale, her lips set in a thin, determined line.

“He’s making a call. Mrs. Pollet isn’t feeling well at all and I’m—”

“I saw what he was doing in the laboratory.” The picture she was trying so hard to forget was seared to her brain. “He was doing something to Mrs. Pollet. Her back was all scars.”

Jimson appeared in the doorway. Lena turned her back to him.

Milo wiped his hands on a towel and replaced the lid on the great iron pot. “Mr. Beasley is a medical man. His way is to help, not to harm. It’s that oath they make them all take.”

“But I saw him—saw him with a syringe.” Lena couldn’t keep the panic from her voice.

“Without Tobias Beasley, Leticia Pollet would be working in the mines of Scree along with her daughter, the one that’s left.”

“Her daughter?” Jimson was at Lena’s side. “Does she have a daughter here?”

Milo shook his head. “I thought you all knew about the goings-on at the house. Thought that’s why you came.” He looked pointedly at Lena. “Tobias Beasley has been helping Peculiars escape a life in Scree.”

He continued. “Leticia has sump’n rare, I can’t remember the fancy name. Folks don’t see it much anymore. But she growed wings. Mr. Beasley does this operation that cuts them off and then has to treat her every six months or so or they’ll grow back. Her daughter’s got the same thing. The wings don’t come till adolescence, so Leticia brought her here to get help.”

Lena, feeling that the world was spinning, leaned on the wooden table. “You said ‘the one that’s left.’”

“Ay-yuh. Leticia and Arthur had another daughter, Arabelle. Arthur isn’t—wasn’t—a Peculiar. They thought they stood a chance for a normal life, but when the first daughter, Arabelle, reached twelve or thirteen, the wings sprouted and the family got sent to Scree. Then the other girl, Merilee, showed signs of the same problem. That’s when they escaped and came here. Merilee’s fifteen now and just had her wings removed.”

“That’s who I saw on the widow’s walk? I’m not crazy after all.”

Lena could see the relief in Jimson’s face.

“How did they know to come here?” Lena’s heart was racing.

“The word gets spread to those who need it. Zephyr House’s always been a sanctuary of sorts.” Milo nodded toward Lena. “You can see how I thought you were needing a place to go, what with the new decrees and all.”

Lena’s thoughts collided. This was not the story the marshal told. And Milo suspected that she, Lena, would be in need of help as well.

A sharp intake of breath made them all turn to the doorway. Pansy, violet eyes wide, pale brows drawn to a point, stood with her arms crossed. “I heard what you said. That’s illegal. Helping Peculiars is against the law. Everyone knows they’re not human. They’re dangerous.” She looked at Lena and one corner of her bowed lips turned up. She drew back. “You’re a Peculiar?”

“Pansy, that’s enough.” Jimson’s voice was firm. “We have no scientific proof that there even are such—”

Lena cut him off. “I think we’re beyond that discussion now. What else could account for a woman who grows wings? What further proof do you need?” Panic beat in her rib cage like a frantic bird, trapped. It was as if she were listening to someone else’s voice. She looked at Pansy, and the strange voice continued. “Maybe I am a Peculiar. Maybe I’ll cut your heart out right here in the kitchen and add it to the stew.”

Jimson took a step toward Lena.

Pansy cowered behind him.

“Did you know my father is a goblin? He was in jail as much as he was at home.”

“Enough!” Tobias Beasley stood in the doorway, his shirtsleeves rolled up to his elbows. His eyes burned.

But the strange voice inside Lena could not stop. “Is that why you hired me? So you could observe my hands and feet? Can you cut off a joint so I’ll look ‘normal’ like her?” Sobbing, Lena gestured toward Pansy. “But it won’t change who I am, will it?”

“Lena—” Jimson’s voice was soft and controlled.

Pansy began to cry.

When Leticia Pollet entered the kitchen with a young woman by her side, Lena ran.

She ran down the front hallway and out the door, grabbing her scarf and purse on the way. She heard Jimson behind her. Heard him call her name and Mr. Beasley say, “Give her time.”

What she wanted was not time but distance, distance from them all. She couldn’t think. Her head wasn’t working right. Panic continued to beat its wings, clawed at her rib cage. At the end of the drive she passed a cart headed in the direction of Knob Knoster.

Again her own voice surprised her, this time with its steadiness as she inquired politely for a ride. When the farmer delivering a load of autumn vegetables to town agreed, Lena clambered up onto the wagon seat. She would leave them all behind. But unfortunately she could not escape herself.

The cold came creeping in from the sea. As she walked along the streets of Knob Knoster, Lena wound the plum scarf her mother had knitted more tightly around her neck. She had no destination in mind, except being away from Zephyr House. Everything she had ever heard about Peculiars was jumbled now in her head. There were so many voices she couldn’t silence. She remembered the doctor warning her mother about wild thoughts and reckless actions. When she thought of her father, the pain was visceral, starting somewhere near her breast bone and emanating out: his gentleness with her, his hot bursts of anger, the whispered rumors. The marshal’s voice was among the crowd, convincing her that Peculiars had no place in society, that it was better for them if they were with their own kind. And Pansy’s words came back with a sting:
What’s wrong with that girl?
Lena couldn’t pretend any longer; she was her father’s daughter. But what did it mean to be Peculiar? Why had he left her to figure it out on her own?

With hands stiff from the cold, she ducked into the first lighted doorway. Knoster Dry Goods. It was a blessing to be inside where it was warm. Lena worked her fingers, clenching and unclenching them until feeling returned, but her mind was still numb. Bolts of fabric lined one wall—winter weights, tweeds and brocades, supple wools. Drawers of buttons and threads. Beyond were rows of canned goods. The bird in her chest had stilled, was preening its feathers and waiting. The marshal’s plan had seemed the logical consequence, a way to stop Mr. Beasley from doing the unspeakable.

But what if Milo was right? What if Mr. Beasley was
helping
Peculiars? The marshal would raid Zephyr House either way; helping Peculiars was still against the law. Lena ran a trembling finger down a length of lapis blue jersey.

“That’s a color I fancy myself.” Lena met Margaret Flynn’s black-fringed eyes. “But it would look better on you, bring out the blue of your eyes. So, you’ve come into Knoster for a little shopping.”

It felt to Lena as if she had retreated so far inside herself that she had forgotten how to talk. She muttered and coughed. “Just window-shopping.”

“Are you sure you’re feeling all right? You look peaked to me.” Margaret peered closely at Lena’s face. Lena tried not to pull away. “Could do with a tonic,” she added, nodding. The green feather in her hat bobbed. “Let’s have a sit-down and a cup of tea.”

Lena did not want tea. She did not want a sit-down, nor
did she want the company of Margaret Flynn. But there was something in Margaret’s eyes. Lena’s lip quivered. She blinked back tears.

“Oh my, is it an affair of the heart? I know all about those.”

But Lena couldn’t speak.

“Don’t matter none. You could use some mothering. Thomas has broken more hearts than one in his time.” Margaret took command of Lena’s arm, and before Lena knew it, she was seated at a small table in the back of the dry goods store, tucked behind a giant barrel of dried beans and another of loose tea.

“Take your time. I’ve got all day. Well, at least until opening.” Margaret stretched out her stout legs in a most unladylike manner. “Let me ask you a question. Why are you really going to Scree?” Her eyes, Lena noticed, glittered as bright and sharp as a bird’s. In Lena’s chest the bird ruffled its feathers as if in recognition. “Don’t give me that cockamamy answer about business.”

“I’m going to find my father.” Lena snuffled.

Margaret produced a lace handkerchief as big as a man’s. “Now we’re getting somewhere.” She patted Lena’s hand without any hesitation. “I knew your father at one time. Saul Mattacascar.”

Lena looked up over the lace edge of the hankie. “What?”

“Oh, he was a regular customer at the Parasol on his travels north. Could charm the skin off a snake, old Saul.”

“But—” Lena began.

“Knew him before that, too. First time I met Saul we were both up in Scree. I was traveling with my husband and we were staying in a little settlement, couldn’t even call it a town. There was some trouble while we were there. Why do you want to find your father?”

The question was so direct, it caught Lena off guard. Wouldn’t anyone want to find a father who had left? Margaret’s eyes still glittered, making it impossible for Lena to lie. “I want to know why he left. I want to know if what people say about him is true.”

“Some parents are better left unfound. It sounds hard, but it’s true. Some of them will only bring you heartache. What do people say about Saul?”

Lena pleated the now-soggy handkerchief. “Nana Crane says he’s a goblin.”

Margaret nodded her head. “A Peculiar. What do you say?”

“I don’t know. That’s why I need to find him. Maybe he’s a good man, just misunderstood.”

“And if he was, what difference would it make?” Margaret leaned forward so that her enormous bosom was resting on the tabletop. “Calling him a goblin is just one way of simplifying a man who has made good and bad choices. Saul made a few of both in his time.”

“How did you meet him in Scree?”

“Are you sure it’s the truth that you’re after?”

Lena nodded her head, the bird inside levitating.

“Well, I suppose that it’s better that you hear it from me
than from Thomas Saltre. Your father had to leave Scree the first time because he killed a man—a lawman.”

The bird was trying to claw its way out. Flying against Lena’s ribs, consuming all of her breath. Margaret grabbed her hand. Lena tried to jerk it away, but Margaret’s grip was firm.

“Listen to me now. Saul was good and bad, just like all of us. He done some good things too. But for you to go rushing off to Scree without knowing the truth would as likely destroy you. You need to know what you’re getting into.”

But Margaret’s words were slippery. Lena could not grasp hold of them except the phrase “your father killed a man.” Her father was a murderer. “Was it his goblin blood that made him do it?”

Margaret snorted and released Lena’s hand. “Who can say what demons anyone has to fight unless we’re inside the person’s skin?”

But Lena knew. It was his goblinishness. Who knew what horrid things any of them were capable of? Thomas was right. Peculiars had no place in society, and neither did she. Oh, she’d get the marshal into Zephyr House. And when he rounded up any Peculiars he found there, she’d have him take her, too.

LENA DID NOT WANT TO RETURN TO ZEPHYR HOUSE. BUT AFTER
spending a restless night at Margaret Flynn’s florid apartment, she decided that she owed Jimson an explanation. She would tell him the contents of the letter she had left with Margaret for Thomas. Then Jimson and Pansy could leave the house before the marshal and his men descended on it. Mr. Beasley might be kind, but he was misguided. The law was the law and put in place to protect the citizens. She sincerely hoped no harm would come to him. And she, too, would be gone when the marshal arrived. She wasn’t ready to turn herself in, not until she had confronted her father.