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Somewhere in the middle of all this Denise lost consciousness. The next thing she knew, there was a firm pounding on the door of her room.
“Open up,” the female voice said. “It’s the constabulary.” Denise awoke to find Jack gone and herself unable to escape through the door. She went from total oblivion to absolute panic in an instant, looking around to see if there was an alternate exit.
She went out through the bedroom window, unprotected by a silver spoon or anything else. Somehow she flipped upon exit and landed cat-like on both feet, only to discover a flashlight pointing right at her. Also pointing at her was a 12-gauge shotgun, the favourite weapon of Serelian constables.
“Put your hands up,” said one of the men with the shotgun ordered her. She obliged.
“Come on around, Bertha,” the man with the flashlight yelled towards the window. “We’ve got her out here—but get her clothes first.” Denise was still wide-eyed with fear, not worried as much by her exposure but by the dread that the Serelian constable would empty his shotgun into her if she made a false move.
Bertha came out from the inn with Denise’s clothing. “Put these things on now!” she barked to Denise, who meekly complied. Bertha turned on her flashlight.
“I’ll go in and check for evidence,” the other constable with a flashlight said, which he did.
“You’re coming with us, Miss Kendall” Bertha said, taking Denise by the arm as she had barely finished getting dressed. Bertha was a heavy-set woman who had a strong grip on Denise; even someone as athletic as she was thought twice about resisting it.
She put Denise in the back seat of the constabulary car, cuffing her first. She then got in the passenger seat and the officer with the flashlight got in and started the car.
“You know we’re going to Central,” the driver said.
“I know,” Bertha replied. “I was rather hoping I’d get to do this job myself.”
The drive to “Central,” or the Central Constabulary in Serelia town proper, seemed like an eternity. Since the Serelians hadn’t bothered to build a bridge across their lake it was necessary to take the Old Beran Road all the way to The Conch, make the hard left, and go back into town. All Denise could see out of the back were the backs of the constables’ heads and the darkness that they passed by on the outside. As they drove on Denise began to put her mind back together again, but said nothing to the officers.
The Central Constabulary was located in the main government building in Serelia, right next to the palace gate. It shared space with the newly established Intelligence Service, which was in theory part of the Constabulary but with a different mission. As they turned off of the main road, Bertha pointed at the gate and said, “That’s where they hang people, they do.” At that Denise got an empty pit in her stomach, although she was beginning to believe that she was in a stronger position than she originally thought when she was stuffed into the car.
She was led into the office and interrogation room. Serelian constables were known for their rough treatment of prisoners, but Denise was escorted as if they were ushering her into an office. They removed the cuffs and the three of them sat down at the table, Denise at one end and the two officers on the table sides.
At the end of the table stood Francis Bancroft, Chief Constable for Serelia. A handsome man with a full head of silver hair, he had been the King’s servant almost since there was a King of Serelia. He looked at the meagre paperwork he was presented by the Amherst constables, then looked at Denise with an intensity that frightened her.
“Miss Denise Kendall, is it?”
“Yes, it is,” Denise replied. “My father is President of the Republic of Verecunda.”
“I am very aware of that,” Bancroft replied. “But you are in Serelia now.”
“Before you start in on me,” Denise said, her anger rising in her voice, “you’d better know that I hold a diplomatic passport. You can’t hold or try me for anything.”
Bancroft looked at Bertha. “We didn’t find any passport on her,” she said. “The only way we knew who she was is because the innkeeper and some of the patrons told us.”
“I left it in your so-called ‘guest house’ at St. Anne’s school, if you’d bother to go look.”
“Oh, don’t worry, Miss Kendall, we will certainly do that.”
“We’ve already dispatched a constable to the guest house,” the other Amherst constable said. “We knew she was staying there; her team practised at All Saints’ yesterday afternoon.”
“Yesterday? What’s time is it?” Denise asked.
Bancroft looked at his watch. “0250.” Denise was shaken by that remark.
“She had been there for some time when we arrived. One of the patrons suspected unlawful activity and called us.”
“Unlawful? What’s unlawful?” Denise said.
“It is unlawful in the realm of the King of Serelia for two unmarried people to have conjugal relations,” Bancroft solemnly informed her.
“You’re kidding!” Denise exclaimed.
“No, Miss Kendall, I am very serious about that, as is our dread sovereign.”
Denise thought for a minute. “Get the ambassador over here. I demand to see our ambassador! And how did you know what we were doing? And what are you going to do about Jack Arnold, you double standard people?”
“I believe Mr. Arnold left his calling card on the bedsheets,” Bancroft stiffly informed her.
“That’s correct,” Bertha confirmed.
“So what are you going to do about him?” Denise asked.
“Let’s deal with you first,” Bancroft said. He looked at the male constable. “Go get the night officer to summon the Foreign Minister. He will awaken the Verecundan ambassador.”
“Yes, sir,” he said. He bowed to Bancroft and left the room.
Bancroft turned again to Denise. “While we’re waiting, can we serve you some coffee?”
Denise looked up at Bancroft with a glazed look, more like a frightened animal than the blustering, self-confident woman she showed a minute before. “I’m starved,” she said. “Jack never bothered to feed me before we made love.”
“Our cuisine isn’t the finest, but I’m sure we can come up with something.” He turned to Bertha. “You stay with Miss Kendall, and I’ll see what can be brought.”
His night officer returned in about fifteen minutes—which seemed like an eternity to Denise in her state—with a tray with split pea soup made with smoked sailfish and bread pudding. Denise attacked her meal with gusto.
“This stuff’s pretty good,” she told Bertha and Bancroft after a few bites. “Sure a lot better than the bilge they serve at the ‘guest house.’ Maybe we should have come down here and eaten.”
The Serelians got a chuckle out of that. “I must confess, their food is rather horrible. Our constables refuse to eat there under any circumstance,” Bancroft admitted. “Our Foreign Minister and your ambassador should be in shortly.” He leaned over and whispered something to Bertha and then left the room.
Denise worked her way through her meal. Towards the end, Bertha asked, “Can I ask you a few questions?”
“I guess so,” Denise replied. “I’ve already spilled my guts on this ‘crime’ of yours.”
“When did Mr. Arnold arrive at the guest house?”
“I dunno—maybe about nine o’clock, about 2100 as we’re supposed to say now.”
“Why did you go with him?”
Denise was silent for a second. “To drink and have fun. It was pretty boring out there.”
“What kind of vehicle did he take you in?”
“It was some kind of truck, I think it was American. It had some kind of seal or crest on the door. I didn’t see it too good, it had a big red cross in the middle—with skinny arms, not like the kind of Red Cross that hospitals use.”
“Do you know when he left you at the Flying Dutchman.”
“No—I was out by then. Are you the only one allowed to ask questions here?”
“Why do you ask?”
“How long have you been a police matron?”
“Oh, about twenty years.”
“Why did you become one? I mean, this is the kinda place where women are supposed to stay home and not work. Although I saw a pregnant barmaid over in Claudia today—or yesterday.”
Bertha got a chuckle out of that. “I wish it were that simple sometimes. But we can’t afford that kind of life. As for me, my husband was killed in a tavern brawl. Left me with three children. That’s when I joined the constabulary. It gave me as good of a life as I was going to have and raise the kids too. Married the last one off just before this past Epiphany. Miss Kendall, I know you come from a very important family, but may I give you some advice?”
“What kind of advice?”
“I joined the constabulary because of what happened to my husband. I only go there as part of my duties, like this evening. I can see you’re an attractive young woman with a good position in the world and a long life ahead of you. Don’t waste it in the bars and taverns of the world. And don’t waste it letting young men take advantage of you like Mr. Arnold did.”
Denise was silent at that admonition. It seemed like another eternity waiting for the rest of officialdom to arise from bed and arrive. Denise put her head on the table and tried to sleep but could not; she was simply too keyed up. At last Bancroft opened the door and two men filed in the room along with him.
The Serelian Minister of Foreign Affairs was a gaunt elderly gentleman named Eugene Morgan. He was as proper as was possible considering it was almost 0400. Behind him was the Verecundan ambassador, Hank McCasland. An old political crony of Denise’s father and an early member of the Committee for Personal Liberty, he looked the part of a superannuated hippie with balding on top and flowing hair on the shoulders. A “beat generation” refugee with a paunch caused by too many beers, he shuffled in the room, hugging Denise as he entered.
“Well, it looks like you guys have blown international law big time now,” McCasland said.
“We did confirm her diplomatic passport,” Bancroft noted.
“Who was in doubt?” McCasland challenged them. “So I assume I’ve come to take her back to St. Anne’s? She has a tennis match in the morning—although you people should delay that to give her some additional rest. You can’t hold her any longer.”
“Since there’s no doubt that she is a diplomat legally, the only thing we can do is to declare her persona non grata and deport her immediately,” Morgan said. “The Serelian Navy will be happy to take her back to Verecunda at once.”
“When are you talking about doing this?” Denise asked, agitated.
“Oh, now,” Morgan said.
“You can’t do that!” McCasland declared. “She’s done nothing wrong.”
“She certainly has,” Bancroft reminded him.
“According to your stupid laws!” Denise snapped. “We ought to force you people to enter the modern world.”
“Quite frankly, Miss Kendall, your country isn’t in a good position to force much of anything, especially since you abolished your own navy earlier this week,” Morgan calmly said. He turned to McCasland. “We are fully within our rights to deport her immediately, tennis match or not, and you know it. So I suggest you inform your government to be ready to receive her sometime late this afternoon.”
McCasland wanted to blow his stack, but been ambassador long enough to know it wouldn’t do any good. “Surely something can be worked out so that she can play her match and then leave. Our relations are so much better when they include sporting events like this.”
Morgan thought for a minute. “Very well, we propose that Miss Kendall be taken back to the guest house, and that she be allowed to play her match as her team-mates do. After that, they get on the bus, they head to the border, all of their Serelian visas will be cancelled, and the matter will be at an end.”
“But what about Jack?” Denise asked. “Is he going to get off?”
“Does Mr. Arnold have a diplomatic passport also?” Morgan asked McCasland.
“Of course not!” Denise snapped, not waiting for McCasland, who shook his head in agreement.
“Then he should be brought in for questioning—that is, if you will sign a confession of what you did stating that he was your lover.”
“You don’t have to sign anything,” McCasland advised her.
“I’ll sign anything that’ll put his ass in a sling,” Denise said.
“We will prepare such a statement, then,” Morgan stated. Bancroft immediately exited the room to begin that process. Morgan and McCasland also left to make sure the statement got done to everyone’s satisfaction.
It was a swifter process than usual; about fifteen minutes later they returned with the statement. Denise signed it after a glance. She then left with Morgan and McCasland in the Serelian government car, an Opel Senator.
Bancroft assured himself that they were gone, then went directly to the desk of his night officer along with Bertha.
“Do we know where Mr. Arnold is?”
“He’s definitely in Drago,” the officer replied. “He made no attempt to flee the country. He’s staying with Rev. Langley in their temporary quarters.”
“Langley’s there?” Bancroft asked, puzzled.
“No, the Rev. Langley and his wife are in the Bishop’s Palace this evening. Mr. Arnold is with their son Richard.”
Bancroft and the others were silent in thought. “Why didn’t he leave the country? He surely knows what he did was unlawful,” Bertha asked.
“Perhaps he wants to return to see the fruit of his labour,” Bancroft said.
“It’s too soon for that,” the night officer said.
“Not that fruit,” Bertha corrected him.
“Not at all,” Bancroft agreed. “He came here for more than just ‘unlawful conjugal relations.’ He can get those legally at home, if you will excuse my frankness,” he said to Bertha.
“I understand,” Bertha replied. “He came to humiliate her. She speaks of him as a boyfriend in the past.”
“Evidently a few Verecundans still have a sense of honour,” Bancroft mused.
“But we still must deal with him,” Bertha said.
“If we don’t, we’ll have a parade of fornicators coming off of the West Island,” the officer reminded him.
“I’m aware of that,” Bancroft agreed. He thought for a second. “Didn’t Mr. Arnold use a vehicle owned by the Church of Serelia?”
“He did,” Bertha said. “Denise’s description and that of those at the tavern confirm it. You see he’s brought it back to the parish.”
“Perhaps we should let the Ecclesiastical Constable handle this,” the officer suggested. “That would eliminate any jurisdictional problem with the Drago constabulary.”
A wry smile came to Bancroft’s face. “That’s a splendid idea,” he said. “Ring him up and let me speak with him. Mr. Arnold is about to find out that he’s not the only one on this Island with a sense of honour.”

Serelia was the first place on the Island to see the light of day, and it wasn’t too long after that when Jack and Rick set out in the same truck and along the same road that Jack had used last night. Rick drove while Jack got to admire the scenery which he had missed the night before. The best part of that scenery was along the stretch of road between Drago and Fort Albert where the highway ran along the coast; they got to see several kilometres of unoccupied beaches as they travelled along.
“You still haven’t told me when you got back from seeing Denise last night. I was long gone, whenever it was.”
“I went to see her. We went out to drink. Then I screwed her. Got back about, let me see, about one,” Jack reported matter-of-factly.
Rick looked at Jack wide-eyed. “Man, you can get into big trouble up here for going to bed with her. What’d you do that for? You’ve can get plenty of that back home.”
“I know what I’m doing,” Jack responded. “Besides, they won’t look for me. She’s not going to admit it. She’ll just get a ride back to St. Anne’s and play tennis. Drinking’s no crime up here.”
“Then why are you going back to see her?”
“Every time she goes out before a match, she blows it. That’s why she lost to Carla Stanley. I wanna see that.”
“I don’t know. . .” Rick mused.
“So what was your hot date like last night?”
“Not very hot. I went over to her house for the first time to be ‘formally presented’ to her parents.”
“That’s not too hot.”
“Athena’s old man is a geezer, barely sits up in his chair. Her mom is real young—younger than any mothers like her back home.”
“How young?”
“Let me think. . .I think she’s thirty-two, or something.”
“Thirty-two? Is Athena in Lower Division? You are robbing the cradle.”
“Nah, I’m not. She’s seventeen, in Fifth Form.”
“Wait a minute. . .that means her mother was fifteen when she had her. What kind of deal is this?”
“Athena told me her mom was twelve when she married. It was forced on her.”
“What kind of crap is that? They can’t criticise me with that going on.”
“I told you, this is a strange place. You’ve gotta be careful. There’s no telling where you’ll end up.”
“So what’s she look like?”
“She’s got long wavy brown hair, brown eyes. First time I saw her at school, I thought I’d die. She’s beautiful. Perfect bod. Can’t wait to go to the beach.”
“What does she wear?”
“Most of the time, her school uniform. They still have those up here.”
“So that’s why you looked like a dork yesterday.”
“Don’t ride my case. Anyway, she’s got four brothers and sisters. Oh, I forgot, her aunt’s the Queen.”
“The Queen? Now you’re starting to make sense. At least you’re reaching high.”
“Didn’t do you any good.”
“Don’t remind me.”

The Serelians gave the same thorough treatment at the border as the Aloxans did, making the girls get off of the bus while they searched for drugs and other contraband. Vannie was nervous at the whole idea of being in Serelia, made more so by the grey-haired border guard who slowed down scanning the passports to look at hers.
“Marguerite van Bokhoven?” he asked.
“Yes, sir,” she replied, reverting to good East Island manners out of fright.
“You’re Cornelius’ granddaughter, aren’t you?” he asked.
“Yes, I am.”
“My mother was his secretary. He was a fine man—she took it hard when he died. Give your family my regards,” he said, handing her passport back.
“Thank you,” she said. The process speeded up considerably and they were shortly cleared to reboard the bus and head onward.
They slipped through the town of Denton, which wasn’t much better than Fort Lister or any of the other hamlets that passed for cities in this part of the Island. Vannie gave a running commentary on the founding families of Serelia, leaving out the business about the Amhersts being descendants of the kings of Beran. The countryside went first to wilderness, but it wasn’t long before wilderness gave out to the farms and estate of the Amhersts, which led them into the town that bore the family name.
They made a left turn in town and went to the All Saints Parish and School, which the Point Collinans found to be a pale shadow of its namesake on the Point. A decidedly primitive and rough place, they headed to the tennis courts, which the school had allowed the Point Collinan team to practice on. As they got off, they were greeted by the Rector, Decker Hardwick, and the Headmaster, Quincy Dalrymple. Vannie immediately attempted to pull the girls together for a proper Serelian type of presentation, but it failed; they were too independent for the job. The last one to be introduced was Alicia, who found out she was a distant relative of the Rector.
The best greeting came, however, when Vannie’s Aunt Susan came up. They hugged, and then Susan presented her younger children properly. All of them in their school uniforms, she lined them up in a row in front of Denise and the other girls that stuck around, which was most of them. Susan, like Vannie, had medium blonde hair, which contrasted with the red hair the children had. Denise wondered to herself whether they were hers, or if she was just a pass through for Amherst genes.
“This is Ronald. He is in Third Form. Next year he heads to Alemara Academy.” Ronald bowed and stepped back.
“And this is Edward, in First Form.” Edward did exactly as his brother had done.
“And finally, this is Darlene, who just started school this year.” Darlene had a hibiscus in her hands. She went straight up to Denise, bowed, and extended the flower to Denise.”
“Welcome, Miss President,” she said. Denise took the flower, totally surprised by this show of childlike formality. Vannie took it and stuck it in Denise’s ear.
“Thank you very much,” Denise replied, not really sure what else to say.
“We need to be practising,” Vannie reminded everyone. Susan led the children away and the team got out on the two courts to practice, mostly in doubles.
“That’s some kid, that Darlene,” Denise said, the flower still in her ear.
“That’s a real Amherst,” Vannie replied. “Always heads to who they think is the highest ranking person around. Look how little she is, and already starting in.”
“Yeah, and I hope it doesn’t get back to my father than I’m being addressed as ‘Miss President.’”
“You might as well be,” Vannie observed. Denise gave her friend a look that started out sour but turned into a sly grin. Then the girls arranged themselves on the courts and practiced.
After a while they noticed that a good crowd had gathered around them, both students and parents. The latter especially looked on them with interest.
“Why do I feel like we’re being looked over?” Denise asked Vannie during a short break.
“Because you are. They’re looking for wives for their kids. It’s like jumping into a piranha pond up here; so many people leave they try to trap anybody that comes here.”
“Looks like they’ve got Alicia on the hook,” Denise observed as their team mate talked with both her Hardwick relatives and others on the side. “We may just have an extra seat on the bus coming back.”
They resumed; Vannie ploughed one in to the net. Suddenly Darlene, having changed clothes, ran out onto the court, picked the ball up, and turned to her cousin with a puzzled look.
“Throw it here, sweetheart,” Vannie said. Darlene complied; it was a little short but ended up in Vannie’s hands. Pretty soon Darlene got the hang of it and was retrieving the ball consistently, not always knowing whom to throw it to but making life more amusing. What put the team in stitches was Darlene’s attempts to cover both nets at the same time, which usually ended up in disaster.
“This kid is a scream,” Denise said to Vannie. “A lot smarter than the morons we get out of primary school, too.” About that time Darlene walked over to Denise.
“Show me how to play,” she demanded.
“She doesn’t take no for an answer,” Vannie said. Denise found herself turned into tennis coach, but she complied and Darlene was soon doing some things in spite of the fact that the racquet was almost bigger than she was.
“We need to start practising for tomorrow,” Denise said, trying to end the lesson.
“You’re going to play my sister tomorrow,” Darlene declared. “She’ll win.”
Denise gave Vannie a puzzled look. “You said your cousin’s not first on the ladder.”
“Not as far as I know,” Vannie said. “I’ll probably play her.” She turned to Darlene. “Now go over to your mom,” and with that pointed over to Susan.
“But it’s not over!” Darlene protested.
“Yes, it is!” Denise replied. Darlene sulked over to Susan and they resumed their practice.
The practice eventually ended. They said their thanks to the school authorities, boarded their bus, and made the last, short leg of the journey to St. Anne’s. Once out of Amherst town the Old Beran Road followed the Amherst River, which varied from five to ten metres in width. The countryside acquired a little elevation, and there was a fair amount of small boat traffic in the river. About three kilometres before the road crossed the river on its way to West Serelia and the south, the bus turned left and away from the river on the road to St. Anne’s.
St. Anne’s School was situated on a large plot of land which it did not begin to fill up. In turn it was surrounded by an undeveloped royal estate which extended from Serelia Inlet to the eastern extremities of the Claudian Islands. The large amount of undeveloped land around the school gave it an isolated and monastic reputation, well deserved since the sisters of the Order of St. Anne’s still ruled the institution with an iron hand. The narrow road went straight through a thick pine forest where the trees reached well into the sky, giving an impression both spectacular and claustrophobic. The only thing that marked the passage from the royal estate to the school’s own property was the front gate, which had the school crest on both sides.
Not too far inside the gate was the “guest house,” a two-storey building in a clearing. They pulled up. Dorr went inside and found the house matron, who lived in a small adjacent home with her husband. The girls were shown to their rooms.
The Verecundans found the guest house an underwhelming business, living up to the bad reviews of the team elders who had been there before. With no air conditioning and little maintenance, it had obviously seen better days. After their initial inspection, she went outside to look around.
“I hate this place,” Denise said. “This school has a beach and everything, but they won’t let us go there until after we play. They must think we have cooties.”
“You did have VD,” Vannie reminded her.
“I’m no dyke. What difference does that make?”
“I don’t know.” Vannie sensed that she had hit a sore subject.
“Now they’ll serve us the ‘night before slop.’ Why can’t we go somewhere decent to eat? Last time, we pigged out at the Flying Dutchman after we played.”
“Ask Coach Dorr.” Denise followed Vannie’s suggestion, and went up to her coach, who was not inspired by the place either.
“Why can’t we go eat somewhere else?” Denise asked.
“Your father left specific instructions that we were to accept the hospitality they extended us,” Dorr told Denise. “Doing otherwise would be rude.”
“I was afraid of that,” Denise replied.
“Besides, we don’t want a repeat of what happened before Hallett.” Denise responded in sullen silence, which Dorr took as reluctant agreement.
The meal was served shortly in the small dining room adjacent to the main lobby. Denise picked at her food, and the rest of the team didn’t do much better, realising that Denise’s bad reviews were still factual.
Denise and Vannie had the corner room. As they looked out the window, the day’s light had been replaced by the light of the waxing gibbous moon, which gave them a decent view of the clearing around them.
“We’re stuck here,” Denise sadly noted. “They waited until they put that crap out for us to eat, then took off.”
“I think they went to The Conch,” Vannie noted. “It’s the best pub on this end of the Island.”
“What about the Flying Dutchman? Wasn’t that named after your grandfather?”
“It was,” Vannie confirmed. “I hate to go there. It brings back too many memories.”
“Maybe we’ll fix those someday.”

The Point Collina boys managed to get through the competition by winning 4-3. One of the Academy’s wins were at the expense of a player who had deep sixed his breakfast, after which two of them played post-seasickness doubles. Raymond was the beneficiary of that match, although his performance in singles wasn’t so outstanding. As the match ended, the guys got back on the bus and returned to port.
Jack took his leave from the rest of the team at the government dock. Making sure they were out of sight, he untied his boat and went to the gas dock where, cigarette hanging out of his mouth, he refuelled his boat. He paid the dock and took off back into the harbour.
Rounding Driscoll Point, Jack hoisted the Serelian courtesy flag and spent the rest of the afternoon on his favourite boat cruise: the trip through the Crescan Sound from Alemara to Drago. The Crescan Sound had a fair number of rocks in it, but Jack knew the waters well enough to avoid them, and he went onward at full power. The weather held up nicely and he waved at the fishing vessels, coastal ferries, and the occasional Serelian naval vessel he encountered on the way.
With the sun setting behind him, Jack made his way to Drago and its government dock. The Serelian authorities took a reasonable look at his boat before stamping his passport and welcoming him to Serelia. Once through that, Jack met Rick Langley.
“How’s it going, man?” Jack asked.
“Going great,” Rick said.
“Let’s move the boat first,” Jack said. They did so, tying it up away from the customs slip.
“Where’s your old man and lady?” Jack asked.
“They’re up in Serelia with the bishop and his wife,” Rick informed him.
“So you’re free as a bird,” Jack assumed. Rick gave him a funny look.
“Not really,” he said. “I’m courting.”
“Courting what?” Jack asked.
“A girl—what do you think?”
“You mean—as in marriage.”
“That’s the way they do it up here. I don’t know if it’ll happen, but. . .”
“You don’t waste any time.”
“It’s the way things happen around here.”
“What’s her name?”
“Athena Ballman,” Rick replied. “I’m going over to her house tonight.”
Jack thought for a second. “You got some wheels?”
“Yeah. Why?”
“I need them.”
“What for?”
“I’m going to go see Denise.”
“She won’t see you—and besides, you’ll get in trouble.”
“Nah, I won’t. I’ll be careful. Where are they?”
“It’s the sexton’s truck. He’s done for the day. It’s kind of old.”
“I don’t care. I gotta have it.”
Rick realised that resistance was futile. “All right,” he said, and they made the short walk over to the parish where the truck was waiting.
“Thanks, and get over there and score,” Jack admonished his friend as he got in. He found the keys, started up the truck, discovered that the sexton had thoughtfully put petrol in it, put it in gear, and, wheeling around, took off out of the parish close and northward to St. Anne’s.

Jack’s navigation skills were put to a greater test on the road than in the water. He had never made the drive on the eastern end of the Old Beran Road. It was getting dark and the road was, in classic East Island style, unlit. The tiny headlights on the truck were totally inadequate to light the way; he spent half his time worrying about overdriving his headlights and the other half actually doing so. Fortunately there wasn’t much traffic, as Serelia had few private vehicles and the Serelians weren’t much to be out after dark except at the pub.
The pub turned out to be his first alert to the most important fork in the road. As the The Conch loomed along the right side, he suddenly realised that somebody had told him to fork left, which he did. This took him through West Serelia and onward to his next turn-off, which he almost missed, to St. Anne’ s itself.
He worried that there would be someone at the gate, but there wasn’t. Picking his way down the dark road, he saw the guest house and decided to pull up and ask for some directions. He saw three of the girls sitting on the front steps continuing the conversation they began when they pulled out of the school over eleven hours and two hundred kilometres ago. This told Jack that he had found the team. But he saw neither Denise nor Vannie, usually inseparable.
Now came the moment of truth. The girls obviously spotted him; there wasn’t anything or anyone else to see. But he didn’t want to get bogged down with them. So he killed the lights on the truck. The moonlight was all that was left to lighten the place. The girls on the steps, thinking that the place might be under attack of some kind, took to their heels and went inside.
Jack was still left with the problem of finding Denise. He knew her well enough to figure that she got a corner room. But which corner? He took a chance and pulled around the right side of the building and stopped next to the back right corner, where he saw a light in the window.
The girls that came off of the steps found Vannie in the hallway. Vannie immediately decided to head next door and see if the adults were back from the pub and available to rescue them. In the meanwhile the hallway was filled with commotion, which Denise could hear in her room. She started to get up and see what was going on when she heard a knocking on the jalousie window.
She went over to see who it was. She recognised Jack.
“It’s just me, Denise,” Jack said to a surprised team captain.
“Get out of here,” Denise scolded him.
“Open the window,” Jack said. Denise cranked the jalousies enough to hear him better.
“I don’t want to see you,” Denise said.
“Pete didn’t bother to come up here,” Jack observed. “You wanna go somewhere?”
“With you? No!”
“There’s nothing else to do around here.”
“I don’t care.”
“You do care. You know it feels good, Denise. For old times sake.”
Denise suddenly came in touch with her feelings in the middle of the nowhere that was northern Serelia.
“Meet me out front, quick,” Denise said. She threw her things together and her shoes on her feet. She made her way out the door, where she met Vannie and her panicked team-mates.
“What’s going on?” Denise asked.
“There’s a truck out there,” Vannie said breathlessly.
“So?” Denise asked.
“You know who it is?” Alicia asked.
“Of course,” Denise replied contemptuously. “Bye!” and with that she walked past the rest of the team to the waiting truck. Jack had not turned back on the lights, and the dome light didn’t work, so they couldn’t see who was in the driver’s seat. Jack turned the lights back on, threw the truck in gear and they sped away down the road.
“Who’s she going with?” one of the girls asked.
“I’m afraid there’s only one person who would pull a stunt like this,” Vannie said very deliberately, regaining her wits.

“Where are we going?” Denise asked Jack as they bounced down the road. “Coach Dorr and them are down at The Conch.”
“So we’ll go to the Flying Dutchman,” Jack replied.
“I can’t believe you came all the way up here to see me,” Denise said.
“It’s the only place I knew you’d say yes,” Jack said. “And I still miss you.” Denise felt a little heart melting at that last remark. “Pete didn’t bother to come up here—and he saw me take off for Drago, too.”
“Did you guys win?”
“Yeah, 4-3. I won my match. So did Pete.”
They turned right onto the main road, and in no time were in Amherst and parking near the Flying Dutchman. The second largest pub in Serelia, it had many little nooks and crannies for privacy, along with a few rooms in the back to make it an inn. Being a Friday night, the pub was full, although the Amhersts themselves had gone down to the Conch to drink with the King. One of the drinkers was the sexton for the parish and school; he recognised Denise from earlier in the day the minute she walked in the door. He announced this to the whole pub, and the convivial Serelians greeted the two warmly. Even the Rector joined in, especially when he found out that she was with Jack Arnold, whose grandfather he knew. The first round of their drinks were on the house.
And they weren’t the last drinks either. Denise lived up to her reputation of being a hard drinker, especially in a place where legalities didn’t matter, but she also lived up to her reputation of not holding her liquor as well as she could consume it. While they were doing that they threw darts and shot pool, but as the evening wore on Denise’s sobriety wore out.
As for Jack, he was laughing and carrying on as he usually did when out drinking, but he was drinking far more slowly than usual. He used every trick in the book to conceal that from Denise, including diverting her attention and pouring his beer into her glass when she wasn’t looking. With Denise’s giddy mood, that became progressively easier as the night wore on.
As the crowd started to thin out, Jack made his move. Having made arrangements with the innkeeper, he took Denise out and around back to the rooms. He escorted Denise back to the room, but left her there because there were still people milling around the inn. It wasn’t too long before they left and Jack returned to the room to find Denise struggling to strip for action. He obliged her by helping her to finish the job and then continued in his way with the action.

The girls had a travel schedule that was both easier and harder than the guys. It was easier in that they didn’t have to leave school until 0900, as opposed to 0700 when the guys pulled out of the marina and 0730 when Jack left the yacht club. It was also easier in that, instead of having “grind-a-pound” Hancock at the wheel, they took the athletic trainer as the driver.
It was harder in that they were forced to traverse the full length of the Island, mostly on the Old Beran Road. Built by the King and Grand Lodge of Beran in the years before the slave revolt, it was a marvel in that it spanned Beran’s realm from Beran town itself to Drago. Now it was considered the longest bowling alley in the world, too narrow for the vehicles now expected to travel it. Coupled with spotty maintenance and the fact that it crossed two international borders, the Old Beran Road was an ordeal to travel, but the fact that the girls got to travel it at all from its western terminus to just past Amherst was a unique experience that few Islanders shared.
To get there though, they had to first travel the same route that the four players travelled to the Beran Invitational. This time, though, there was a critical mass of girls, and their mood was more upbeat and their conversation virtually non-stop as they travelled through Collina and Aloxa. Not even the usual hassle at the Aloxan border dimmed their enthusiasm. They talked about everything: their school work, their clothing, the other aspects of their appearance, and of course their boyfriends, past and present. They even took in the drive around them with enthusiasm, looking at things and people as they passed on the Island’s most scenic drive.
Getting to Beran, they picked up the Old Beran Road. Now came the best part of the journey from a visual standpoint. The road followed the shoreline of Beran Bay, giving them a nice vista of the bay and the beaches, Avinet’s and others, directly in front of them. Many on the bus wished that they had brought their bikinis instead of their tennis outfits, although the thought of the probable spectators brought on the usual torrent of racial slurs that all too often marred Verecundans’ conversation.
They passed through Williamstown. It wasn’t long after that when conventional, West Island terra firma gave way one of several forms of everglades that dominated most of the Island’s land mass. The road’s maintenance fell off as the water table came to the surface; the Aloxan military and customs services were the main users of the road, as there were few people living in the northern part of the country.
They reached the Claudian border after crossing a small bridge. The border guard ambled up to the bus, eyeing all of the girls inside.
“Passports, please,” he said to the trainer, who handed them in a neat stack to the guard. They always put Denise’s diplomatic passport on top, to emphasise the importance of the cargo and to protect them from other types of harassment. Their ruse worked; the guard’s eyes fell on that one first, and he flipped through the rest of them.
On the driver’s side behind Denise was Alicia Decker. Petite with long, straight auburn hair and a plastic hair bow, she eyed the young guard from head to toe. He was dressed in the traditional Claudian militia uniform, which was modelled after the one the Italians used in World War I.
“He’s cute,” she whispered to Denise.
“Yeah, he is,” Denise agreed.
“We’ve been expecting you,” the guard said. “I’ll need to come on the bus and take a look.” Alicia sighed as if her prayers had just been answered. The trainer opened the door and the guard came on, walking back slowly, opening the passports and comparing them with their holders. He could not help but notice that Alicia was staring a hole in him, a look which he returned more furtively, although he did a more thorough passport comparison with her than with the others. “I’ll need to enter your passports in the registry,” he said, turning and taking them back off the bus to his little guard house.
“What were you doing?” Vannie angrily asked Alicia. “Didn’t you see his wedding band? Besides, they just take what they want up here, and don’t ask questions.”
“Just trying to be nice,” Alicia sheepishly replied.
“You should have just given him your phone number,” Denise observed.
“I think I wrote it in my passport,” Alicia observed. The guard came back on and handed each passport back, Alicia’s with a wink. With that he got off, the trainer closed the door, the guard’s fellow raised the gate, and, as the trainer waved at him, they moved onward.
“You live dangerously,” Vannie told Alicia as they pulled away.
“He won’t come to see me,” Alicia protested.
“He might,” the trainer spoke up.
“How come?” Denise asked, curious.
“That guy who raised the gate is Claudia Yedd’s cousin,” the trainer observed.
“Who’s Claudia Yedd?” Alicia asked.
“That’s the woman who’s kid Maddy healed,” Vannie replied. Denise rolled her eyes in disgust at the thought.
“They’ve all got relatives in town. You just might have a visitor—especially if he doesn’t bring his wife,” the trainer observed.
“This Island’s too small for its own good,” Denise sourly observed.
From there they went on to what Vannie called the “Mordor” part of the trip, because it was dominated by two stone forts. The first one came right right after the border at Fort Cox, with the large, Beran era castle on the left and the town on the right. Were it not for the stone edifice rising out of the swamp, Fort Cox would have been one of those places where, if you had blinked, you would have missed it. The road then paralleled the coast very closely as it went through the wooded strip that separated the mangrove lined coast from the inland everglades. Sometimes the coast itself would break through and the girls would get a glimpse of what Islanders called the “North Ocean,” although people who actually lived along oceans at the higher latitudes would have laughed at the idea.
They then came to the second stone fort in the series, this time the royal palace at Claudia town, with its imposing gates open and surrounded by the nondescript town itself. The open gates gave the bus a chance to get some petrol at the palace motor pool, a nice arrangement of Verecunda’s Foreign Ministry. Other than the fuel stop, going past both of these edifices and what surrounded them gave the girls the impression they were going back in time. What they were looking at was a country whose advance had stopped nearly a half century earlier. While their absolute monarchs longed for the day when they could lead the return of Beran, its people quietly slipped away in emigration to places such as Verecunda where some semblance of prosperity could be found.
East of Claudia, the weather continued to be beautiful, and they entered a slightly busier stretch of the road, surrounded as it was by some royal estates. When they saw more uninspiring houses line the road, they realised that they had reached Fort Lister, and although it lacked a stone fort it had one asset the girls were more than ready for: the Perfect Ashlar Tavern, with some of the best food in this part of the Island.
They pulled up to the tavern, which wasn’t busy since it was too early for the evening drinkers and a bit too late for the lunch eaters. As they came to a stop, Coach Dorr got up to make an announcement.
“All right, girls, we’re here. Don’t forget, you’re still in training, so I don’t want to see any of you breaking that.”
Denise gave Vannie a look, then they got up and waited for everyone else to get off of the bus before they did. They fell back behind the group.
“That’s what she thinks,” Denise whispered to her friend. “There’s no drinking age up here, is there?”
“Not here, not in Serelia either,” Vannie confirmed.
“Then let’s find a place away from everybody else,” Denise replied. As they all went in, Dorr and the rest of the team found one part of the tavern to sit in while Vannie motioned to Denise to head to another corner of the place.
“You two don’t want to sit with us?” Dorr asked them across the room.
“We’ve got stuff to talk about,” Denise answered, and they went on.
The two sat down. “What do they have on tap here?” Denise asked.
“Forget about the tap,” Vannie replied. “I’m ordering Heineken. Dark.”
“Is that stuff really better?” Denise asked.
“Of course it is,” Vannie replied. “It’s better than anything the Americans put out. Their idea of a special brewing process is to run it through a horse. I think Terry’s dad distributes Heineken on the Island.”
“Don’t remind me,” Denise said.
“That doesn’t matter. I’m not Dutch for nothing. Try it.” About that time the waitress came up. Attractive with long light brown hair, she was obviously younger than Denise or Vannie, but pregnant in a maternity dress.
“Can I get you something to drink?” the waitress asked, bowing to them.
“Heineken Dark,” Vannie spoke up immediately.
“Make that two,” Denise said.
“Thank you,” the waitress replied, and walked away.
“What’s good to eat here?” Denise asked. “It’s been so long since we were here last, I’ve forgotten.”
“They have killer conch chowder,” Vannie said. “I think they serve it with some kind of beans and rice.”
“Conch chowder seems to work around here,” Denise observed. The waitress brought back their beers.
“Would you like to order something to eat?” the waitress asked.
“How about the chowder special? You still serve that?” Vannie asked.
“We do,” the waitress confirmed.
“Let’s just have two of them,” Denise said.
“Yes, m’am,” the waitress said, bowing again.
“Just a minute,” Denise said.
“Is there something else?” the waitress asked, puzzled.
“How old are you?”
The waitress was in shock at Denise’s interest. “I’m sixteen.”
“You’re married, aren’t you?” Vannie asked rhetorically, since she saw her wedding ring.
“Yes, I am. Married last June.”
“When’s the baby due?” Denise asked.
“April.”
“You still in school?” Vannie asked, mostly for Denise’s benefit.
“Oh, no,” the waitress replied. “My father’s dead. School ends here in Fourth Form. Girls are not permitted to attend Royal Arch school in Claudia past Forth Form, and it is not lawful to go to school in Serelia, either. Besides, Albert—my husband—wanted to get married, and my mother was having a hard time keeping me up. And I must work because, as you see, my baby’s on the way. It’s a very good position here—I don’t have to work out of doors, which is very nice in the summer.”
“What’s your name?” Denise asked.
“Peterson,” she replied. “Olivia Peterson. My husband’s Albert Pike Peterson—his family is very prominent in the Lodge here. I’m in Eastern Star. But I think your companions are looking for me.”
“Thanks,” Denise said, and Olivia hurried away.
Vannie saw a look of speechless shock she had never seen on Denise before.
“That’s why my father pushed the birth control and abortion bills first,” Denise finally said. “We can’t let this cause fail, Vannie. We just can’t. You see what happens.” They finally filled their glasses with beer.
“You’re right, Vannie, this stuff is great,” Denise declared after taking a sip. “You know, it just hit me: maybe we should have brought Terry to this end of the Island. She could marry someone over here, quit school, have a half dozen kids, and that would be the end of her.”
“You know her mother wants something different,” Vannie disagreed. “Besides, remember Madeleine’s prophecy?”
“You really believe that? With schmucks like her, it’s a lot easier dumping them off in a place like this than to fix them. And it would get a Gerland out of our hair.”
Vannie sipped her beer in silence. Denise could tell she didn’t agree but Vannie didn’t have a good comeback.
“Let’s talk about something else,” Denise said. “I can’t keep up with it—tell me about your relatives over here.”
Vannie was partially relieved at Denise’s new agenda. “My grandfather was Cornelius van Bokhoven. He was Serelia’s first Chancellor, or Prime Minister. Without him King Albert would have never gotten the country off of the ground. He had two children; my father and Aunt Susan.”
“Isn’t she married to one of the big families over here?”
“The Amhersts—except for the royal family, the biggest in Serelia. Her husband is Uncle Thomas; his father Elton is still very much in charge.”
“Isn’t one of your cousins on the St. Anne’s tennis team?”
“Theresa, the oldest,” Vannie replied. “I don’t think she’s first on the ladder but she’s second or third. She’s a very nice girl. Her brothers are typical Amhersts, and they broke the mould with her kid sister Darlene.”
“Broke the mould?”
“You’ll have to meet her to figure that out.”
“So, if your family was so big in Serelia, why did your old man leave?”
Vannie looked around very carefully and then turned to Denise. “My grandfather was murdered.”
“Murdered? Who did it?”
“Elton Amherst. He had it done. Found his body floating on the beach in Serelia.”
“Why?” Denise was very worldly and hard to shock, but the East Islanders managed to do it again.
“It’s complicated,” Vannie explained. “Back in the late forties, the Cavitt family was as powerful as the Amhersts. So Elton lured them into starting a secret Masonic lodge, which is very illegal in Serelia. Then he turned them into the King. Albert had old man Cavitt and his sons arrested and hung from the palace gate. He married one of the daughters to one of his drinking buddies at the tender age of twelve.”
“Twelve! You can get sent to the slammer for that, even in Verecunda.”
“He married the other daughter off to his son, and now she’s Queen Annette. She was only sixteen.”
“That wasn’t too bad—I guess, for the East Island,” Denise replied, thinking about their waitress.
“It is bad. Annette is a virtual prisoner of the royal family. Just like Aunt Susan is a prisoner of the Amhersts.”
“This isn’t making a lot of sense. With your Aunt Susan, that is.”
“My grandfather knew of what Elton Amherst had done. So he planned to expose him to the King, both directly and through the Verecundan papers. Elton suspected what he was going to do, so he had him killed.”
“Was your Aunt Susan married to these people when this happened?”
“Of course. But she can’t say anything; she just suffers in silence, just like she does when Thomas plays around. I’ve even heard that he’s got a kid in Alemara by a woman he raped after she quit being his mistress and married. But back to the story—my father knew what was going on, so she took my mother and grandmother and left. That’s why we came to Verecunda. And he also came with one other bombshell.”
“What was that?”
“The truth that Elton Amherst is the son of both Theodore Amherst and Princess Ophelia of Beran. The Amhersts are in fact the ‘sons of Beran’, as they like to say over here.”
“Vannie, you worry me sometimes,” Denise said. “Everybody knows that Elton was born to a mistress. And even if Ophelia was his mom, why would Elton hide it?
“Because Elton knew that, if the truth came out, they’d do to the Amhersts what they did to the Cavitts. That’s especially true after Theresa was born; they’d just kill the men, herd her to the altar, take the property and wealth, and the Amherests would vanish into history. Denise, they’re just biding their time. And they have to be the descendants of the Kings of Beran. Look at them—Avinet’s Beach, the enslavement of black people long after everyone else had given up on it, even after the Americans had ended it with their civil war. And don’t forget the wars they fought with Verecunda. These people are born killers. They make Lucian Gerland look like an amateur. That’s why you can’t let Terry get over here: if she ever hooks with with these people, you and your parents will hang from the yardarm at the yacht club.”
Denise look at her friend with a glazed look. “You’re really serious about this, aren’t you.”
“You should be, too,” Vannie emphasised. Olivia brought their meals about that time.
Denise’s and Vannie’s conversation drifted off into more light hearted subjects, but towards the end of their meal Denise returned to the Amhersts.
“I’m surprised you didn’t say that the Amhersts had run up a lot of bad karma,” Denise said.
“They have,” Vannie agreed. “I guess we need to hope it gets them before they get us.”
“You two ever going to be ready to move out?” Coach Dorr shouted to them across the room. The rest of the team was working its was towards the door.
“We’ll be there!” Denise shot back. Olivia had laid the bill on their table, which was nothing more than a small, tissue thin piece of paper. Denise laid down a Verecundan fifty dollar bill on the table.
“Denise, that’s twice as much as the bill,” Vannie noted.
“She going to need it, with a baby on the way,” Denise said. “Keep the bad karma away from us, too.” Denise walked towards the door, following her team as Vannie followed her. They boarded the bus, assuming the same seating as before.
“Was that barmaid pregnant?” Alicia asked.
“What do you think?” Denise challenged her.
“That’s what happens when you fool around with East Island boyfriends, like that guard you jacked your skirt up for,” Vannie added.
“Oh, dear,” Alicia sighed.

The sun was just barely peeking over the Point when Jack arrived at the yacht club. He parked his black GTO in the far corner of the lot to insure that others would not open their doors on it, took his bags out of the boot, and checked to make sure it was locked and everything was secure. He walked across the parking lot, stopped at the club house briefly, and then went out on the dock to the boat.
The Arnold family had had larger yachts in the past, but now they contented themselves with the small boat. Jack had spent a lot of time there lately, getting the craft ready for the voyage, which was unusual since they didn’t do much boating when school was in. What Jack’s parents did not know was that he had not smoked a joint or taken any other kinds of drugs in over two weeks, had drunk very little, and had seen a rise in his grades. His change of life was obscured by the fact that he had not cut his hair or shortened his sideburns, which still went well below the ear, nor had he shaken off the studied disinterest which he showed to his family. Only Cat sensed that something was going on. She only shared her feelings with Terry, who knew how to keep a secret, especially if she remotely suspected it had anything to do with Denise.
Across the bay the team was boarding the chartered yacht which would take them to play Alemara Academy, the Island’s prestigious all-boys school. But Jack had managed to get permission to go on his own. His pretext that he wanted to see his old schoolmate Rick Langley, who was now living in Drago, as Rick’s father took his self-imposed exile at St. Mark’s parish.
Jack removed and carefully stowed the canvas cover on the boat along with his things, made one final check of his marine radio and other gear, fired up the gasoline engines under the stern, untied the lines that held the boat to the dock, backed out of the slip, and roared out into the Verecunda Bay on his way to Alemara.
The southern coast of the Island could be run two ways: “inside,” namely between the barrier islands and the Island itself, and “outside,” beyond the barrier islands. Jack preferred to run it inside because outside the waves were generally higher. With the prevailing winds from the south-east and the swell from the same direction, going outside frequently meant taking it on the beam, which caused the boat to roll and made for an unpleasant ride, especially in smaller craft such as his. In Verecundan territory his course wasn’t too difficult; once he cleared the Point, the main object was to travel up the Elaron Sound about halfway between the Uranan coast and the barrier islands (with their reefs.)
The bottom had few features, which didn’t make for much visual appeal but made navigation easier. Jack ploughed through the Sound at full speed ahead. The wind blew his ample hair back and the sunrise made a nice vista to his starboard. It was just Jack and the sea, and with the temperature back in the 22-23ºC range he was not only glad to be going where he was, but was having a good time getting there and enjoying the view through his polarised sunglasses.
It wasn’t until he got into Vidameran territory that things got a little complicated. The Sangler River left at its mouth some sand spits with their accompanying sand bars, especially the horseshoe bar that dominated the bottom of the river mouth. Fortunately Jack knew these waters well, and in any case didn’t have much draught to worry about under him as he roared on over the shallow waters below. He knew just how much to leave the cays out of the river on his port without getting tangled up in the patchy coral, and in no time he ended up on the inside of Cambell’s Cut, again midway between the Vidameran coast and the offshore islands. This manoeuvre made him think of the times when he threatened to quit school and move up to this area as a native guide. Perhaps, he thought, if things didn’t work out with university in the States, he could move up where Rick lived and do the same thing at the other end of the Sound. Soon he got a glimpse of the Driscoll Point lighthouse, which signalled him to begin to turn to port and head into Alemara.
He arrived at the Alemaran government dock with his charts still rolled up and stowed away. The weather was still good, the low floating clouds making their procession from the ocean and over Alemara. He took care of immigration formalities and then moved the marina nearby. Tying the boat up and securing everything, he went up to the dockmaster to pay his fees.
“You heard about the rest of my tennis team?” he asked the dockmaster.
“You didn’t see them coming up?”
“No. They must have run outside.”
“You’re right about that. I think I heard on the radio that they just passed Morgan’s Cay and should be here in a bit. You could meet them over at the government dock.”
“Good idea. Thanks.” Jack took his tennis bag with racquet and headed back over on foot to the government dock. As promised, the chartered boat arrived and the rest of the team, with Coach Hancock, came ashore and had their passports stamped.
Jack was waiting for them on the other side. “So pretty boy took his own boat,” Pete said sarcastically after he came through the gate.
“Thought I’d make the most of the trip,” Jack said.
“I’m sure you will. Hope she’s hot and horny—but you’ve got to be careful on the East Island.”
“I know,” Jack replied.
“You should have come with us,” Pete said in a low voice. He motioned with his head at two of the younger players on the team. “They barfed over the side on the way up. We laughed our asses off. It was so funny. . .”
“That’s okay,” Jack replied. “I had a great trip.” They gathered themselves and their stuff together and boarded the decrepit Alemara Academy bus and headed eastward towards their match.
Alemara Academy was a little less than halfway between Alemara town and Driscoll, which meant that it was out by itself. Although it was only about three hundred metres from the sound, it was beyond the best of the long, broad beach that made the town famous. They pulled up through the school’s front entrance.
“That school in Aloxa has a lot better set-up than this dump,” Jack remarked, recalling Beran-Williamstown’s better physical plant.
Pete looked at his watch. “The girls should be around there somewhere about now. I wouldn’t take their trip for anything, even with these landlubbers we’re stuck with.”
The tennis courts were on par with everything else at the school. The fences, windbreakers, bleachers and asphalt courts themselves had seen better days. Their team was there and practising. Point Collina’s team had to take the entire day off from school for this match, and although the Academy team was home this year, the 1100 start time dug into their own academic schedule. The home team cleared the courts long enough for the visitors to practice while the coaches and captains met to figure things out.
The two teams came out, shook hands, and the matches began. The Academy was competitive in a few slots but Point Collina’s team depth worked against them. One of the Academy’s less proficient players was Raymond des Cieux, who unlike Carla had not taken lessons from his sister. Raymond was at the bottom of the singles ladder and Jack was at third, so while others were playing Jack came over and motioned to Raymond to pull away from the bench and talk with him.
“You still glad you’re not on the Point this year?” Jack asked Raymond.
“It’s all right up here,” Raymond replied. “But it’s better than the Point.”
“I gotta kinda hard question for you?”
“Hard question? For me?”
“Yeah.” Jack hesitated. “How is the best way to ask your sister out?”
“You could try telephoning her,” Raymond calmly answered him.
“Nobody likes a. . .I know that. What I mean is, how do I do it so she won’t say no?”
“You’ve had a lot of girl friends. One of them must have said no. I haven’t had too many, but some of them have said no to me. So what’s the big deal for you?”
“Well, man, from what I hear, when she says no, it hurts. Besides. . .I don’t know how to say this, but I’ve never asked a girl quite like her out before.”
“She is unique,” Raymond agreed.
“So, what does she like? And don’t like?”
“She likes fine food, like we eat at home. So you should consider a nice place, like the Resort, where she can order something reasonably good and perhaps have a little wine without too many questions.”
“Does she drink a lot?”
“Not much. And only with meals. It is the way we were brought up. She is not the kind to go out and get drunk like the last girlfriend you had.”
“You would bring that up.”
“You might also try going to Mass with her—she likes that in a boyfriend.”
“That’s going to be hard.”
“Why?”
“Because my old man hates the Catholic Church. It’s cool with me. My sister Cat’s already in trouble for going there with her friend Terry Marlowe.”
“C’est tres triste. . .you are passing some very sweet women by when you miss Mass. Take your sister’s friend—now that’s a girl I’m afraid to ask out.”
“How come?”
“Because she comes from such a great family, and she is so tall and beautiful—Papa says she reminds him of the women he used to see in Indochina.”
“Vietnam?”
“Yes, my family lived there when Madeleine was born.”
“She was born in Vietnam?”
“She was. We’ve lived in many places.”
“Cool. So you’re chicken, too.”
Raymond looked at the ground. “I guess so.”
“Just give me her phone number,” Jack finally said. Raymond went and borrowed a pencil, wrote it on a piece of scrap paper, and handed it to Jack. “Thanks,” Jack said.
He went back to his bench. As Raymond returned to his own, his coach, who doubled as a history teacher, came up to him.
“What was that all about? You know him?”
“He is in the same form as my sister at Point Collina,” Raymond replied.
“That’s right, your sister does go to Point Collina. So what does he want to do, ask her out?”
“Yes, that’s it.”
“From what you’ve told me about your sister,” the coach observed, “only a Siegfried will take her out—a guy who isn’t afraid of death and will go through the fire.”
“I think he is about to discover this,” Raymond agreed.

It was back at the “head table” in the cafeteria for Denise and her friends.
“How did it go with Terry yesterday?” Pete asked.
“You saw her blow her stack and storm out of school, didn’t you?” Vannie asked.
“Yeah, I guess,” Pete vaguely replied.
“You think she’s going to do anything about it, Denise?” Vannie asked.
“I think her old man’s already called the school, but I think he ‘winged the wong number’ this time!” Denise exclaimed as the group burst out laughing.
“You think Bartow will cave?” Pete asked.
“Never!” Vannie exclaimed.
Denise was more thoughtful. “He might. . .you know Gerland’s still sitting on the trust fund that keeps this dump going. And a lot of that money’s off the Island.”
“How’s he doing these days?” Pete asked.
“Not good,” Denise replied. “He hasn’t been seen in public since Yule, when he went to church. I think he may be ready to kick the bucket on us. Not a moment too soon, either.”
“So how’s your old man going to get his money?” Pete asked.
“He’s got a plan, but he won’t tell me,” Denise said.
“So we’ve got to figure out a way to make keeping Terry home this weekend stick,” Vannie said. “If we don’t, you’ll be in deep with her old lady.”
“Wait a minute. . .that’s it!” Denise exclaimed.
“That’s what?” Vannie asked.
“I’ll get the Foreign Ministry to put her passport ‘under review.’ Just long enough to keep her stuck this weekend. She won’t be able to get out of the country then—especially with the route we’re taking.”
“That get’s it out of Bartow’s hands, too,” Pete observed.
“Exactly,” Denise agreed.
“You learned from the best,” Pete told Denise.
“I did learn from the best,” Denise agreed. “But it’s going to get better.”
“Too bad you can’t put the hurts on Frenchie,” Pete said.
“Dad won’t budge on that,” Denise said. “He won’t admit it, but I think the French government put us in a full nelson over the way our stupid Ministry of the Environment threatened to shut her old man’s company down. He won’t even consider pulling their contracts for tyres—he doesn’t want to give the business to the Americans in any case. He did get her visa changed so she’ll have to hit the road after graduation.”
“As if she wasn’t going to already,” Pete added.
“Maybe there’s something else,” Vannie suggested.
“Like what?” Denise demanded.
“Maybe Maddy’s the avatar,” Vannie said.
“The what?” Pete asked.
“The avatar. The incarnation of God. Like Meher Baba. You know, his eye looks at you from the cover of Tommy. You know what that’s about.”
“You have flipped, Vannie. You’ve been to too many seances.”
“But she did heal that blind girl. Every time I think about that, the album comes back to me.”
Pete started to groove to the rhythm in his head. He began to softly sing to it: “Listening to you,/I get the music./Gazing at you,/I get the heat. . .” His reverie stopped when he caught Denise’s angry glare burning a hole in him.
“It’s still stupid,” Denise disagreed. “Avatars are from India. She’s French. And she’s Catholic too.”
“But don’t you think it’s time for a woman to be the avatar?” Vannie asked.
Denise looked out at the crowd eating lunch, then back at Vannie. “It’s not going to be her. And not here either.”

Claudia Yedd’s “water cooler talk” had been about this new prayer group that she was attending up in the University district. Pierre’s reaction was decidedly unenthusiastic, but Madeleine was curious, especially when she discovered that it was lead by the Catholic priest/political activist James Avalon.
So that evening Madeleine tucked her car in the warehouse and took the bus with Claudia up to the transfer point at Central Avenue and Ardmore Street, which made the north west corner of the University of Verecunda. It was there they met Carol, who gave Madeleine a big hug when they met. The only drawback to Carol going to regular school was that she just couldn’t go straight to Claudia’s workplace from her school. Fortunately Claudia had a neighbour with a daughter a year younger than Carol, so she had a place to stay until her mother got off work.
Madeleine bought the three of them a quick dinner at a small café near the corner, then they took their transfer tickets and headed over to the St. Leonard of Port Maurice Parish and Student Centre. The church itself faced Ardmore and, across the street, the University. Madeleine could see the signs of CPL vandalism around the church, especially the torn shrubbery, mauled grass and signs of graffiti not entirely effaced from the front and sides of the building. Strangely the building that doubled as the parish hall and student centre was behind the church and away from the University whose Catholic students it supposedly served. But it was neither a parish function nor a meeting of the Newman Association where the three women were going; they went down the side walk along the left side of the church which led them to the gathering of the Servants of the Lord Prayer Group.
Although they were a tad early, they were met by the front doorkeeper, a squirelly looking man in his mid-thirties.
“Good evening, Claudia,” he said. “And Carol. And who is your guest this evening?”
“This is Madeleine des Cieux,” Claudia proudly announced. “This is the girl who prayed for Carol to receive her sight.”
The doorkeeper’s eyes turned as big a saucers as he beheld Verecunda’s most notorious miracle worker. “I am so glad to meet you at last,” he said, shaking her hand vigorously. “I was hoping you would come. Please come in and have a seat. We’ll be starting in a few minutes.”
They went in and took a seat towards the back. But Claudia was busy flagging down people she knew to meet Madeleine. The reactions were mixed; some were impressed like the door keeper, some were indifferent. Claudia was miffed by the latter but Madeleine was unconcerned. She was happier to sit and watch the proceedings then to have to attend to a receiving line.
It wasn’t too long that the musicians took their place and the prayer meeting began with their music. By that time the room was full to almost overflowing. Even though the room was long and relatively narrow, the chairs were arranged in a circular arrangement with two aisles to the centre. The musicians occupied about half of the innermost row of chairs, with their music stands and one guitar amp. Most of their guitars, however, were acoustic, with one bass and a couple of woodwinds. All of the musicians were young people, ranging in age from Lower Division to University students. They only had a couple of microphones, but the room was small enough—and there were enough of them—to compensate for that. The songs they sang—with one or two exceptions—were as unfamiliar to Madeleine as those at Carla’s church.
On the other side of the innermost row from the musicians were a group of middle aged men. Claudia explained that this was the core group, which directed the course of the prayer meeting. Next to them was Father Avalon, in his clerical collar. They had come in just before the music started.
The style of worship was also a novelty to Madeleine. At all times people raised their hands. Between the songs there was spontaneous, concert prayer and praise, frequently in song. Madeleine detected an unusual language coming out in some of this, but she couldn’t make out which tongue it was. The worship flowed very nicely but Madeleine could tell it was more highly structured than it looked.
The songs tended to become slower as the meeting progressed. As the music stopped, people started coming up to an empty chair next to the men, speaking with them about something. In most cases they got up after that and gave some kind of message, Bible passage, or revelation.
At this point Claudia got up and went forward to the chair. Unfortunately for her, the men evidently didn’t approve what she had to say, because she got up without sharing. But she was undeterred; she pulled on Avalon’s sleeve and whispered in something in his ear. He perked up at whatever she said, and she returned to her seat.
“What was their problem with you?” Madeleine whispered to Claudia.
“I don’t know, but Father Avalon will take care of it.”
“Take care of what?”
“Announcing that you’re here!” Claudia jubilantly replied. Madeleine found herself wishing that the men had not been overturned upon appeal.
With the end of sharing, Father Avalon got up to speak. The doorkeepers were still stationed at every entrance; Madeleine could tell that they looked out as often as they looked in. She expected Avalon to give some kind of homily, but instead he stuck with a few announcements, most of them related to the anti-abortion and pro-morality activities that had made him a stench in the nostrils of both his bishop and of Denise’s father. At the end of that, however, he had another announcement to make:
“We have with us a very special guest of one of our newest people, Claudia Yedd. Miss des Cieux, would you stand up?” Madeleine dutifully complied. “This is Madeleine des Cieux, the young lady who prayed for Carol to be healed of blindness. We are honoured to have you with us tonight.” Once again Madeleine could feel everybody’s eyes on her. She sat down and the meeting continued.
“I thought they would do more,” Claudia said to Madeleine, puzzled. Madeleine breathed an inaudible sigh of relief.
After Avalon was through one of the men got up to the microphone.
“That’s Francis Xavier Eck,” Claudia informed her. “He owns a petrol station up here. He’s one of your father’s customers.” Eck had travelled extensively on the mainland, visiting prayer groups, covenant communities, and attending seminars, and he wasn’t shy about reminding everyone about his travels. Eck went on at length—about an hour, actually—about the need for everyone to come under the umbrella of authority, especially that of the prayer group, which he announced was becoming a covenant community. Madeleine found his speech hard to follow and largely irrelevant to her situation.
When Eck ended his address, they had special prayer for a couple of people, then the musicians played their final song, and the meeting was over. Madeleine was rushed by a few people, but not many. She turned around from speaking to an elderly couple to find herself face to face with Father Avalon.
“Miss des Cieux,” he said, “it is a real privilege for us to have you with us tonight. Your miracles have done more to encourage us to continue that just about anything else that has taken place in the last two years.”
“I am glad that you are encouraged,” Madeleine replied. “Unfortunately some people are not.”
“Like the bishop,” Claudia added.
“There are many things that he does not understand,” Avalon admitted. “We must do our best. Is this your first time here?”
“Yes, it is.”
“Then you must come back,” Avalon insisted. “And, of course, you are also welcome to the folk Mass we have on Sunday evenings.”
“Thank you,” Madeleine said.
“I want to speak with you some more, but I must greet some people before they get gone.” He turned and left. In his wake were some of the musicians. The guys were unwilling to simply let a girl like Madeleine get away without trolling for her phone number, especially the “two Steves”—Eck, F.X.’s son, and Brenner, the son of an army officer. Both Madeleine’s contemporaries, their eyes showed that they were overwhelmed with what had come up from Evan Point.
Eck turned away to talk with others. But Brenner hung around through the rest of the musicians talking with her to ask her an unusual question.
“I don’t want to embarrass you,” Steve began, “but do you guys have a sensual society on the Point?”
“A what?” Madeleine said, taken aback by the question.
“I’m sorry, a Life Identification Society.”
“Unfortunately,” Madeleine replied. She was still uneasy at the line of questioning.
“So do we,” Steve admitted. “They’re trying to force me to join it. One of my teachers has told me that he’ll flunk me somehow if I don’t. I need you to pray for me that I’ll get through.”
Madeleine thought a second, then reached into her purse for the aloe vera tube. Claudia lit up when she realised what was going on.
“This will work,” Claudia assured him. Madeleine crossed herself and invoked the Trinity, then she took the tube and anointed him on the forehead, praying that he would graduate from University Comprehensive without joining the Life Identification Society. She ended, as always, in the name of Jesus Christ.
“Thanks,” he said. “Hope you come back.”
“So do I,” Madeleine said, a little cheerier at meeting these people.
Madeleine and the Yedds gathered together to begin their journeys home. Suddenly Madeleine discovered that F.X. Eck was standing in front of her with two other of the core group men.
“What were you doing with the young man Brenner?” he asked.
“I was praying for him,” Madeleine said. “He asked me to. He is in a difficult position in his school.”
“Have you been baptised in the Holy Spirit?” Eck asked her.
“Excuse me?” Madeleine asked, puzzled.
“How can you perform miracles without the fullness of the Holy Spirit?” Eck demanded.
“Because God permitted it, perhaps?” she answered.
“We do not permit people outside the group to pray for others,” Eck rudely informed her. “You will have to take some instruction and become a part of our group. We cannot have transients doing this kind of thing.” With that he and his companions walked away.
“What is going on?” Madeleine asked Claudia.
“I’m not sure,” Claudia replied. “Father Avalon has been great. The way these men run this group reminds me of the Lodge.”
“Let’s go then,” Madeleine said. They gathered up Carol and caught the bus to the transfer point. Claudia insisted that they accompany Madeleine to at least where she got off on Central Avenue. Pierre had left his 2CV at the end of the street, which she drove on home. She related in brief her experience with her father.
“I assume from what you have said that you do not plan to return,” Pierre surmised.
“No, Papa, I don’t,” Madeleine confirmed.

Madeleine was heading towards her Monday lunch with Madame Seignet when Vannie stopped her in the hall.
“Maddy,” Vannie called out. Madeleine turned around; she was startled that Vannie would even address her.
“What is it?” Madeleine asked in her usual guarded fashion. Vannie walked up to her.
“I heard that the doctor released you for P.E.,” Vannie said. “You must be doing all right.”
“It is better than they expected,” Madeleine confirmed.
“That’s great. I was wondering if you’d consider coming back on the tennis team.”
Madeleine’s shock was obvious. “I wasn’t aware that was possible.”
“We’ve been looking at the roster really hard,” Vannie replied. “You know we’re going to St. Anne’s this weekend. We need a little extra depth for that.”
“You know I was slated to have your position on the ladder before I became ill,” Madeleine reminded her. “But I am probably too weak for that now. What can I do for the team in this state? It is unbeaten.”
“We still have problems. You might be able to beat Terry out—she was a real oaf last weekend. When she falls, she hangs onto the net while her feet sprawl over the baseline.” Madeleine chuckled at that in spite of herself.
“You understand that Coach Dorr has asked me to help with the Lower Division team,” Madeleine said.
“I do. But she can change.”
Madeleine thought for a second. The pause seemed eternal to Vannie.
“I am sorry, but I don’t think that I can do it. This has been a very difficult experience for me. There will be questions. So I think it’s best to leave things as they are.”
“Suit yourself,” Vannie said. “Sorry you feel that way. But why did you have to go off and help Carla Stanley the way you did? Why couldn’t you do that for somebody here?”
“Because nobody here asked,” Madeleine replied. “You have your clubs, you have your professionals. She had nothing and knew it. But now all the world knows why there is a French Open and not a Verecundan one.”
Vannie was visibly angry at the last remark. “I don’t know about anybody else around here, but I’ll be glad when you go to France to university.”
“Belgium,” Madeleine corrected her.
“You’ve looked down your nose at everybody the whole time you’ve been here. You should have gone to Hallett or somewhere in the East Island. Then you’d have known people who deserve this kind of treatment. Then we wouldn’t have to put up with idiot people running around town bawling that they’ve had a miracle. You’ve messed up everything, and someday you’re going to pay for it.”
“I’m sorry you feel that way,” Madeleine said rather coldly. But then she felt gripped again, the same way she did when performing the miracles. “But your reluctance to allow Terry Marlowe to go to the East Island is justified.”
“What are you talking about?” Vannie asked.
“You—or someone else—do not want her to go to St. Anne’s. If she makes it to the East Island and stays, she will come back to destroy everything that Denise and her father and the CPL and everyone else like them have built. It will cost her everything in the beginning, but in the end it will cost you.”
Vannie looked at her with bewilderment. “Now you’re some kind of prophetess,” she said. “What are you trying to do to us? What have we done to you?”
“The last few weeks speak for themselves,” Madeleine replied, assuming her usual tone. “I must be going to my lunch engagement,” and with that she walked on to Madame Seignet’s room.
Vannie returned to the cafeteria, got her lunch and sat down at Denise’s area with the people who so frightened Carla the previous Saturday.
“Is she going back on the team?” Pete asked.
“She won’t do it,” Vannie answered.
“Prick,” Denise spat out in disgust. “I was afraid of that.”
“What’s her excuse?” Pete pressed.
“Same old stuff—after everything that’s happened. . .” Vannie replied.
“We’re the ones that ought to be complaining,” Denise interrupted.
“But, she said something else real weird.” Vannie continued.
“Now what?” Denise snapped.
“She said that, if Terry ever got to the East Island, your father’s whole movement would get wiped out.”
“Wish!” Denise said. “If anybody’s going to get wiped out, it’s people like Terry—and Maddy, for that matter.”
“Look what we did to Carla,” Pete added.
“And there’s more where that came from,” Denise assured them. But then Denise stopped to think. “So what made her say that?”
“I may have done it,” Vannie confessed.
“How?” Pete asked.
“I told her that she might knock Terry down the ladder.”
“More like off,” Denise added. “She’s dropped down to sixth. If it weren’t for her playing doubles with Alicia, she’d stay home.”
“Maddy also said that somebody didn’t want her to go to St. Anne’s,” Vannie stated.
Denise became wide eyed at that remark. “How’d she know that?”
“Know what?” Pete asked.
Denise looked up at the ceiling with an “I’ve just let the cat out of the bag” look. She went back to facing Pete. “Something funny’s going on here. That’s exactly why I wanted Maddy back on the team. But no one but me knew that.”
“You mean you’d rather have Maddy back on the team than Terry?” Vannie asked, now totally puzzled.
“It’s not me,” Denise finally said. “It’s Mrs. Marlowe. She came up to me after the CPL Central Council meeting last week. She doesn’t want Terry to go to St. Anne’s for any reason. Terry wanted to go there to school after Second Form, but her mother wants her to stay here and grow up like a normal human being.”
“Hasn’t worked so far,” Pete observed.
“It will,” Denise said. “I was hoping that Maddy would help to crowd Terry off of the ladder for good and make it easy on everybody.”
“Terry’s still playing doubles,” Vannie reminded Denise.
“We’ll get Alicia to find someone else,” Denise replied matter-of-factly.
“So what are you going to do now?” Pete asked.
“We’ll just do it the hard way. I’ll just tell Terry that we can’t risk another ‘weak sister’ after what Maddy’s pulled with Stanley.”
“Can we win with all of these people out? St. Anne’s is undefeated,” Vannie noted.
“Who do they compete with? Women in sports is almost unknown out there. We can pull it out. We’ve got some depth. Besides, one virgin traitor on the team is enough—I really don’t need two, and the way things have gone that’s what I’d end up with if Maddy came back. ”
“So what does Coach Dorr have to say about all this?” Vannie asked.
“She’s not happy, but I told her that there were reasons of state. What’s she going to do?”
“Nothing, I guess,” Vannie shrugged.
“Hey, how’s Jack doing these days?” Denise asked Pete.
“He’s okay,” Pete replied. “Slipped to third on the ladder. But he’s spaced out these days.”
“Spaced out?” Denise asked.
“He doesn’t talk much to anybody,” Pete explained. “He comes to practice, does his thing, goes home, shows up to compete, plays, and goes home again. Doesn’t say a whole lot. Really bad the last two weeks.”
“He’s probably still sore about breaking up with you,” Vannie noted.
“He’s probably up to something,” Denise warned. “Keep an eye on him.”

Tennis practice went as usual that afternoon. As it was winding down and after Dorr had just finished up scheduling the challenge matches, Denise came up to Terry and said, “I need to see you for a minute.”
“What for?” Terry asked. Vannie appeared at Denise’s side.
“It’s about this weekend,” Denise said, looking up at Terry. “You can’t go to St. Anne’s.”
“Why not?” Terry demanded, indignant.
“I can’t take any chances,” Denise replied. “After what that slimy little frog did to me, and knowing you’d really rather be a ‘little Miss Muffett’ at St. Anne’s, I can’t take the chance. You’re not going, and crying to Coach Dorr won’t do any good.”
“I thought I was going good on the team, after the Beran Invitational. What’s changed?” Terry asked.
“It was a new day yesterday,” Vannie coolly replied, “but it’s an old day now.” With that Denise and Vannie walked away, leaving Terry both ready to both explode and cry.
Terry and Denise agreed about one thing: it wouldn’t do any good to appeal to Dorr, since the order came from Denise. Terry stormed off of the court, went back to the locker room, put back on her street clothes as fast as she could, threw her tennis gear in her locker with a loud metallic bang, closed the locker door in like manner, and stormed out of school.
She skipped the bus and pouted every metre of the approximately two kilometre walk home. It was a very seasonable day; only very small black puddles remained of the trace of rain that fell earlier. The beauty of the weather could not penetrate the darkness of Terry’s mood, which matched her eyes and hair all too well.
She finally got home. Her mother was in the kitchen, sorting out the groceries from her shopping trip.
“What’s your problem?” Eleanor asked.
“I can’t go and play at St. Anne’s this Saturday,” Terry admitted. She suddenly looked at her mother with intense anger in her eyes. “It’s your idea to do this!” she blurted out. “You were with Denise at the CPL meeting last week. You put her up to it!”
“Blaming me for your failures in life will not make them any better,” Eleanor calmly replied. Terry could see that she was getting nowhere, so she stormed out of the kitchen and up the stairs toward her room.
To get there, she had to pass by her little brother Richard’s room. He could hear her stomp her substantial feet against the floor as she marched up the stairs.
“You have been well, I trust, since we last met?” he asked with a sneer.
“Shut up!” she replied and went on to her room, slamming the door.
Terry thought that putting on a album would help, but her anger and frustration were so great that even the thought of doing that didn’t console her. So she opened the door again, went back down the stairs and, going out the front door to avoid crossing paths with her mother again, went around, got her bike, and took off while hearing her mother scream, “Running away isn’t going to help!” as she pulled into the street and away from the house.
The traffic was thin in the upper part of the Point where the Marlowes lived, thin enough for her to vent her emotions by riding her bicycle down the street. Otherwise, she would have ploughed into a car somewhere. Eventually she ducked onto the side walk, but with her inner being filled with emotion, her navigation was strictly a combination of autopilot and very deep familiarity with the territory.
She eventually made the three and a half kilometre voyage to the Point Collina Park, the end of both her town and in some ways of Verecunda itself. On passing the last street and entering the park, she had only one more hard decision to make: which way to turn. She could turn left and go towards the bay, straight towards the lighthouse, or right to the ocean. She went to the ocean because it looked like there were the fewest people in that direction. Her guess proved correct, as she was able to pull her bike up and sit down on a bench not too far from the street that separated the park from the rest of the town.
By this time Terry was numb, torn between anger at her mother and Denise that made her want to scream and pain that made her want to cry. She just sat there for what seemed to be an eternity as the sun worked its way to set over her right shoulder and into the place where she came from.
The noise of the waves had a soothing effect that slowly drew her into a more mellow mood. Like the freighters and cruise ships that rounded the point and headed onward to their continental destinations, her thoughts went away from her present malaise. Sometimes they would retreat into her past and good times she had, especially with her father. Less often they went into a future away from where she was, but those only made her feel worse as a deep sense of helplessness came over her. In either case she was lost in her own world, not willing to allow the beauty of her surroundings—too familiar, perhaps, because it was all she had ever lived in—to penetrate the depression that had taken root in her deepest self.
Her oblivion was so complete that she didn’t notice the distinct sound of her father’s DB-4 coming up the street and stopping only about fifteen metres from her. The only thing that broke her self-imposed isolation was Dick Marlowe’s voice.
“It’s too bad your grandmother isn’t here with her er-hu,” he said, referring to the traditional instrument that made sad songs—a staple of Chinese music—even sadder.
“Very funny,” she replied. However, she scooted over and Dick sat down next to his dreary-mood daughter.
“Now, tell me what’s going on,” Dick asked.
“Denise and Vannie called me over after practice,” Terry began. “Denise told me I couldn’t play at St. Anne’s this weekend.” She looked at her father; he could see the pain on her face. “Daddy, I really wanted to go—I’ve always wanted to go.”
“So you could ask them how to transfer there?”
“Yeah, I guess so,” Terry admitted. “But why is that a crime? It’s a good school. And I don’t have a boyfriend here, so I could go there and not have to be reminded of that every day. I can’t help it because I passed the 180 centimetre mark and look Chinese.”
“And won’t do what a lot of these guys want you to do, either,” Dick added.
“I didn’t want to think about that,” Terry said. “But what’s the crime about that? I’ve tried to live the way you wanted me to.” She started crying again.
Dick gently wrapped his left arm around Terry’s shoulder. “I’m proud of you about that, you know that. It’s takes courage to do that these days. I know you’re under a lot of pressure.”
“From mother!” Terry snapped, reversing from sadness to anger once again.
“Let’s not talk about that,” Dick admonished her. “We’ve had that discussion before. You just have to do what you know is right.”
“I’m tired just ‘doing what’s right’”, Terry protested. “I know! I could quit school and work for you all the time! They like me at the office. I’ll be sixteen in September. I’ll learn everything. Then I can travel for you. And I won’t have to look at all the creeps at school any more.”
“You can’t do that,” Dick replied. “This world is too complicated for a school leaver to make it in. If you’re planning on holding up your half of heaven, you’re going to need to finish school first. Then you really need to go to university.”
“Here? Why? I’ll just have to face Denise all over again. And I’ll still be ‘the giraffe,’ ‘slanty-eyes,’ and ‘the Virgin Terry.’ Don’t you think that hurts? Don’t you care?”
“I do care,” Dick said. “And it does hurt. I’ve had to deal with prejudice ever since I’ve lived here. I had to work hard to overcome it. It’s not easy, we both know that. Besides, by then you’ll be eighteen. That’s an adult—you can vote, drink and have your own life. You could go live with your Aunt Evelyn while going to university in Canada. Or you could go to university in Hong Kong or Singapore, or even England—I’ve got contacts there. You’ve got a great life ahead of you, but you’ve got to go through some tough times first. Everybody does. Look at me,” he stopped. She looked up at him almost blankly. “You’re the product of two great civilisations. It’s written on your face. You’ve got what it takes for success, whatever path you choose to get there.”
Terry looked at her father for a long time, then recited the following:

“But now I have cast off my official robes
As cicadas shed their skin;
I wash my feet in the limpid stream,
And in idle moments fill my cup with wine,
And call in a few new friends to drink with me.
A hundred years are soon gone, so why despair?
Yet immortal fame is not easy to attain!”

“You’re too smart for your own good sometimes,” Dick said, and they both laughed at that.
“I memorized that for English class,” Terry said. “Mr. Hancock wasn’t happy with the way we were doing. So I recited that to show that his class was an exercise in futility. Shu Yi used to read it to me when I was little—well, younger. He didn’t like that very much.”
“I heard about that at Parent’s Day,” Dick recalled. “We need to go home; your mother’s probably thinking we’ve fallen off the end of the Point.”
“Daddy, can I ask one thing?” She looked at her father with a plaintive look that signalled to him he was about to get a tall order.”
“Yes, Terry?”
“Can I go have dinner with Shu Yi? I can’t face Mother just yet.”
He wanted to turn her down, but couldn’t bring himself to do it. “Do you have much homework?”
“Not a whole lot.”
“All right. I know she’ll be happy. Let’s go.” He hugged Terry as he gently lifted her from the bench, then took her bike and they both went to the car.
Terry always marvelled at how her father got her bicycle into the trunk of the DB-4. Once that was done, she got into the left door, he the driver’s, and they headed off to Terry’s grandmother’s house.

In spite of her immediate circumstances, Carla was a very happy teenager as she drove her business truck through Jersey Heights. The only “heights” about the town was that it was inland enough—and close enough to the hills of Collina—to be the highest municipality in the Republic of Verecunda. The terrain was flat, but her spirits reflected the town’s name as she passed through the Heights and the Collinan border crossing. From there she went onward through Collina town and down the peninsula to the Point. Crossing the border back into her homeland, she turned left and headed up to Marlowe Import and Export.
Although it was a great day to be on a long drive, with nice weather and the temperature pushing 23ºC, Carla would have rather done something else than make a delivery on Saturday. To do that, she had to get something to deliver, and that came from Marlowe’s warehouse.
Marlowe’s was about the last “industrial” type business on the Point, a status partly protected by the fact that Dick Marlowe was Lucian Gerland’s son-in-law. Carla pulled through the east entrance of the property, which was surrounded on the landward side by hedges and as many trees as he could squeeze in the margins. This obscured the fact that the warehouse was a utilitarian structure with little to commend its appearance. To the right was the dock, which was what was left of the old port and ferry terminal that connected Point Collina with the rest of the country until the Dahlia Bridge was built in the early 1950’s. Now it was Marlowe’s private dock where he could ferry goods from the warehouse to the port and vice versa, occasionally getting items off of the ship and onto the small craft before they found their way through customs.
Dick was there to meet Carla. A shade taller than his outsized daughter, his mostly Chinese ancestry was plain. Even though he was moving into his late forties, there were few grey hairs in his combed and slicked back hairstyle. In a country where being non-white was still a liability, Dick made up for it with hard work and vigorous relationship building, as shown by the fact that he opened up the business on a Saturday just so Carla could pick up the few items she needed.
“I’m sorry I made you do this, but we just couldn’t get these things through customs until very late yesterday afternoon,” Dick told Carla as she was signing the paperwork.
“I know you tried, Mr. Marlowe,” she answered, handing him back the clipboard.
“They just seem to get slower and slower every day over there. Maybe I should have thrown them on the boat.”
“That’s not the way. We’ll be all right. Thanks for opening up for us.”
“I can’t understand why the Club couldn’t just send someone over here to pick these things up,” Dick said.
“They just don’t do things that way over there,” Carla answered.
“One thing’s for sure: you sure did a great job at tennis yesterday. I know it’s Terry’s team you played, but the way you beat Denise Kendall was really impressive.”
“Thank you. I hope I don’t live to regret that. Terry played great too—she’s been playing better this year.”
“She sure has,” Dick agreed. “My biggest regret this year is that I missed it when she won the first round of the Beran Invitational. I always try to make her matches when I can—my mother said she has never played better before or since. Mother claims that she and the des Cieux girl prayed for her, and that’s what made the difference.”
“Madeleine’s prayers do get answered,” Carla agreed.
“I need to get back home—it’s been great seeing you.”
“You, too, Mr. Marlowe.” Carla put the box of parts in the bed of the truck, got in, started up, backed around, and drove out the gate as Dick closed the shipping entrance.
The Club was just across the peninsula. Carla went in the deliveries entrance. Although she gave it no mind, she went past the tennis courts and pulled into the maintenance shed.
“We were wondering when you’d get here,” the assistant greenskeeper told her as she walked in his office. Next to him was one of the course staff.
“Did the best I could,” she replied, putting the box down on the desk. The greenskeeper signed the paperwork Carla presented to him.
“Where’s your mechanic today?” Carla asked, puzzled at the lack of follow-up to her special trip.
“It’s Saturday,” he answered. “He’s off. Won’t be back until Monday. I need this thing fixed real bad—some of the rough is getting real rough. It barely gets out of the shed, sputtering the way it does.”
“Can’t anyone fix it today?”
“Nah. Union rules. Maintenance man has to do the work. If we could fix it, my man here could get the job done in a couple of hours.”
“You mind if I try to fix it?”
“Probably get me in trouble, but, hey, go ahead.”
Carla turned and took the box of parts—which was getting heavier with every carry—over to the mower. The two in the shed snickered at each other at the idea of a woman fixing the machine. Carla got the plugs out of the box, took the tools she needed and went over to the mower. About fifteen minutes later they heard the engine start, rev a few times, and then stop.
Carla put her tools back, took the other parts and dropped them on his desk with a definite if not loud thud. She then put the old spark plugs on the desk directly in front of the two men.
“It should run okay until your ‘maintenance man’ gets here. It wouldn’t hurt if you’d clean and gap your plugs every now and then.” The two men looked at each other in astonishment. “You have any place to clean up around here?” she asked.
“We don’t have a little girls room out here, but you can use ours over there.” Carla went over and washed her hands—they did have industrial hand cleaner—with the door open, which was especially useful since she was hit with the smell of urine when she came through the bathroom door. She re-emerged as quickly as she could and started heading for the truck.
“You know he’ll file a grievance when he finds out you did his job,” the greenskeeper said.
“The business agent will enjoy coming over here for the meeting, especially if you have it in the hotel,” Carla observed.
“Grievance will probably end when he finds out a girl fixed it,” the other man said.
“No, it won’t,” Carla corrected him. “The business agent’s my uncle. He knows the girl. By the way, can I use your phone for a second?”
“Sure.” Carla went back to the desk, picked up the receiver, and dialled out.
“It’s Carla. . .I’m great, especially after yesterday. . .listen, I’m on the Point, can I come over and see you on the way back to Hallett?” There was an especially long silence after that. “What’s your address. . .okay, I’ll be right over. Bye.”
“That was quick.”
“I’m going to visit a friend.”
“If it’s a boyfriend,” the other man said, “he’s got a hot date tonight.”
Carla thought for a second. “If you want to see how hot I can be, come watch me play tennis sometime.” She turned and walked out of the maintenance shed.
She turned the corner and stopped dead in her tracks. In front of the gate of her truck were Denise, Vannie, Pete and one other guy from the Point Collina tennis team. She couldn’t back out unless they moved, and they didn’t look like they were in a hurry.
“Queen of the court one day, grease monkey the next,” Denise said. They advanced towards Carla, spreading out a bit like they were surrounding her. “You get around.”
“You play a very dangerous game,” Pete added.
“That turncoat coach of yours taught you better than we thought,” Denise added. “We’ll deal with her later.”
“You’ve gotten her into a lot of trouble,” Pete said.
“And yourself,” Vannie added.
“I’ve messed around with you and your kind long enough,” Denise snarled. “I don’t ever want to see you over here on the Point again. Or in Verecunda city either. You stay in the sticks where you belong. If you don’t, we’ll turn the ‘dogs’ on you and you’ll be spitting out jungle bunnies faster than you can get to the hospital. You understand me?”
“Yes, I do,” Carla said. Her voice was cracking; she hadn’t been this frightened in a long time, not even by her own school authorities.
“Then get out of here,” Pete added. “Now.” They cleared a path and Carla sped through it, getting into her truck, starting it, and making her way out of the Club property as fast as she could. The foursome watched her until they could see her no more, then they burst out into hard laughter, doubling over.
“You see her face? She was scared to death,” Pete said, struggling to get his words out between his guffaws.
“Denise? Why can’t you just get your father to arrest her on some charge, like he does with other people,” Vannie asked.
“He won’t do it to her,” Denise replied, no longer in stitches. “I already asked him.”
Carla was in a hurry to get off of the Point. As she crossed the Dahlia Bridge, she felt her left rear tyre go further and further down. She pulled off as far as she could in the right lane next to the side walk.
The Dahlia Bridge was the absolutely worst place in the country to get a flat tyre, with no shoulders to pull into. As the cars whizzed by, dodging the stranded truck, Carla struggled to dodge the cars and take a look at her wounded tyre. She then wrestled the spare and jack out from under the bed so she could switch them out and get going again.
Falling faster than the fortunes of her vehicle were her spirits. When she left Marlowe’s, she was on top of the world: even a Point Collina parent acknowledged her achievement. Now she ran like a scalded dog, threatened by someone with the pull to make her horrible threats—and worse—stick. She was stranded in the worst possible place, struggling with the equipment she had and the fright she felt. Tears were welling up in her eyes; she just wanted to stop and have a good cry in front of the entire nation.
As she was just about to put the jack in place and start lifting up the truck, she turned around and noticed a Toyota Crown pulling up behind her. The car was a Japanese domestic model with right hand drive, which was convenient since the driver could open up and step out onto the side walk rather than the roadway, as she had done. A young black man emerged from the car and started walking towards her.
Her spirits dropped like they had been thrown off of the bridge. Denise’s threats looked all too real; Carla saw herself trapped in the maternity ward as he came closer, a feeling only augmented by the fact that he had a big smile on his face. Carla straightened herself up in front of the tailgate, bracing herself for the worst. But then the young man stopped just in front of his bumper.
“Are you Carla Stanley?” he asked.
“Yes, I am,” she answered, now really worried when she found out he knew who she was. He walked closer until he was next to her.
“I remember you from the Beran Invitational tennis tournament,” he said. “I am James Bennett. I go to Point Collina. You are having trouble?”
“Flat tyre,” Carla said. “I’ll be okay, I can fix it. I’ve done it before.”
“Allow me,” he said. “Please.” Carla first stood her ground, but then she stepped aside and allowed James to replace the tyre and put the blown one in the bed to save time. He refused all further offers on her part to assist.
“Let’s have a look at this to see what’s wrong,” he said as he leaned over the old tyre. He rotated it about until he spotted something. “Looks like someone stuck a knife or something in here,” he said, pointing at the cut in the tread. “Made a slow leak.” He turned to Carla. “Someone doesn’t like you.”
“It’s Denise Kendall,” Carla admitted. “I beat her at tennis yesterday. But please don’t let that get back to her. I’m in enough trouble.”
“I won’t,” he said. “The Island is a difficult place.” He looked over at the tyre he had just installed. “Your spare is not in the best condition. You should replace it when you can.”
“I guess I’m going to the right place—I’m trying to get over to Verecunda to see Madeleine des Cieux.”
James smiled. “You will be in good hands. By the way, you are a Christian, aren’t you?”
“Yeah, I am,” she replied, almost afraid to admit it but knowing it was the right thing to do.
“Christians need to stick together on the Island,” James answered. “The devil is loose these days. We need to understand that there are more important things than the colour of our skin. We will be praying for you.”
“Thanks,” Carla said. James turned around and got back in his car. He pulled out first, and as he passed around her, he waved. As his car moved forward, Carla could see the Aloxan diplomatic plate on the rear bumper. She got back into the truck, made her away across the bridge and, turning right, came into Madeleine’s neighbourhood.
The Evan Point district was one of Verecunda’s oldest residential areas. It was the place where Verecunda’s most prominent people lived from the beginning of the Republic until the 1930’s, when they began to relocate across the bay to Point Collina. Most of the frame houses that graced the neighbourhood in the Victorian Era had been reduced to scrap lumber by the hurricanes and various forms of rot the subtropics are expert at nurturing. The des Cieux house was a two-storey sky blue CBS house which was so close to the road that Carla had a little of her truck hang out in the street when she pulled up into the driveway against the garage doors.
She got out and went up to the front door, and rang the doorbell. Madeleine answered the door and opened it.
“You found the house fine?” Madeleine asked.
“No problem,” Carla replied. “Where are your parents?”
“They are out.” Madeleine paused and looked Carla over, including the various grease and dirt stains on her shirt and hands. “What have you been doing?” she finally asked.
“First, I had to install some spark plugs in a mower over at the Resort and Club,” Carla began. “Then, I had a flat tyre on the bridge. But it’s okay now.”
“You have been crying,” Madeleine said, looking at her eyes. Carla had known Madeleine long enough to know her pattern: when she first encountered you, no matter how long she’d known you, she tended to be cold and formal, then warmed up. Carla could feel the that transition happen more quickly than she had ever felt it before.
“I saw Denise at the Club,” Carla admitted. “She threatened me with. . .with. . .having me raped if I ever came back to the Point or Verecunda city again. And one of them. . .”
“One of them?” Madeleine pressed.
“She was with one other girl and two guys—they’re all on your tennis teams—and one of them must have stuck a knife in my tyre, as it went flat on the bridge. I was going to pieces, but James Bennett came along and fixed it.”
“So your white knight in shining armour was a black guy in a Toyota,” Madeleine said.
“Yeah,” Carla agreed, now amused at the thought.
“James is very nice. Papa says he is a minister in his church, but he doesn’t say anything about it at school. I think his church is something like yours.”
“Well. . .sort of, but not really,” Carla admitted. Madeleine was mystified by that comeback.
“Come on up to my room,” Madeleine invited her. They ascended the stairs. Carla couldn’t get out of her mind the amazement that, as long as they had known each other and as much time as they had spent together on the court, they had not visited each other’s house until very recently. She wasn’t sure what to expect Madeleine’s room to look like, as her friend was so different from anyone else she had ever known. She was pretty sure that Madeleine’s dcor wouldn’t be as “competitive” as hers was.
She was right in that regard. As she walked in the room, she stopped, mouth open, at what presented itself to her. Bears! They were everywhere, on every shelf and table top: stuffed bears, ceramic bears, bear motif items, modern bears, even a Soviet bear or two. Carla was almost too speechless to ask what some of them meant, but Madeleine gave some explanation as to the ones she found more special than others.
“I know you must think this is silly, for someone about to go to university to surround herself with such things,” Madeleine said apologetically.
“Now I know what I really like about you,” Carla replied. “You’re still a kid. That is precious, Madeleine, especially the way things are going now. The Bible says, ‘Verily I say unto you, Whosoever shall not receive the kingdom of God as a little child shall in no wise enter therein.’ That’s the way we get into heaven—we come as a child.”
“Then I must be in a very good state of grace,” Madeleine said. Carla kept looking around; she spotted a white Bible on her desk, which she had given Madeleine last year.
“Do you get a chance to read that?” Carla asked.
“Sometimes,” Madeleine replied. “It is very difficult—the English is very old, and hard to understand.”
“Sorry,” Carla apologised. “It’s all we use in our church. Some people say about the King James that, ‘if it was good enough for Paul, it’s good enough for me.’”
Madeleine giggled at that remark. “You don’t believe that, do you?”
“Of course not,” Carla replied.
“However, since my illness, I have found myself reading things that I had not considered in a long time.” She picked up a folio-size beige paperback book and handed it to Carla. “Papa used to read this to me, especially around the time of my First Communion.”
Carla looked at it intently. Madeleine had helped her with her French, but foreign languages weren’t her forté. “Meditations on the Gospel?” she finally made out.
“Yes,” Madeleine replied. “It is what you would call a ‘Bible study’ on the Gospels. So, when Bossuet is discussing a certain passage, I must read that part as well. But I usually do it using this Bible,” she said, handing Carla another book. That was obviously a French Bible. “A friend gave it to me when we lived in Canada. He ordered it specially for me. But it is a Protestant version, so I really didn’t want to read it. However, since I have known you, I am not so much afraid of Protestants any more.”
Carla’s heart rate took a step up at that remark. She remembered her parents’ admonition but couldn’t find it in her to pursue it just then. “Madeleine, I’ve never had a Catholic friend before either. Now, with the way things are going, I do well to have any friend. I’ve glad I’ve got you.”
“It is very hard now,” Madeleine agreed. “But you were not what I expected. You are so full of life, so willing to plunge into things such as sports and fixing things like your truck. And yet it is very obvious that God is your companion, someone you can talk to and receive strength from. I have never seen that before.”
“Madeleine, can I ask a stupid question?”
“I only hope my answer will not be stupid.”
“When you pray—when you prayed for Terry, when you prayed for the Yedd girl, how do you pray?”
“What do you mean?”
“Well. . .do you pray in the name of Jesus? Or a saint? Or what? I’m not trying to be smart; I just don’t understand your church.”
“I first start out by making the sign of the Cross and invoking the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. It is my Catholic method. After this, I pray in the name of Jesus Christ, because none of the saints have the merit of Jesus Christ, and I want to attach myself to him with all my heart and he to me with a firm and living faith. That is what I see in you, is it not?”
Carla could barely catch her breath. The statement she had been looking for was suddenly out, and she was totally unprepared for it. She felt that, if she said the wrong thing in response, she would hurt her friend, so she said nothing.
“Is there something wrong?” Madeleine asked, mystified by her friend’s silence. “Oh, yes, and when I pray for you every Friday, I light a candle at St. Sebastian’s.”
“St. Sebastian’s?”
“After school,” Madeleine explained. “Since I am no longer on the team, from the start of the season I have gone to St. Sebastian’s to pray for you to win. I light a candle and pray, but not to the Blessed Virgin now, you need the highest power.”
Carla looked at her friend in amazement. “That’s why I haven’t lost this season,” she said. “You’re too much.” She looked over at her desk again; next to the Bible was a photo of a younger Madeleine in a very colourful djellaba that covered her from head to toe.
“Is that you?” Carla asked. “You look like you’re in our church’s Christmas play.”
“We were living in Morocco at the time,” Madeleine explained. “My Moroccan friends and their parents put me up to it. They though it was amusing that a French girl would dress like one of them.”
“Now, I get lost—where all have you lived, Madeleine?”
Madeleine was the one who had to think things out now. “Let me start from the beginning. When I was born, we were living in what is now South Vietnam.”
“I have a cousin who’s over there now,” Carla said. “He’s in the American army. He was drafted.”
“It seems that this place has not been good for France or the U.S.,” Madeleine observed. “We returned to France shortly after I was baptised. When I was five, we moved to Morocco. It was my favourite place to live. I enjoyed the climate, and the people were very kind. They were almost all Muslims, and their religion is in some way like yours—austere, and of course they are forbidden to drink alcohol. When I left, one of my friends—whose father was a prominent imam—gave me this,” and she showed her a green book with Arabic writing on it.
“What is it?” Carla asked.
“It is a copy of the Qur’an,” Madeleine replied. “It is the holy book of the Muslims.”
“Can you read it?”
“My Arabic isn’t what it used to be, but yes, I can. It is a very difficult book to understand. I got to use my Arabic last year when a representative from the Palestine Liberation Organisation visited our school. He found me hard to follow, because the Arabic spoken in Morocco is different from that in Palestine, especially with a French accent.”
“Kind of like my sister-in-law from Georgia,” Carla noted.
“To some extent,” Madeleine replied with a smile. “After that, we moved to Canada, to Calgary, Alberta. That is where I learned to speak English properly. But Calgary is very cold, and I did not like the climate. After that we moved to South Carolina in the United States for one year. We lived in the same town you are going to university at, but I went away to school in Charleston. It is a very nice city, and of course much warmer than Canada. Finally we came here, but by that time we decided that it was better for Raymond to go away to school, so I stayed at Point Collina.”
“Wow,” Carla said. “I’ve always been impressed with the way you’ve moved all over the world.”
“But it is difficult to keep your friends when moving,” Madeleine observed. “Only my Moroccan friends write me any more. Some of them are going to France to university, so I may be able to see them when I am in Belgium.”
“Sorry this country hasn’t worked out any better for you than it has,” Carla said apologetically.
“I don’t understand it,” Madeleine confessed. “They want to be so progressive, so left-wing, but someone comes to them with some real experience in the world, they don’t know what to do with them, and waste their time trying to mould them to their own idea. That is why I like you—you are yourself, you are not trying to be someone else. You have your life and you have your beliefs and you live them. And,” Madeleine added, “I have never seen anyone whose tennis game has improved with less instruction and less time than yours.”
“Thanks,” Carla replied.
“Oh, there is something I would like to show you.” Madeleine got up and opened her closet, and pulled out a little some very interesting outfits, including a Moroccan one similar to the one in the photo. “These are the outfits that I wear to help teach the children French. They come from all over the Francophone world. I must confess that I enjoy wearing them as much as the children like seeing me in them.”
Carla was wide-eyed at the fashion in front of her. “Don’t we wear the same size?” Carla asked excitedly.
“As a practical matter, yes,” Madeleine replied.
“Can I try them on to see how I look?”
“Of course.” Carla started to undress, but stopped. She looked at her hands and arms.
“I’m too dirty to get into those,” Carla said sadly.
“Then you must take a shower first,” Madeleine declared. Carla had the reputation at Hallett Comprehensive of being the girl who could get ready for a date the fastest, and she showed that speed at the des Cieux house. It was no time before she was trying on Madeleine’s clothes, looking at herself in the full-length mirror, and both of them laughing the afternoon away.
Carla finally got to the pièce de resistance—Madeleine’s djellaba. As she adjusted the hood, the girls suddenly realised they had an audience. They looked over towards the doorway to see Pierre and Yveline standing, almost as astonished as Carla was when she first came into the room.
“This will be impossible to explain,” Pierre observed. “A Uranan Baptist girl visits a French Catholic one and ends up a Muslim.”
“We were just having fun, Papa,” was Madeleine’s excuse.
“Of course,” Pierre replied. “Welcome to our home, Carla. Did I notice that you were using the spare tyre on your truck?”
“Had a flat on the Dahlia Bridge,” Carla admitted.
“We think it was sabotage,” Madeleine said.
“After yesterday, I’m not surprised, especially since you were presumably on the Point.” He thought for a second, then looked at his watch. “I have an idea. It is 1640. Why don’t you go to Mass together, so that Madeleine can return the favour of being taken to your church. While you are doing that, we will prepare some French food that is unobtainable elsewhere in this country.”
“I need to let my parents know where I am,” Carla said. “I’ve lost track of time—they’re probably worried about me.”
“I will take care of that,” Pierre assured her. “You and Madeleine just get to Mass and back. We will do the rest.”
The girls took their cue. Carla got into one of Madeleine’s more conventional outfits and before they knew it they were in Madeleine’s Dyane.
“We could go to St. Sebastian’s on the Point,” Madeleine said. “It’s a lot prettier than the Cathedral.”
“I’m not ready to go back to the Point,” Carla said.
“Perhaps I am not either,” Madeleine agreed, and with that they made a left turn and went up to the Cathedral for Mass.
Mass was as mystifying of a business for Carla as Baptist church was for Madeleine. With all of the motions and the liturgical details, Carla was lost, although Madeleine attempted to keep Carla informed as to what was going on. Finally, when the ushers came to summon the faithful in their pew row to receive the bread of life, Madeleine stayed put.
“Why aren’t you going?” Carla asked.
“So you won’t feel so left out,” Madeleine whispered back.
“Go on—it’s your church,” Carla came back. Madeleine got up, received the Host, and returned.
It was all done in a little less than an hour. Madeleine made a special effort to formally introduce Carla to the celebrant, Father Moore, and this took a little time since he disappeared behind the altar for a bit after Mass.
“You’re the young lady who stayed with Madeleine when she was in the hospital,” Moore said, recognising Carla.
“I couldn’t let her be alone,” Carla replied.
“Perhaps you are trying to make a Baptist out of her?” Moore suggested.
“She doesn’t need more assistance in this regard,” Madeleine snapped. She nudged her friend and they walked away.
“What was that all about?” Carla asked, angry and buffaloed at the same time. “I’ve never tried to make you join my church.”
“Of course not,” Madeleine replied. “It is the business of the miracles. Papa has already had an encounter with the Bishop over this.”
“I thought your church believed in miracles.”
“It does—when they find them helpful.”
“Can I ask another dumb question?”
“Your ‘dumb questions’ are usually the best ones,” Madeleine observed.
“Madeleine, what do you get out of this? We came here. We went through a ritual. Hardly anyone spoke to us or each other. They stampeded to the door at the end. Finally your priest insulted me—really the both of us. Why do you stick it out?”
Madeleine thought for a second. “How often do you have communion at your church?”
“One a month. . .when we’re lucky.”
“And what is communion in your church?”
“It’s an ordinance. A memorial.”
“Precisely my point. When Jesus Christ instituted the Eucharist at the Last Supper, he did so to enable us to partake of his own Body and Blood—Body, actually—at the Mass. For Jesus Christ is the Bread of Life, and as the song they sang says, if we do not, how can we have life in us? But for those of us who do, we can have eternal life, and he will resurrect us on the last day.”
Carla’s Bible memorisation put her at a disadvantage “I wish the last day would hurry up,” she finally replied.
“But first we must hurry up and get home for our dinner,” Madeleine said. They got back into the Dyane and soon were coming up Madeleine’s street. Carla immediately noticed that the driveway was empty.
“Where’s the truck?” Carla asked, a little panicky.
“Let’s go in and find out,” said Madeleine matter-of-factly. They did just that; Yveline was by herself in the kitchen.
“Where is Papa?” Madeleine asked.
“He took Carla’s truck to his office.”
“Why?” Carla asked.
“To change the tyres,” Yveline replied. “Pierre said the spare didn’t look good, and that the others didn’t look much better.”
“It’s been a while since they’ve been changed,” Carla said. “But we can’t afford to replace them now.”
“I don’t think that will be a problem,” Yveline said. Carla gave Madeleine a puzzled look and got a blank one back.
“In the meanwhile, I need to aid Maman,” Madeleine declared.
“I’ll help too,” Carla joined in. “Wait—did you call my parents?”
“Pierre did,” Yveline said. “They became very worried when he told them what had happened to you. They are coming down now to make sure you are all right and to help you get home.”
“I guess I won’t be staying for dinner, then,” Carla sighed.
“Of course you will,” Yveline corrected her. “He invited them to join us. We will set two additional places.”
It wasn’t long before Pierre pulled the truck into the driveway. Somehow Pierre and the truck didn’t befit each other; both of the girls had a hard time not to laugh as he made the long journey down from the driver’s seat and towards the door.
“Your tyres have been replaced, Mademoiselle Stanley,” he said, taking off his straw hat and bowing to her half in jest. “That includes the spare.”
“You changed them yourself?” Carla asked.
“I asked Luke to come in and help me. He made a special trip.”
“How much do we owe you?”
“Owe us? How much do we owe you for being Madeleine’s only friend on the Island?”
“Only friend?” Carla asked in shock, turning to Madeleine. “Surely you have more than just me.”
“It is hard to admit,” Madeleine said, “but it is true. Especially after my illness.”
“Such a relationship, it is difficult to put a price on it,” Pierre observed. “We make a stronger distinction than you between mere acquaintances and real friends.” They heard an estate car lumbering down the street. It parked along the street; the Stanleys’ bounded from it, and their reunion with their daughter was tearful and joyous.
Pierre managed to get everyone into the house; Yveline was just about ready. Pierre and Pete went to the study to chat while Madeleine gave Alice and Carla a quick tour of the house, bear collection included. By the time that was done, Yveline was ready. They sat down; it was a crowd but they managed to get everyone in.
“Would you like to bless our meal this evening, Carla?” Pierre asked.
“Yes,” she replied. But that was about as far as it got. As soon as she bowed her head, she broke down in tears, which meant that Madeleine and Alice followed suit. It was left to Pete Stanley, as soon as the sobbing subsided, to pray a really nice prayer for the food and for the safety that God had extended to Carla on the Point.
The Stanley’s were duly impressed with the cuisine at the des Cieux house, even though they did not partake of the wine. But there were other matters to attend to.
“Your home is very nice,” Alice said.
“Thank you—we don’t have many visitors, so it is not as organised as one would like,” Yveline said apologetically.
“Well, at least the young lady of the house has a feminine place to stay,” Alice said.
“Mother!” Carla snapped defensively.
“It worries me,” Alice continued. “What Christian man will marry such a competitive tomboy?”
“One that wants to spend his life with a winner,” Yveline replied matter-of-factly. Carla lightened up at that remark.
“It’s my fault to a great degree,” Pete admitted. “I took her to the store. She liked the work. I had run out of sons, so she just picked up where they left off. Like all my children, she did the work. My customers liked her. Then she got into soccer and tennis, and now her room is a trophy case.”
“The world has changed,” Pierre observed. “Your daughter is attractive and has a pleasing personality. I wouldn’t worry if I were you two.”
“I hope you are right,” Alice sighed. “And what of Madeleine? Carla tells me she is thinking about becoming a nun or something.”
“It is not so final,” Madeleine said.
“I think I’ve talked her out of it,” Carla said, to everyone’s laughter.
The evening went on in this way for some time. But it came to an end at last. Carla changed back in her own clothes—which the des Cieux had washed—and the Stanleys left with their hosts watching them go down the street and not going back in until they turned left on Central Avenue to head home.
“I have been in business for a long time,” Pierre said as he eased into his arm chair, “and have entertained at many excellent places, but I don’t think I ever had dinner with a client I enjoyed more.”
“They are more than clients,” Yveline said.
Carla and Alice rode in the estate car as Pete drove the truck behind them. They worked their way down Central Avenue, with all of its traffic lights, all the way through Verecunda city and North Verecunda. As they got away from the two cities, the road narrowed to two lanes and the view around them darkened into the rural vista of Uranus. The only lights were from farmhouses with their security lights and the waxing crescent moon setting on their left.
The road curved from north-west to north-east. The only places open in Uranus town were the bars on each edge; some of the cruisers were out as well. The rural darkness returned until they reached North Hallett, where there was less activity than in Uranus town. They turned right and headed seaward until they reached their own driveway and the lights of their own home.

Jack’s fall from grace with Denise meant that he was also off of the “head table” with her and her friends. He chose to hang out more and more with Brent Murchison. Their fathers were law partners, and their sons got along, whether they were doing well or behaving badly.
Jack was especially unconversational as they sat in the cafeteria. He sat staring at Denise and her court over in the corner.
“You’re still bummed out over her ditching you?” Brent asked, tired of talking to the wall.
“Yeah,” Jack replied blankly. He finally came back to earth a little bit. “Today’s her birthday. She’s having a big party tonight over at Pete Alter’s house. You know, it’s on the beach, and his old man and lady are off the Island.”
“We’ve got that match with the hayseeds tomorrow,” Brent noted. “She’s got to play that Carla Stanley.”
“She doesn’t think that Stanley can beat her,” Jack observed. “Besides, for Denise, when it’s time to have a party, it’s time to have a party. Why wait?”
“Guess so,” Brent shrugged. “Hey, speaking of Stanley, you and Maddy are spending a lot of time in the hall together. Anything going?”
“Not really. We just get thrown out of class a lot together.”
“I thought so. Guys say to me, ‘Why is he messing with her? He knows she won’t go all the way.’”
“She’s different. . .” Jack said.
“They’re all the same,” Brent casually observed. “Look at Alicia Decker.”
“Robbing the cradle,” Jack said, laughing.
“It was easy,” Brent replied. “Since it was the first time for her, she didn’t know what was coming. First, I took her out. Then, I got her drunk. Next, we went to the beach. As they say, the rest is history.”
“Maddy wouldn’t be that easy, and you know it. She’s no weenie, either.”
“You want her. You know it. Admit it.”
“Okay, I admit it. . .”
“But you’re scared of her.”
“No, I’m not!”
“Yes, you are. You’re scared she’ll say no.”
“Am not!”
“Then just ask her out! Forget about the rest. I dare you!” There was another long silence.
“I can’t,” Jack confessed.
“You’re a chicken.”
“She works miracles,” Jack finally observed. “What happens if she gets mad at me and turns me into a frog?”
“Hadn’t thought about that,” Brent admitted. “You could just hop away. Maybe she’ll kiss you and you’ll turn into a prince. That would be an improvement.”
“That’s great,” Jack retorted sarcastically.
“You know I dated her once last year.”
“You didn’t tell me.”
“It didn’t work out.”
“Why not?”
“‘Cause talking with her is like playing tennis with her,” Brent replied. “The minute you think you’ve got her put away, she lobs one behind you and you’re back to deuce.”
“And then you can hear in the background, ‘Advantage, Mademoiselle des Cieux.’” Jack added. They both burst out laughing—until they felt a soft presence standing in front of them. They looked up and saw Madeleine, holding her books and staring a hole in them.
“I heard my name being called,” she said.
“Oh, we were just talking about what a great tennis player you are—or were—or will be after you’re better,” Brent stammered.
“I visited the doctor yesterday,” she announced. “He is very happy with my progress. He said I could start playing tennis again, although he could not promise how high on the ladder I might go.”
“So you’re going back on the team?” Jack asked.
“After what I have been through, including the fracas over the healing of Carol Yedd, I hardly think so.”
“Too bad you can’t play on our team,” Brent said. “We could use all the miracles we can get.”
Madeleine smiled at the thought. “It is very sad,” she said. “You guys could use a miracle.” She turned and walked out of the cafeteria. The guys couldn’t help but notice that she strutted away like she was on the runway at a Paris fashion show.
“Maybe she is different. . .” Brent mused.
“I hope that Stanley wipes Denise’s butt all over the court tomorrow,” Jack said.
“You know,” Brent added, “so do I.”

Pierre’s optimism was justified the next day when they received a five page letter from the Ministry of the Environment. While expressing deep concern at the situation of the scrap tyres, they expressed understanding with the company’s present situation and committed themselves to work with them for a better environment in Verecunda.
“Are we okay?” Claudia asked him after he read the letter.
“For the moment,” Pierre replied. “They will be back. But it will be more reasonable then.”
Pierre was glad to see a happier situation emerge as he went home in the afternoon to pick up Yveline and make their 1500 meeting with the Minister of Education. They arrived at the Ministry, which was ensconced in the large, Stalinesque government complex. They were surprised to see Marguerite Seignet there also.
“It seems they are even sending the faculty to the office,” Pierre observed.
“They do not like me to reveal the obvious,” she replied. They waited another ten minutes, and then were ushered into the Minister’s office.
Minister of Education Ole Paulsen looked the part: tweed jacket, pants too short, untidy, decidedly ugly plastic rimmed glasses, and wavy salt and pepper hair parted in a sawtooth pattern on his head. He had been promoted from being Point Collina’s old Headmaster as much for political reasons as any; he had been a founding member of the Committee for Personal Liberty. With him was his deputy, Maureen Becker, resplendent in newly fashionable hot pants, and the current Headmaster Bartow.
The three French people sat down. As was the custom with Kendall Administration bureaucrats, there was no coffee service or any other kind of hospitality offered. Pierre replied by using Paulsen’s pen and pencil set as a hat rack and requiring several attempts to light up his pipe.
“So, I get to see a little bit of France on the Island,” Paulsen began, waving the pipe smoke out of his face. “It is delightful. It enriches our culture.”
“We hope that it is as delightful for us as it is for you,” Pierre observed.
“Well, yes,” Paulsen said. “So, to the matter at hand: it seems that we have something of a crisis here with your daughter, Madeleine des Cieux, is that correct?”
“Yes, sir, it is,” Becker agreed, Bartow nodded his assent too.
“A crisis for whom?” Pierre asked.
“That’s what we want to talk about,” Paulsen replied. “It seems that both she and you have been unresponsive to the admonitions of her headmaster.”
“I understand that even your church has attempted to reason with you,” Bartow threw in.
“I doubt that the Bishop was doing this for the greater glory of God,” Pierre dryly noted.
“That’s none of our concern,” Becker snapped. “I think it’s time to get to the real point.”
“The point being, Mr. des Cieux, that we need to decide if Miss des Cieux will remain a student in the schools of the Republic of Verecunda,” Paulsen added without interruption.
“I can’t see the French university. . .” Becker started.
“Belgian,” Pierre corrected her. “Université Catholique de Louvain.”
“Thank you, Belgian university, admitting her without a proper secondary school diploma. Besides, if she is expelled from our school system, she must leave the country.”
The room fell silent at this naked threat. Pierre looked at both his wife and Madame Seignet, then turned back to face the Verecundans.
“I hate to disabuse you of your fantasy, but there are many other alternatives for Madeleine outside of this very small country.”
“Such as?” Becker asked.
“Let’s start with the Island,” Pierre said. “We could send her to Collina and she could attend Collina Comprehensive.”
“We have a working relationship with their education department,” Paulsen informed them. “We have the means in place to prevent this kind of circumvention of our system. Besides, she cannot hold a Verecundan student visa and attend a Collinan school, previous arrangements notwithstanding.”
“Then there is the option of Aloxan schools; Madeleine told me that the Beran-Williamstown school has a very nice campus, she could live as an exchange student.” The mention of an Aloxan school was a show stopper; Becker especially showed her shock.
“You can’t be serious about that!” Bartow said.
“And, of course, there are other possibilities: St. Matthew’s in Serelia, Alemara Central, where she could be near her brother, even Vidamera Masonic, since you prefer an anti-Christian influence in her life,” Pierre continued.
“This is ridiculous,” Bartow sneered. “This country has the best schools on the Island.”
“At this point, she needs a diploma more than an education,” Pierre said. “I think the UCL will be understanding under the circumstances.”
“But the best option for her would be if she returned to France,” Seignet added. “She could return, live with her relatives while finishing school and pass her baccalaureat. It may take an additional year, but with her intellect she could go to the École Nationale d’Administration or Polytéchnique, and then have a very nice career in the government, dealing with problems such as this.”
“And, you see how effective that can be,” Pierre noted.
“We have heard about that,” Paulsen admitted sourly.
“Madeleine and I have discussed the last option,” Seignet admitted. “She is not happy about it, but this whole affair has forced her to consider many things.”
“And that leads us to our next problem,” Bartow said. “You have been passing her confidential faculty material. This is grounds for your termination.”
“The memorandum you are thinking about was not marked as such,” Seignet noted.
“Since the school has such a strong position on the subject of Madeleine, it should not have to hide it,” Pierre said.
“It is not your right to interfere in faculty disciplinary matters!” Bartow exclaimed, pounding his fist on Pausen’s desk so hard that it almost overturned his own hot tea.
“We need to stop this nit-picking immediately!” Paulsen said.
“So let’s get to the point,” Pierre said.
“Which is?” Becker asked.
“The point is this: we now all know that Madeleine has alternatives to complete her secondary education. As her father, I need for you to either drop your threats to expel her over this matter immediately or I will proceed with one of these alternatives and take her out of Point Collina at once, even if it means dealing with her residency. So what is your decision in this matter?”
The Verecundans were obviously unprepared for Pierre’s “calling of the bluff.” They sat in silence, looking at each other.
“We will not be threatened in this way,” Paulsen said. “Besides, we could cost your company a lot of money by purchasing our tyres elsewhere.”
“The Ministry of Education is currently past due on those which it has purchased,” Pierre noted. “I decided when this affair started that I would take the business consequences as they came. However, as the Americans would say, product unpaid is product unsold.”
“I don’t think that the school can legitimately expel Madeleine,” Seignet noted.
“And why not?” Bartow asked angrily.
“What regulation or law allows you to expel a student for performing a miracle?”
“She has been disruptive!” Bartow said.
“She has not been disruptive,” Seignet resumed. “You have. You know that I am not a Christian. I do not agree with Madeleine on many things. But she has not forced this issue on the school. You have forced it on her and everyone else involved. The more you press the issue, the more credibility you give her claim that it is a miracle from God, and the stupider you look in front of the rest of the world. The Yedd girl is transferring to Dillman-Arnold. It is best for her; why can’t you leave it at that? And, as far as terminating me, I can assure you that my trade union will vigorously contest this, which will only detract further from your reputation as a progressive social democracy.”
“I told you that you would regret allowing the union into Point Collina,” Bartow told Paulsen.
“It’s done,” Paulsen replied. “There’s no sense in crying over spilt milk.” He thought further. Even Becker wasn’t sure what to say.
“I think that Madame Seignet may be the voice of wisdom here,” Paulsen finally admitted. He looked at Pierre. “I would seriously admonish you not to allow your daughter to make further comment on this for the rest of the school year.” He turned to Seignet. “I can assure you that Headmaster Bartow will more carefully mark his memoranda for confidentiality, and since he will do this, you will be in serious trouble if you divulge this kind of information again to a student for any reason.”
“So are we in agreement?” Becker asked.
“We are,” Pierre said.
“Most certainly,” Seignet agreed.
“We will draw up a protocol for your signature later this week,” Becker assured them.
“This meeting is at an end,” Paulsen announced with relief. The French got up out of their chairs, and Pierre returned his hat to its usual rack, his head. They walked out of the room and the building into the central courtyard of the government complex.
“Do you think that this will really settle things?” Yveline asked, hoping that one of them would answer.
“We are only a little over four months to graduation,” Pierre said. “As long as things hold, we are fine. After that, Madeleine will go to Belgium and we can all forget about it.”
“I will not forget!” Yveline said. “It has been too painful. I wish sometimes I were going with her.”
“This business has proven one thing to me,” Seignet observed. “The Anglo-Saxons are incapable of a rational, secular state. They cannot sustain one. They will have some kind of creed one way or another.”
Pierre puffed his pipe, the smoke taking flight in the wind. He then took the pipe out of his mouth. “At the end of Madeleine’s favourite children’s book, there is the saying that ‘There is no great beast whose love is not successful.’ Perhaps we have met with our first failure today.” Seignet smiled in amusement; she had heard Madeleine read it many times to the children. Pierre looked at this watch. “I must be getting back to the office. All of this has wasted too much time.”
The des Cieux got into their car and took Seignet to the bus stop, where she could return to her home in the University district. They went on to the office; Yveline let Pierre out and went on. Madeleine was already there. Pierre walked in to find Madeleine, Claudia and Carol Yedd, and the receptionist playing Mille Bornes. Pierre had some specially stamped copies of the game as giveaways for some of his clients (especially in Uranus,) and one of these was kept in the office. Carol knew how to play it blind, and now with sight she had more fun with it.
“Should we stop, Monsieur des Cieux,” Claudia asked, worried.
“Finish your game,” Pierre said, amused.
“How did the meeting conclude, Papa?” Madeleine asked.
“Splendidly, ma plus chérie,” he replied smiling. Madeleine smiled back and resumed the game.

Bell unexpectedly ended his class a few minutes early, but he tipped his hand when he said, “I would like to see Mr. Arnold and Miss des Cieux after class.” Denise smiled as she left, leaving Madeleine and Jack to go up to the front desk.
“Do you understand why I threw you out of class last Wednesday?” Bell asked Jack.
He thought a second. “I guess nobody likes a smart ass,” he replied. Madeleine had to restrain her own laughter at that.
“That’s one way to put it,” Bell replied. “And you?” he asked, turning to Madeleine.
“It is obvious that I have done something that is unacceptable to the school and to the government.” Her own embarrassment did now allow her to include her church in the list.
“That is also one way to put it,” Bell responded. “But this is a serious matter. I do not think that it is something to make light of. As far as I am informed, both of you have been accepted into prestigious universities, provided you successfully finish your curriculum here. Both of you—especially you, Mr. Arnold—will represent this school and this Republic where you go. It is impossible to have a place in the world we live in when you are doing and sympathising with things that are straight out of the Middle Ages.”
“And this position is mandatory for the faculty?” Madeleine interrupted.
“You weren’t supposed to see that memo,” Bell responded, a bit panicked. “Did you steal this memorandum?”
“It’s wasn’t necessary,” Madeleine replied.
“No, I guess it wasn’t,” Bell realised.
“Is that all?” Jack asked, tired of standing there.
“Yes, it is,” Bell answered, and with that they left. The bell rang as they entered the hallway so they moved on to their next class.

0930 Monday came at Pierre’s warehouse, and Cynthia Drummond was nowhere to be found. As the morning went on, the staff become more and more puzzled as they went about their business. Finally about 1430, as Pierre returned from lunch with a client in Uranus, he noticed a government truck in the warehouse.
“So they have finally decided to honour us with their presence,” Pierre said to Luke as the warehouse man loaded the truck.
“Government motor pool services,” Luke informed him. “They’re replacing the tyres on the Ministry of the Environment’s vehicles. They were missing a few sizes so they stopped by here to pick them up.”
“No sign of Madame Drummond?”
“None.”
“Good. Make sure they’re properly invoiced,” Pierre reminded Luke as he returned to his office.