20

The next stop on my morning of freedom was my mom. I'd heard everything Rose had said, but she didn't understand. This wasn't misplaced trust or a misspoken word. This was my mother, and she needed to know. I needed her to know. I desperately needed her perspective, her comfort, her courage and her wisdom.

As soon as I stepped through the door, Mom pulled me into a tight hug, wrapping me to her bosom like I was still her little girl. Her embrace was soft and strong. Not a contradiction, but a balance, just as she'd raised me to be a dutiful daughter of Capra with just enough fiery spirit to be a Sister of Capra, too.

"When your father told me not to expect you to come around for a couple of weeks…" She pulled out from the hug to look at me. "I didn't know what to think."

When a woman goes missing in Capra for a couple of weeks, our thoughts always went to one place only. Rehab.

"Roman would never allow that," I said quickly, to clear the worry from her brow, but it was also the truth.

She looked at me another moment, and smiled. "You chose wisely."

I didn't.

I chose with reckless fury clouding all sensibility. All the rest was Roman. Just Roman.

"Come on," she said, turning to walk through to the kitchen. "I'm reheating mushroom risotto for lunch."

She didn't press me about my disappearing act. That would come. That's part of the reason I was here, to make sure of it. Now, however, as I sat at the table and watched her fuss around by the oven, Rose's damn deck of cards hammered inside my skull.

I trusted Mom implicitly, that went without saying.

But I kept thinking about my own spectacular meltdowns, first in the tunnel and then at Julian Edgar's dinner. The lies I so badly wanted to expose came with an horrendous emotional cost that wasn't easy to contain.

I hadn't been able to.

My parents had a close relationship, and I knew my father loved us both dearly, but he was not Roman. I liked to think he'd protect both my mom and me, if she broke down and all my secrets erupted. I did think he would, of course he would…but there was a small niggle of doubt as to what that protection might look like. My father was strong and kind and loving, but he also believed the best way to protect the women in his life was to make sure they never strayed outside the law.

Mom kept shooting me concerned looks, but she didn't say anything until she brought two plates of risotto to the table and sat across from me. "What's going on, Georga? You look like you've got a million worries on your mind."

Only one, but it could go head-to-head with that million worries, easily. Do I say something or not? And did Mom really need to hear, right here, right now, or was it me that needed her to hear?

Then I remembered what Mom had said when I'd asked about Jessie. I'd wanted to know if my best friend was also in the Sisterhood, and even though I'd graduated, Mom still wouldn't say.

It's not that I don't trust you. Right now, there's another mother having this same conversation with her daughter. This is how she keeps her daughter safe, and this is how I keep you safe. The slightest rumor that the Sisters of Capra even exist would send the Guard on a witch hunt.

The Sisterhood didn't just operate in the shadows, they operated in a total blackout. I'd always struggled with that, but my mother never had.

That was my answer, then.

I searched for something else to give her, and I didn't have to dig too deep. "Roman and I are attending the Foundation Ball on Friday."

"The actual ball?" she asked for clarification, because everyone usually referred to the anniversary festival as the Foundation Ball.

I nodded. "Julian Edgar invited us."

Her eyes lit up. "That's wonderful, darling."

I would have preferred to be with my friends. We usually started at the fair in the town square and then progressed to the street carnival held on the pavilion in the Bohemian Quarter. But Mom's ambitions for me had always reached way higher than mine.

She clapped her hands together. "I'm so proud of you, Georga. What gown will you be wearing? Tell me every little detail."

"I planned to wear my graduation gown, but Brenda—" I rolled my eyes "—insists that would be the social faux pas of the century."

A look of horror passed over Mom's face. "Your graduation was only a few months ago. Everyone will remember. What will people think?"

"Nothing." I shrugged. I'd brought this topic up as a distraction, not to get a lecture, or a solution. "I doubt anyone really noticed me or my gown, and definitely not the same people who'll be attending the ball."

"Your husband will notice."

Oh, Roman would definitely notice, and not in a bad way. These days, he seemed to notice every little thing about me, what I wore, what I didn't wear, my smile, the dusting of freckles on the top of my shoulders.

I shrugged. "Well, there's nothing I can do about it now. Friday is only two days away."

"Mr. Burnier would throw a fainting fit if you suggested he could whip up a gown in two days," Mom agreed with an irritable sigh. "Besides, the man is likely already inundated with commissions for the Foundation Ball."

She considered me with an arched brow, her eyes brightening as some plan formulated in her head. "I have an idea."

"It's really okay, Mom."

She wasn't listening. "I still have my old graduation gown packed away. Perhaps we can do something with that."

This wasn't going to end well. Mom was all frills and lace. I was a jeans and hoodie kind of girl, and—when I absolutely had no choice—a sleek, seamless line and satin kind of girl.

Once we'd eaten, Mom dragged me upstairs to her bedroom. I plopped down on the bed while she rummaged through her wardrobe. The nightmare she brought out was about as bad as I'd feared.

The color was okay, a pale champagne that was closer to white than beige. It was the puffed sleeves and the bows and the chiffon poufs that nauseated me. The bodice was square, cut quite low, but with something that resembled a delicate chiffon shawl stitched to it that covered the shoulders.

I managed to keep my expression blank, but the eyes are windows to the soul and this dress was destroying mine.

Mom's gaze met mine and her lips twitched. "Would you believe this was incredibly fashionable back when I graduated?"

"No," I said dryly. "That's just all you, Mom."

She chuckled, turning her attention back to the gown. "I still have your measurements for the alterations. I'll see what I can do with this before Friday."

Mom had made my graduation gown, of course. She was an excellent seamstress and she had a creative eye. But this gown looked like a chiffon ballerina had vomited up lace bows.

"Don't look so horrified," Mom said with another chuckle. "I'll have your father deliver the gown to Parklands on Friday morning. If you don't like it, you still have your own graduation gown. This is just another option."

"Then all the work you've done is for nothing."

"Darling, you know how much I love doing this," she said, smiling at me. "It's no work, I assure you."

She pulled out her sketchbook, and I took that as my cue to leave. It was still early afternoon, so I cycled along the lake path. I wasn't wearing a coat, but the bitterly cold spell had passed. If we were lucky, we'd get a few more weeks of this mild weather before winter truly dug in its claws. The sky was a glorious dusty blue and the breeze coming off the water carried only the slightest chill.

As I gazed over the lake, my lungs filled with fresh air, I couldn't help comparing all this natural beauty to the grime and gritty cement jungle that was The Smoke.

I had always felt incredibly fortunate to be born in Capra—to be born at all, in a world after the fertility plague. Turns out, the being born part wasn't nearly as special as I'd once believed. But growing up here in this beautiful space…the privilege wasn't lost on me. Not at all.

But the women of Capra paid a steep price for that privilege. We'd paid with lies and suffocation, and daughters that would never truly be ours—and I wasn't even talking about genetics.

Jenna had been right. Daughters of Capra belonged to Capra. At best, we were loaned out to our families for the first eighteen years, then we were returned to the town, to graduate, to marry, to birth the next generation of daughters and then it started all over again.

That end was in sight.

This is it, Rose had said. I can feel it.

As corny as it sounded, the truth would set us free.

It had to.

The Puritans could have their vengeful God and the Evolutionists could have their scientific theories.

This was my new belief.

The truth would set us free.

When I eventually cycled up the road to Parklands, the guard raised the barrier at my approach, but he also flagged me down.

What now? The only guard I'd had any form of pleasant engagement with was Gavin, and this young man with severely trimmed brown hair and earnest brown eyes was definitely not Gavin.

I clutched the brakes and put a foot down to steady me, and gave him an expectant look.

"Mrs. West," he greeted formally, stepping closer to hand me a plain, white envelope. "This came for you."

"Oh, thanks."

I considered waiting until I was at the cabin to open it, but the only person I could think of who'd be leaving me messages at the barrier was Jessie. I'd dropped some major bombshells on her a few days ago. Now that she'd had time to process, she probably had a slew of questions. I couldn't keep her hanging.

I tore the envelope open and extracted the folded note inside.

My dearest Georga

Okay, not Jessie then.

My gaze skimmed over the neat, handwritten words.

We are delighted at your offer to volunteer for the tea service rotation at St. Michaels. Please feel free to stop by at your earliest convenience so we can arrange a suitable calendar slot.

Sincerely yours,

Divinia.

My brow puzzled. I hadn't volunteered for anything, obviously. Of course, my mother might have offered on my behalf, but I'd just come from her. She would have said something, surely.

The only other explanation got my heart racing. Here I was, casually reading a cryptic message from the Sisterhood—under the watchful eyes of a guard! Seriously? I sucked in a slow, calming breath as I folded the note and tucked it back inside its envelope.

It's fine, I assured myself.

It's just an innocent note from some woman called Divinia.

I pulled on a smile as I stuffed the envelope into the front pocket of my hoodie, risking a glance at him.

He didn't have his baton raised, and he wasn't reaching for his Taser. He was looking at me, though. A stern, intimidating look intended to put fear into the heart of any foolish girl who was even thinking of doing something wrong. But that wasn't exactly unusual.

I smiled a little harder and turned my bike around. It took everything I had inside me to cycle lazily down the road again, when every instinct screamed to pedal like a bat out of hell.

Once I was beyond his watchful eyes, my heartbeat finally slowed and my breaths evened out. I felt slightly ridiculous at my rattled nerves. I'd pulled far more dangerous stunts lately than getting stared down by a guard while reading a seemingly innocuous note. But that was the thing. I did those things in spite of them scaring the crap out of me, not because I had a brave, warrior heart.

I parked my bike under a tree so I could bring the note out again for a proper look.

It was definitely a message from the Sisterhood.

It was signed Divinia, but I doubted the name meant anything. Was this Rose demanding my immediate presence? I was pretty sure that's what earliest convenience translated into. Not at her home, though. She wanted to meet at St. Michaels, as if I'd know where on earth that was.

There were a number of Puritan churches in Capra, all of them named St. something or other. St. Michaels wasn't in the Legislative District, that much I knew. I took a gamble on the Bohemian Quarter and climbed onto my bicycle again.