The Book of Speculation: A Novel

But first, Evangeline had to be taught the cards. She was a quick study, provided Amos did not grow frustrated with teaching, which required the use of exaggerated pantomime and steering Evangeline’s questions in directions he could answer. During demonstrations of the spreads, positions, and meanings, he was prone to break into conversations without signaling when a lesson’s discourse had ended. Evangeline suspected that he held back. She noticed that he hid particular cards when they appeared, changing their positions or removing them. A blur of brown skin, a blink of color, it was difficult to see what he’d done. He tucked away the darker cards—the Tower, the Devil, Death, but also Swords and more often Cups. He kept secrets from her, but she could raise no complaint, not while she carried her own shadows.

If he withheld a piece of trust, she felt justified in having private places. In early morning, while he slept, she would swim. Though she did not miss her act or the leering eyes, she longed for water. As Amos dreamt of tobacco drying sheds and rabbit holes, she slipped from his side to walk into the river and wrap her arms in it.

She’d strip the weighty clothing of Cécile Les Ferez and again become who she’d always been. She dove in, slicing through the reeds, plunging to the bottom to taste the sweet earth flavor of fresh water. If they were close to the ocean and the rivers were salt, she’d float on her back, studying the changing line of her stomach, watching water sluice over it. When the moon was up she looked for silver glints of scales and followed currents the fish rode. With life blooming inside her, the water answered her questions with a whispered yes, and part of her knew home. In a tidal river on the Virginia coast she encountered a peculiar creature that scuttled the riverbed. She held it up and examined the graceful curve of its shell, its neat spike of a tail, and spidery feet that kicked and scratched at the air as she cradled it in her palm. A wonder just for her, she thought. The flickering of a child inside her laughed.

Evangeline and Amos tried out their new selves in the town of Tanner’s Ferry, a stop on the way to Charlotte, North Carolina. “Excellent Ladies and Gentlemen,” Peabody’s voice skated over the crowd. “By special request I bring to you from across the wide seas, from the elegant salons of Paris, the toast of high society, advisors to royalty,” he said with a flourish of his arm. “Kingmakers they are, fine folk, seers of futures and fortune, Monsieur et Madame Les Ferez!”

Amos and Evangeline stood on the stairs of their wagon, stiff in mountains of petticoats and lace. The crowd searched them over with wonder and suspicion. Tanner’s Ferry was little more than a meeting place where farmers hauled their crop for sale and shipment, an outpost to the larger world. The houses were compact, easily built and destroyed should the town need to fade into the woods come another revolution. The women were wives and daughters of local merchants, and their enrapt expressions let Amos know what the lay of the night would be. The girls were taken in by the costumes, having never encountered such extravagance. Amos understood. They would be swamped.

“Counsel to all the French houses,” Peabody rumbled on, enjoying himself. “Their visions have guided the hands of the powerful. Esteemed friends, I bring the luxury and privilege of their cards and sight to you.”

The glint had returned to Peabody’s eyes. He was in excellent form, rolling his rs and gesticulating. Amos looked to Evangeline. A heavy stomacher covered her increasing belly. In the abundant gown, her hair curled and woven into a complex structure, she was not the mermaid or the birdlike girl who’d stumbled from the woods; she was a refined woman, the sort who shrieked and fainted at the sight of a Wild Boy. This was the woman who tied his hair, tugged his lace, and made him into a man none would suspect had been a professional savage. Inexplicably he missed her.

“Don’t you find it strange,” Evangeline whispered, “that Peabody seems none the worse for Ryzhkova’s having left us? She traveled with him for years, but he has every appearance of thriving.”

Listening to Peabody, Amos had begun to think the same. He should be pleased to see Peabody so happy, but found himself thinking of Ryzhkova’s turned thumb, and how she warmed bricks in the campfire to later soothe its ache. He squeezed Evangeline’s hand, making their fingers a tight basket.

“He takes such delight in us that one might think he contrived for her to go. Terrible to say, I know. Yet it would not surprise me.”

From midday to evening, breathless young women and men asked of love, riches, and hope. He listened to Evangeline charm them with a lilting voice he assumed sounded French. He was unable to concentrate on a single reading. Things were moving around him, subtle shifting that left him ill at ease. He focused on the tarot. As they appeared, he plucked cards from the deck and tucked them in his cuffs, cards Evangeline had no business seeing.

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