The words were like hammered nails. Ada knew they couldn’t go back.
“I’ve been hiding cash in the hatbox under your bed,” Ada told her. “There’s enough for a train ticket and a place to stay for a while. Pick a town at random. Somewhere in Ohio or Illinois.”
“What about your father?” her mother asked. “I am supposed to leave him behind in that prison?”
“He’ll understand,” Ada said. “He would want you to be safe.”
Her mother’s hands clenched more tightly, and she pressed her lips together. Ada could feel Charlie’s eyes on her, and she avoided them. She went to the kitchen counter, found a pencil and a piece of paper, and wrote out the Wellses’ address.
“Here.” She handed it to her mother, who didn’t reach to take it. Ada set it in her lap. “Write to that address when you’re settled, but put Corinne’s name on it. She’ll make sure I get it.”
Ada stood in front of her mother, helpless to say or do anything further. It was a plan she had thought up years ago, when she’d first gotten involved with the Cast Iron’s illegal activities, right after her father was convicted. The idea had been more of an exercise back then. A puzzle to figure out. It had never occurred to her that one day she would have to follow through.
“Thank you, Ada,” her mother said. “You have always taken good care of me.”
Ada glanced at Charlie, who had already stood up, wiping his hands nervously on his trousers.
“We have to go, Mama,” she said. “You should leave as soon as possible. Today.”
Her mother nodded gravely. When she was like this, so solemn and regal, Ada could imagine that the bedtime stories were true. That she really was a queen with a palace atop a mountain, who kept wise counsel with bold lions and clever snakes, who had all the treasures of Africa at her fingertips.
But this wasn’t how that story ended.
Ada and Charlie left. As they went down the stairs, it was all Ada could do to keep her eyes dry. There was a white-hot flame at the base of her throat that would not be quenched. Charlie was ahead of her, and when he reached the bottom step, he turned and looked up at her. She loved the way he looked in the plain light, so honest and open. Like his face had never hidden a secret, had never held a private shame.
“Are you sure you’re ready to leave?” he asked.
The tears in her eyes spilled out the corners, and she whirled to run back up the stairs. She pounded on the locked door until it opened, then threw herself into her mother’s arms.
“I’m sorry, Mama,” she managed through her burning throat. “I’m so sorry it has to be like this. It’s my fault.”
“A turn in the tale is not the end,” her mother whispered, squeezing her tightly.
“It feels like it, though.”
Her mother rocked back on her heels to look Ada full in the face. Ada tried to memorize every graceful line of her mother’s features, the light of her eyes, the scent of bread and grape-seed oil and coffee.
“You must always give more than you take,” her mother said. “You will remember that, won’t you?”
“I’ll remember,” Ada said. “I love you, Mama.”
Her mother kissed her forehead, sealing the memory there. For a glorious moment, the flame inside her was quiet, and Ada felt at peace.
“I know,” her mother whispered. “Nakupenda sana.”
“I know.”
Phillip and Angela’s wedding was at three o’clock in the afternoon, just before the setting sun cast a glow over the white steeple of the Old North Church. Corinne arrived at fifteen till with Saint in tow.
“Just sit somewhere in the back,” Corinne told Saint. “And try not to look conspicuous.”
“And when someone inevitably tries to kick me out?” he asked.
“Tell them you’re Phillip’s uncle Ambrose’s son.”
“Who is Uncle Ambrose?”
“Someone whose son they wouldn’t want to kick out.”
Corinne went around the back of the church to find her mother, who had a predictable reaction to her daughter’s state of dress and overall appearance of having been to hell and back.
“I can’t believe you ran off like that. I didn’t sleep a wink,” Mrs. Wells told her, as she buttoned her into the dress that had been ordered specially for the wedding. It was a respectable navy blue, with quarter-length sleeves and a hemline that made Corinne feel like a spinster aunt. Angela had probably picked it out.
“Mother, if I’m being perfectly honest with you, it’s probably going to happen again,” Corinne said.
“I wish you would talk to me,” Mrs. Wells murmured, fussing over Corinne’s hair with a brush. “I don’t see you all year, and even when you’re home you’re somewhere else. And then that horrible incident last night.”
“It’s all a big misunderstanding,” Corinne said. If only that were the truth. “It will all be straightened out by the time I go back to school.”
Mrs. Wells made a noncommittal sound and handed Corinne her powder compact.
“Hold this. Those dark circles are dreadful.”
Corinne had thought the compact was silver, but as soon as it touched her skin, she realized it was steel and dropped it.