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Madeleine’s first period class was Political Science, a one semester adventure taught by a young Brown graduate born and raised in Collina named William Bell. About half way through the class, the Headmaster’s secretary crept in, came up the side of the classroom, handed Bell a note, and left as quickly as she came. He read it, looked at Madeleine, and said, “Miss des Cieux?”
“Yes, sir?” she replied.
“The Headmaster needs to see you now.”
“Immediately?”
“Yes.”
Madeleine piled her books together, eased up from her desk, and almost slinked out of class, her face turning red. All eyes were on her as she opened the door and walked out into the hallway.
“You behind this too?” Vannie whispered to Denise as she opened the door.
“Of course—you don’t think beating University was the only victory I had, do you?”
Madeleine went down the hall and stairs to the Headmaster’s office. The secretary was at her desk, and ushered her into his office.
Point Collina’s Headmaster was another American, Thomas Bartow. In his mid-fifties with short grey hair and well tanned, the school was his first position outside the U.S. after several successful prep schools in the North-east.
“You wanted to see me?” Madeleine asked.
“Yes, I did,” Bartow replied. “Please sit down.” She complied with his request. “I understand that you—and your father as well—are interfering in the academic affairs of another child.”
“I don’t understand,” Madeleine replied with a puzzled look.
“I think you do,” Bartow rebutted. “I received a phone call this morning from the Ministry of Education about Miss Carol Yedd. I understand that, as a result of your actions, she is in difficulty with the Verecundan School for the Blind and Deaf.”
“Difficulty? She no longer needs this school,” Madeleine observed.
“That is not for you to decide, Miss des Cieux,” Bartow insisted. “One would think that the curriculum of this institution is sufficiently difficult not to take on the problems of another person whose condition you know nothing about.”
“My father’s company is concerned with the welfare of its employees,” Madeleine replied. “It hired Carol’s mother at a time when it was very difficult for an unmarried mother to obtain employment in this country. Papa and his predecessor have made many accommodations so that Miss Yedd can properly take care of her daughter’s condition.”
“That’s very commendable,” Bartow agreed, “but it wasn’t an employee of the company that precipitated this crisis. It was you.”
“I did not know that restoring her sight was a crisis.”
“It has created serious dislocations in her educational process,” Bartow asserted. “And, of course, we don’t know whether her change of condition is permanent.”
“Which is why the Dillman-Arnold School agreed to take her on a provisional basis,” Madeleine observed.
“Look,” Bartow said angrily, “I’m not going to waste my time arguing with you on this matter. Point Collina is the best primary and secondary school on the Island, and compares very favourably with schools in the U.S. where I have been headmaster. Our reputation is based on our ability to challenge and allow to excel the best students so they can do the same in the modern world. I am not going to allow this school’s reputation to become a laughingstock on or off the Island just because one of its students insists on employing snake-oil manipulation that one associates with ignorant people and their religion.
“Frankly, I am disappointed in you. You have been an excellent pupil the two and a half years you have been at this school. You were on your way to be your class’ valedictorian, even with your grave illness, but after this, I can’t see it happening.”
“And why should that depend upon what I do outside of the school?” Madeleine protested.
“We’ve been through this. If you do this again, I can assure you will be removed from this school, and given where you live, I don’t think you want the alternative. I believe I have made myself clear.”
“Yes, sir, you have,” Madeleine replied sadly.
“That will be all. You may return to class.”
Madeleine got up, collected her books, and walked out of his office as she would from a funeral. She walked up the stairs again, as her next class was upstairs. Right after she got to the top, she stopped and leaned against the wall. She was almost in tears, but she was too angry to start. About that time Mr. Scott walked up to her.
“Aren’t you supposed to be in class, Mademoiselle des Cieux?” he asked.
“I was called to the Headmaster’s office,” she explained. “I can’t bring myself to return.”
“What’s the problem?” he asked.
“I prayed for my father’s secretary’s daughter to be healed from blindness,” Madeleine explained. “I used the aloe vera ointment, just like you said the Church of Serelia ministers did. Now she can see and is changing schools. He is very angry about this. I don’t understand why.”
Scott stood and thought for a minute. “Madeleine, frankly I don’t either. If the ministers of the Church of Serelia could do with the nard what you did, I would still be one. Don’t take it too hard—these people can be very philistine when given the opportunity.” He turned and walked away. Madeleine progressed down the hallway very slowly until the bell rung, by which time she was at her next class.
She was the first into class, and sat down. The rest of the class came in behind her.
“Bell gave a pop quiz at the end,” Vannie whispered to her as she moved to her seat. I guess I won’t be valedictorian after all, Madeleine thought to herself.
Just before the teacher rose to begin, she felt a tapping on her left shoulder. She turned to see Jack, extending to her a piece of paper.
“That’s Bell’s assignment,” he said in a low voice. “Copy it and give it back.”
“Thank you,” Madeleine replied, taking it.
“Looks like she’s got a new boyfriend,” Vannie said to Denise.
“Not a chance,” Denise replied. “She’s won’t give him what he wants.”
You can’t always get what you want, Vannie mused, singing to herself very softly.

Santini sat nervously in the empty Theatre of the Muses. Verecunda’s only theatre for live stage performances and the occasional “art” movie, it was the country’s answer to Manaus’ opera house: a European cultural artefact in a decidedly non-European kind of environment. It was also one of the few edifices of its kind without Lucian Gerland’s stamp. The theatre, built just before World War I, was the result of the efforts—and in part the funding—of Maximilian Herver. Now that his granddaughter was married to the President of the Republic and her sister Minister of Culture, the Theatre got better treatment than many public buildings in the country, in addition to being the central office for the newly-spawned Culture ministry. Santini tried to distract himself by looking around at the ornamented interior of the theatre, noting that the national flag draped the “Presidential Box” now as it always had.
While doing this, he heard the resolute gait of a woman entering the theatre. He turned and saw that it was indeed whom he expected: the Minister of Culture herself, Jacqueline Todd. A plain looking, brown haired woman in her forties, she was more casual than Santini anticipated she would be for such an occasion, with striped slacks and turtleneck top. With her was her portfolio, an inseparable companion. He rose to greet her.
“Your Excellency,” he said, offering his hand.
“Bishop,” she replied, actually shaking it. They sat down with one seat between them.
“I trust that all is well,” he said.
She thought for a second. “Very. Actually, we are beyond expectations for such a new ministry.”
“Obviously due to your leadership,” Santini said.
“With a little help from my friends,” she replied, coyly.
“So, what is the occasion for this meeting? Your secretary said it was urgent.”
“It is,” Todd answered. “One of your faithful is causing us some difficulties. We need your help.”
“And who might this be? I thought things were going well.”
“Madeleine des Cieux,” she answered.
“How is this possible?” Santini asked. “Her health is not good. She nearly died from encephalitis. It takes someone with great energy to be a threat to this Republic.”
“Like Avalon?”
“Yes, like Avalon,” Santini sighed, reminded of a problem to them both.
“We’ll leave that nuisance for another time,” Todd assured him. “Our problem today is that Miss des Cieux is going about claiming that she healed a girl of blindness.”
“Claiming?” Santini challenged her. “She’s said nothing about it to me. Neither has her father, or her mother. I have only heard the rumours from others.”
“And that’s precisely the problem,” Todd asserted. “It’s all over town. Even the Alemaran paper has picked up on it.”
“Surely there must be some mistake. I have never known her to act in this way. She is very shy, unlike her father.”
“How good of a Catholic is she?” Todd asked bluntly.
“She is a very conscientious, observant Catholic,” Santini replied. “Very regular in making Mass, confession, etc. In many ways, she is more so than her parents, and that of course is rare with young people these days.”
“So she is thinking about becoming a nun?”
“We have discussed this from time to time, but I have cautioned her not to be hasty in this. Sometimes I think she is moved in this direction by her disillusionment with the boyfriends she has had, and that is not motivation enough to enter religious life.”
“Certainly isn’t,” Todd agreed. “Did you know that she is close friends with a Baptist?”
“A Baptist?” Santini replied with feigned surprise. “I was unaware that there were any Baptists or other kinds of cult adherents in her school.”
“There are a couple,” Todd confirmed, “but they are very low keyed. The one I had in mind is anything but.”
“And who is it?”
“Carla Stanley,” Todd informed him.
“The tennis player from Hallett.”
“The same. Madeleine has been a kind of tennis instructor for her. Evidently, however, their relationship is closer than we would have thought. The Sunday before last, Madeleine was seen at Carla’s church.”
“She never said anything about that.”
“You didn’t miss her?”
“I was in Collina that Sunday,” Santini confessed. “Since I lost my two Irish priests, it has been difficult.”
“Perhaps you will learn to import priests who will keep their feudal opinions about women and their bodies to themselves. But Carla Stanley is far more trouble than your foreign priests. She made herself a real pain last year about our efforts to laicise the curriculum and student life programme while on Student Council, which is why we excluded her from it this year. Now she refuses to join her school’s new Life Identification group. So you see what kind of influence she has had on Madeleine.”
“I had no idea. . .but her church does not believe in miracles at all. So how could she inspire Madeleine to try such things?”
“I’ll leave the matter of petty creeds to you,” Todd answered. “But you remember our agreement, don’t you?”
“Yes, Your Excellency,” Santini sighed.
“Then you must do what you have to to fulfil your end of the bargain.”
Santini looked at Todd in stony silence, something he was not generally associated with.
“So what specifically do you want, Your Excellency?”
“You must persuade her to say that she did not heal anyone.”
“But isn’t the girl with sight now? And she is not a Christian.”
“That just the problem!” Todd snapped. “No one—not you, not these silly schoolgirls we’re stuck with, no one—seems to understand what’s really important here. I’m not going to debate this with you. Either you force this pseudo-saint of yours to deny this, or you’re going to get the same treatment that Miss Stanley’s church is starting to get. Do you understand me?”
“Yes, Your Excellency,” Santini replied.
“Good!” Todd exclaimed. She got up. “I eagerly await the results of your efforts.” She turned and walked out of the theatre, leaving Santini to contemplate his next move.

The Arnolds’ Daimler Majestic Major was the appropriate car for them to arrive at Christ Church on Point Collina for Morning Prayer at 1100. Although not the cathedral church for the Anglican Church of Verecunda, Christ Church was certainly its flagship parish, and being its Rector was a plum appointment. The only two churches on the Island to compare architecturally were St. Sebastian’s Catholic Church, which Anglicans generally regarded as the product of a hopelessly tasteless nouveaux riche Lucian Gerland, and of course the Church of Serelia’s Cathedral of St. Thomas.
Mark Arnold Jr. and his wife Helen generally came to church by themselves. The boys hadn’t darkened the door of the place much past confirmation and Cathy went to Mass every now and then with Terry Marlowe and her father. The latter was a fearful proposition for the Arnolds, compounded by the fact that Cathy’s best friend was the granddaughter of the man who “took Verecunda away” from them. Cathy had promised that she would emigrate if she converted to Roman Catholicism, and in any case they sensed that the only reason Cathy went there is because Terry did.
The church was across the street from Point Collina school; the spacious front lawn of the church gave one a nice view of Verecunda city across the bay from the narthex. For a number of those in the parish—and that included the Arnolds—it allowed them to view the city they felt they had built as they left proper Anglican worship each Sunday.
As Mark and Helen came in, they took a copy of the bulletin, walked down the centre aisle to their appointed pew, made one of two bows he would make the whole week, and sat down. The memorialisations of the various items in the church—some subtle, some rather conspicuous—were reminders of those who had contributed to the church, many the Arnolds’ ancestors and relatives.
But, after they knelt and prayed, Mark’s attention was taken far away from the reminders of greatness past. As the organist played the prelude, he looked down in to the rack affixed to the pew in front of his. He realised that the cloth hardbound Prayer Book usually in place there—a slight modification of the 1928 one the Episcopalians used in the U.S.—was missing. In its place was a ungainly collection of mimeographed papers stapled together. He picked it up and looked at it.
“Trial liturgies,” he said to himself. “What is this? Where is our Prayer Book?”
“Don’t make a scene,” Helen whispered to him.
“But I wasn’t told about this,” he whispered, almost breaking into normal speech.
“You can ask Dr. Langley after church,” she scolded him, almost as if she was scolding Jack or Cat.
Mark settled back into his pew. It wasn’t long before the prelude stopped and the pause that did not refresh turned into the processional hymn. The acolytes entered first, followed by the choir and the celebrant. Mark realised that part of the problem was trailing the choir: Dr. James Woolsey, the new Assistant Rector. Mark had come to despise him in the few months since he had come to Christ Church. Almost fresh out of seminary in the U.S., his decidedly “Roman” insistance upon being addressed as “Father” was just the beginning of Mark’s gripe list about him. As he processed, he had the odd habit—odd, at least, to the older parishioners—of looking up at the ceiling in a silly way, as if there was a bird overhead on the verge of unloading its guano on him. The silly way continued through Morning Prayer; he had a decidedly shmaltzy delivery that Mark found especially irritating.
Woolsey began the announcements by informing everyone that the Rector had been called away on an unexpected visit to Serelia and would be back next week. He then showcased the new Morning Prayer liturgy. He promised that more suitable books would be arriving from the mainland shortly, but that it was necessary to inaugurate the trial liturgies at the proper time. He also announced that, beginning the First Sunday in Lent, that all Sunday services would be Holy Communion, and that Morning and Evening Prayer would be relegated to the weekday services. He apologised that this could not have been instituted at the beginning of the liturgical year six weeks earlier, but that other exigencies had arisen and the delay was unavoidable.
Mark’s recital of the General Confession and his reception of the Absolution was pretty much of no effect by the end of the service. When Woolsey gave the ceiling another inspection as he followed the choir and acolytes out in the recessional, Mark almost drug his wife down the aisle and into the narthex.
“Good morning, Mr. Arnold,” Woolsey said as Mark and Helen came up. “And Mrs. Arnold.”
“What’s good about it?” Mark barked. “Where are our prayer books?”
“They have been retired,” Woolsey replied.
“And why wasn’t I told about this? I am the Senior Warden on the Vestry here, in case you have forgotten.”
“You must have been somewhere else when this change was announced at Christmastime.”
“We were in Serelia on necessary business,” Mark informed Woolsey. “Using a proper prayer book, I might add. I heard the rumours upon my return, but our Rector informed me that this would be discussed at our next meeting of the Vestry before it was implemented. You know my opposition to this.”
“The Bishop ordered its immediate implementation,” Woolsey replied. “I would suggest that you take this matter up with him.”
“I certainly will,” Mark thundered. “Our prayer books will be restored, I can assure you. They haven’t even been removed like this in the U.S., from what I understand.”
“There’s no reason for us to wait for the Americans to institute progress,” Woolsey answered. “Good day.” With that he abruptly turned to greet another parishioner, leaving Mark fuming and Helen embarrassed.
Mark resumed dragging Helen towards the car, but there was no need for coercion: she was glad to get away from the church. “You didn’t need to be so rude to Dr. Wooley,” she said as he opened the car door for her.
“He’s usurped the authority of the Vestry and the Convention,” Mark replied. “I’m tired of high handed know-it-alls coming from the mainland and telling us what to do. We’ve governed our own affairs for a hundred and forty years. I’m going straight to Farnsworth about this. My father is rolling over in his grave, along with the rest of our forbears.”
“Maybe he should have stayed in Serelia like Bishop Cord did,” Helen observed, finally being seated in the car.
“Maybe she’s right,” he muttered to himself as he went around the front of the car to get in on the driver’s side. They went back to the house, picked up Jack and Cat, and went on to the Yacht Club for lunch.
Mark’s mood became more sullen with each scotch and water. The rest of the family knew not to say anything when this happened; Helen had the advantage of being able to consume a few vermouth martinis. Although the children certainly drank, they did so away from their parents, who still believed that they weren’t ready to drink until they got out of secondary school.
“I’m going to check on the boat,” Jack said after inhaling his dessert.
“Go ahead,” Mark replied.
“I’ll go help him,” Cathy said. The two went out to the boat, a small, fibreglass hulled powerboat about eight metres long.
“I hate it when he gets off on this Prayer Book thing,” Jack said as he pulled the canvas cover off of the boat to go aboard and look things over.
“Me too,” Cathy said as she helped him pull the cover onto the dock. They got on board and stood on the stern. The boat was facing north-east; from the stern they could see the sweep of the Point Collinan coastline as it curved rightward towards the Dahlia Bridge’s south approach.
“Hey, Cat, when you go to church with Terry, do they use a Prayer Book?”
“No, they have these chintzy little missalettes, booklets made out of newsprint, with all of the Mass and the readings.”
“Didn’t they change over from Latin last year?”
“Not last year,” Cathy informed him. “But they do have a ‘new order of the Mass,’ I think they call it. They’ve been through a lot of changes in their service, from what Terry and her dad tell me.”
“They didn’t go whining to their bishop, like Dad wants to, did they?”
“Catholics are different,” Cathy answered. “They were told what to do and they did it. That was it.”
“Kinda like the East Islanders,” Jack added. “You don’t do what you’re told, you get hung from the palace gate. Glad our grandfather didn’t stay there.”
“Well, let’s check this thing out, our parents are probably watching us from the shore to make sure we’re inspecting the boat,” Cathy warned. They went below and looked around. They came up. Cathy stood on the stern and looked over the starboard across the bay in silence.
“What’s wrong, Cat?”
“Grandpa,” she replied mournfully. “I miss him. Remember when he took us up in the belfry when we were little? We thought that was so cool.”
“Yeah, we did. And when he took us to the club. . .come to think of it, he gave me my first tennis lessons. You’re right, Cat. . .and he wouldn’t put up with what Dr. Woolsey’s doing. He was ‘old school,’ as Dad would say. Just seems like yesterday when he was still here.”
“He only died last year,” Cathy observed. “He didn’t like it when I sneaked off with Terry to St. Sebastian’s. But he didn’t gripe like our father does.”
“Wait a minute. . .St. Sebastian’s. . .what did you say about how they did.”
“They were told to change the Mass. They did it. That was it.”
“You think that someone’s telling our church what to do?”
“Now who would do that?”
Jack shrugged. “Denise’s dad, maybe?”
“Now why would he care about what prayer book we use?”
“Denise cared about everything. You had to do everything her way. Even make love. Maybe it runs in the family.”
“That’s stupid.”
“Maybe not. . .we’d better get this canvas back on before they figure out we came out here just to get away from them.” Cathy complied and they wrestled the canvas cover back on and secured it. They walked back to the club house. Mark and Helen were already in the lobby, waiting for their children.
“Now how come it took so long to inspect a twenty-six foot long boat?”
“Eight metres, Dad,” Cathy corrected him. “They make you do it.”
“You’ve been spending too much time with Terry,” Helen observed. “Let’s go home.”

The next day Claudia came in excited. “She’s going to Dillman-Arnold the first of February!” she exclaimed. “I can’t believe it! Thank you so much.”
“Just don’t forget my coffee again,” Pierre reminded her.
“Yes, Monsieur,” she replied. She left and returned with the usual service. Pierre gulped down his first cup and went out in the warehouse.
“So how did you get the system to change Carol’s school?” Pierre asked his warehouse manager.
“It was easy,” Luke replied. “My wife’s sister is assistant headmistress at D-A. She issued a letter admitting Carol provisionally, the same thing they do for people from the East Island, where the schools aren’t so hot. That means that, if it doesn’t work out, there’s no blame. In the meanwhile the Blind and Deaf school’s going to prepare her. She’s a smart kid, she’ll do okay.”
“I am glad this system still respects family connections,” Pierre said. “Thank you very much.” Pierre returned to his office to find the Verecundan newspaper on his desk, folded to a very small story buried in the back of the paper about Carol Yedd having an “unexplained” acquisition of sight, and that the school had “no comment” on her future.
“I wonder what Kendall will do with this,” he muttered to himself. But he found it easier to deal with the incoming telexes rather than to contemplate this knotty problem.

Events played out pretty much as Pierre said they would. The ophthalmologist reported that Carol was capable of sight, although he prescribed corrective lenses for near-sightedness. He gave no explanation for her sudden change, although he heard Claudia’s story, as did just about everyone else she encountered. Less able to come up with a response was the school, which insisted that she remain there. This threw Claudia into a depressed state, which she carried with her when she came to work on Thursday.
She came into Pierre’s office and bowed. “May I speak with you for a minute, Monsieur des Cieux?” she asked him as he sat at his desk, puffing his pipe.
“Of course,” he replied, having a good idea of what she was about to say.
“I talked with the headmaster yesterday at school. She won’t even discuss transferring her out. Her teachers don’t know what to do either, although they’re starting to teach her to read.” She was on the verge of tears. “She wants to go to Dillman-Arnold so bad, like her neighbours. I want her to have a normal life. Why are they treating her this way? Do they hate her? Do they hate me? Is it still a crime because I had her on my own?”
“Actually, it is no longer a crime to have a child without a husband in Verecunda,” he replied calmly. “It is one of Kendall’s achievements. Honestly, I don’t think that they hate either one of you. They just don’t know what to do. This has never happened to them before. Did they state that she might have a relapse into blindness?”
“Yes, they did,” Claudia replied. “They said this may be temporary. But it can’t be. Madeleine prayed for her. She used to be blind, but now she sees. How can it change?”
Pierre thought for a minute. “Bureaucrats find it easier to retreat into the mediocre rather than take the risks of progress. I will see what I can do.”
“Thank you, Monsieur des Cieux,” Claudia said. Bowing again, she turned and began to leave the office. Verecundans frequently made fun of East Islanders for their formality and attention to rank, but Pierre said that his predecessor gave Claudia the job more for her bow than for her secretarial skills.
“There is one more thing, Mademoiselle Yedd,” Pierre said. She stopped and turned around.
“What is it, Monsieur?” she asked.
“My desk is still without my coffee,” he observed.
“Oh, I am sorry,” she said, beating a hasty retreat. She returned with the coffee shortly, the service arranged exactly as he always insisted.
Pierre sipped his coffee, realising that he had no plan at all to solve Claudia’s problem. His experience with bureaucrats all over the Island was extensive; he sold tyres to all seven sovereign nations, to say nothing of the municipal entities, state and district governments, and of course Serelia’s free cities. His experience with Verecundan bureaucrats told him that they were getting harder to deal with than their counterparts further east as the government expanded its regulatory maze.
He finished his coffee and decided to take a stroll in the warehouse to see what was going on. Luke had just finished sending off a shipment to the Grand Tyler of Claudia when he came up to his superior, who was standing watching the proceedings.
“Going to the port?” Pierre asked.
“They’re transshipping it through Vidamera,” Luke said. “Used to be able to sneak through Aloxa, but they’ve stopped that.” He looked at Pierre. “Something eating at you, Boss?”
“It concerns Claudia,” Pierre confessed. “Carol’s school will not permit her to transfer out to a normal school. She asked me to help her. Frankly, I don’t know how.”
Luke thought for a minute. “You mind if I make a few phone calls?”
“To whom?” Pierre asked.
“I’ll tell you when I’m done.”
“Go ahead,” Pierre said. “It would be tragic if my daughter’s miracle would be spoilt by a group of stupid functionaries.”

Dinner at the des Cieux was a strange affair that night. Yveline found both her husband and daughter totally uncommunicative from the time they entered the door onward. They passed the food and poured the wine—and little of that—in complete silence. Attempts by Yveline to make conversation met with one dead end after another. Finally she had had enough.
“I do not understand this silence,” she finally declared. She looked at Madeleine. “I know that you act this way when you break up with a boyfriend, but I was unaware you had one.” She turned to Pierre. “And, of course, you act this way when you lose a major client, but you have not had this experience the entire time you have been on this Island.” She addressed them both. “And these events never have happened at the same time. So why are you two acting this way?”
Pierre brought himself to answer first. “I think Madeleine is the one who should explain this situation.”
Madeleine realised that her father had pulled rank on her, so she went through the whole story of her prayer for Carol and the aftermath.
Now it was Yveline that was a loss for words. They all finished the meal quietly, Pierre retreated to read and watch a little television, Madeleine disappeared to do her homework, and Yveline cleaned up the dishes and table the best she could. After this she quietly stole away to Madeleine’s room. She sat down next to Madeleine, who was obviously struggling to concentrate on her homework.
“Are you well?” Yveline asked.
“I am frightened, Maman,” Madeleine replied. “I do not understand why God is asking me to do these things. And I don’t know what will happen next.”
“Things? What other things have you done?”
“When I went to Beran, I got the same kind of message I got this afternoon, to pray for Terry Marlowe to win her match. And she did—I have never seen her play that way, she is usually rather clumsy.”
“It is hard to understand,” Yveline agreed. “In our church, we read the lives of the saints, and how they performed miracles. In our country, we have many stories from the past about these miracles. But now my own precious child is doing these things, in a place like this. But, perhaps, it is not the first miracle.”
“What do you mean, Maman?”
“When I first met your father, it was during the war. I was a simple Norman girl, he was such a handsome soldier. He said he would come back for me. I did not believe it. I thought he would be killed, or find someone else. But he came back and took me away as his wife.
“He began work for the same company his father worked for. We wanted very much to have a child. But it did not happen for a long time. We thought we would never have children. But then, we were in Saigon, and I found out I was pregnant with you. We could not believe it, and when you were born we were very happy. Your father wanted to wait until we returned to France to have you baptised, but I would not hear of it. So we went to the church and had a Vietnamese priest baptise you. As he did it, I prayed to God that your life would be a very special one, that you would be an extraordinary girl. And you have been, although our moves have made it very difficult for you.
“You are a miracle, Madeleine. The fact that you are here is a miracle—and one that took place away from France, come to think of it. So perhaps we should put our doubts aside and realise that our prayers are being answered, although it is never easy to be different. Today you have opened up a new life for someone who really did not have much hope. Last weekend you gave confidence to someone who honestly is in a difficult situation in this country. Who knows whose life God will enable you to enrich? Only God knows the answer to that. But you must not deny others the benefits of the gifts from the heavens because the consequences are too frightening.
“You are a strong girl, Madeleine. You have already come through many things. You can do what you must do. I know you can.”
“Thank you, Maman,” Madeleine replied, hugging her mother.
“Now you must perform the miracle of doing your homework under difficult conditions,” Yveline said, and they both got a laugh out of that.

The buzz about Terry’s beating Elisabeth Cassidy—balanced to some extent by her loss—resonated through the hallways and cafeteria at Point Collina. The main result of this was additional jealousy by the Fourth Form girls, although Cathy was certainly impressed by Jack’s account of the victory.
For her part Madeleine’s mind was still full the images of the unique weekend she had experienced, although she had the good sense to keep all of this to herself. It wasn’t difficult; in Sixth Form, Madeleine had earned the reputation as something of an isolationist. Losing her place on the tennis team only deprived her of another outlet of social contact.
Although her social life was limited, this didn’t mean that Madeleine wasn’t occupied. One of those occupations was her work with Madame Seignet’s primary school French classes, and part of that was going in costume to help teach them different topics of the French language and the French-speaking world. Her costume today was that of a traditional French schoolgirl, one which she wore well, although at her age she looked outsized for the part.
Madeleine hadn’t bothered to take off her little hat as she sat in Hancock’s English class. Madeleine’s approach to literary analysis was different than Hancock’s because of her background and inspiration from her father, and Hancock wasn’t always sure she was wrong. But he was loathe to admit that, so they sparred often.
It was no surprise then, at the end of class, when Hancock said, “Miss des Cieux, I need to see you after class.” Denise was sitting next to Vannie. They gave each other that look as they made their exit along with everyone else.
“You think this will stop her?” Vannie asked Denise as they walked down the hall.
“She’s already stopped,” Denise observed. “We just need to kill the moral support.”
Hancock sat down at his desk; Madeleine went forward and stood in front of it.
“Is there something wrong now with my work? I believe I have turned everything in,” Madeleine said.
“Not at all,” Hancock responded. “In fact, I am amazed that you have carried on as you have after your illness. Enough, I might observe, to attend the Beran Invitational with an opposing team.”
“It was difficult. I was very tired when I returned to my home.”
“So why did you travel with another school?”
“They invited me to go. Our team bus was restricted to those playing, you and Mademoiselle Dorr. It is a long way from here.”
“So how did you get to be so chummy with the Hallett team?”
Madeleine knew he had asked the leading question. “Carla Stanley and I are friends. She invited me.”
“Just friends?”
“What are you saying?”
“Let me be frank with you. We—and when I say we, I mean both myself and Coach Dorr—have come to realise that you are, for all intents and purposes, Miss Stanley’s coach, and that you have been working with her for at least a year and a half. We also have reason to believe that you were at her church Sunday morning, and even stayed at her home over the weekend.”
Madeleine knew she was on the spot. “I thought that this was a free country, as you say.”
“Ah yes, a free country. Let me talk with you as one expatriate to another. I have come to know you as a very sophisticated and cultured young woman. You come from a fine background and have lived in many places in the world. That being the case, I cannot understand why you would associate with a person who is a product of a narrow-minded, backward religion whose only experience outside of her own little agrarian world is to visit her relatives in America, and I can assure you from experience that they are, if anything, more backward and narrow-minded than she is. Your parents had the wisdom to send you to the best school on the Island and to associate with people as sophisticated and cultured as you are. I would hope that you, in the time you have remaining here, would spend time with your peers here at Point Collina and leave the ‘hicks in the sticks’ to their own devices.”
“Perhaps I have not found the ‘peers’ you are speaking about,” Madeleine replied, more quickly than Hancock expected.
“Perhaps you have not tried hard enough,” Hancock replied, arising from his desk and attempting to clench his teeth as he spoke. He attempted to regain his cool. “Look, I have found my time here in Verecunda to be very rewarding. But this Island has many unusual social customs. What I have found here is that, if you don’t make friends, you will have enemies, and serious enemies at that. I would hate to see you fall victim to that.”
Madeleine was silent for a moment. “Is that all?”
“That’s all,” Hancock replied, realising the conversation was really over.
“Thank you, Monsieur Hancock,” she answered, turned and left the room.
She barely made it in time for her next class, Advanced World History. About to begin his lecture was Ethelred Scott. Originally a Church of Serelia minister, he was defrocked when he abandoned his wife and four children—two of which were still in diapers—for a University of Verecunda English professor, who promptly bore him two more. He was most famous for his “bull sessions” on the Church of Serelia, which he invariably portrayed in a negative light.
He was deep into one of these when he made an offhand remark: “You know, it always amused me that, when most churches sent out their ministers to administer last rites with olive oil or some such similar concoction, the Serelians always used that aloe vera nard, not dissimilar to what a few of you young ladies use for your ‘alligator’ skin, as you like to put it.” He went on, but Madeleine started to feel her hands were getting pretty dry just from the thought of it.
Fortunately Scott was the last class she had to endure. Being with a medical excuse meant that she could leave school right after class and skip the athletics, a privilege she relished as she got into the Dyane and headed out. The day was beautiful and reaching its peak at 27°C. Madeleine was especially exhilarated by the nearly 5 kilometre drive across the Dahlia Bridge. Many Verecundan youth looked at the bridge as an extended over water drag strip. Although Madeleine’s Dyane’s capabilities in this regard were limited, it still felt nice to stash her hat and let the breeze to blow through her hair. As she took the straight shot back across the bay, she looked out to see the port, marina and ultimately the Verecundan skyline over the right guardrail.
Pierre’s office wasn’t too far beyond where the Dahlia Bridge’s northern approach met ground level at Meeting Street. On an Island where foreign businesses generally used local agents or joint ventures, Pierre’s company opted for a wholly owned subsidiary. Their decision had paid off: through a series of able managing directors such as Pierre, they held 80% of the tyre market on the Island, and continued to do so with a staff of just six full time people.
Madeleine parked the car in the warehouse, waving at a busy Luke Allen, and walked over to the adjacent office. It was her day to be her father’s chauffeuse so that Yveline could get some shopping done. She was buzzed in by the receptionist and went back to the office of Claudia Yedd, Pierre’s secretary.
“Papa is in, isn’t he?” Madeleine asked, noting her father’s closed office door.
“He’s in a long call with the American office,” Claudia replied. A brunette in her late 20’s who tended to wear clothing that held her close, her life had already been a challenge. Raised in the southern part of the country whose name she bore, her move to the “big city” started off disastrously when her boyfriend raped her, leaving her alone and shortly with a blind girl to raise. Verecunda in those days was a place where unwed mothers had a hard time of it, but Pierre’s predecessor hired her pregnant as a receptionist (“we do not have picture phones just yet,” he noted) and made the necessary accommodations, which were helped by relatives Claudia already had there. This made Claudia the most deeply loyal employee the company had, a loyalty rewarded when Pierre came and the existing secretary retired, allowing Claudia a promotion.
The promotion made a few things easier, such as running a block over and picking Claudia’s ten year old daughter Carol up from the Verecunda School for the Blind and Deaf, a small institution in the run down industrial part of town. Carol was sitting in the office when Madeleine arrived; she knew who it was from her gait.
“Hi, Madeleine,” Carol said, her cane at her side.
“Hello, chérie,” Madeleine responded, holding her cheeks and kissing her on the forehead. Madeleine had helped Carol some with her school work; the two were fond of each other.
“I need to step out,” Claudia told Madeleine as she got up from her desk. Claudia’s office doubled as the waiting room for those wishing an audience with Pierre, so it had three chairs around her desk. Carol and Madeleine were facing each other quietly.
Madeleine suddenly felt the same urge she had when Terry Marlowe was about to start her match. She heard the same kind of command: You must pray for Carol today so she can see. But how? Her mind was flooded with possible solutions, but she suddenly settled on one.
She reached into her purse and, after some riffling about, extracted a metal tube of aloe vera which she carried for her dry skin. Works for the Serelians, she said to herself. She put her purse down, took the top off of the tube and set it aside also, got up, and walked over to Carol. For her part Carol sat contentedly and in silence, following with her ears Madeleine’s movement around the room.
Madeleine stopped in front of Carol and leaned over. “In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit,” she said, crossing herself. She took the tube and squeezed a little of the ointment on her right thumb. “In the name of Jesus Christ, be healed,” she said, first applying the ointment on the upper part of her right eyelid, then squeezing more ointment on her thumb, then applying it again to her left eyelid in the same place. Satisfied that the ointment was properly rubbed in, she went back to her seat, replaced the cap on the tube, put the tube back in her purse, and breathed a deep sigh of relief.
Carol had been dutiful throughout the entire process. She said nothing; she even lifted her head as Madeleine prepared to apply the ointment, as if she expected it. Claudia walked back into the office and returned to her seat. Carol’s eyes followed her mother’s return without her moving her head, but neither Claudia nor Madeleine noticed it.
“You’re very pretty today, Madeleine,” Carol said.
“She is very pretty,” Claudia agreed. “Did you feel of her dress? It’s her French schoolgirl outfit.”
“No, Mother, I didn’t feel of it.”
“Then how did you know?” Claudia asked.
“Because. . .because. . .I can see,” Carol replied. The reality of her transformation was just sinking in; her eyes were wide open as they scanned the new world that had just been opened to her.
“You can what?” Claudia asked. She jumped up and ran over to her daughter. She waved her hand in front of her face; Carol’s eyes followed it perfectly. Now Claudia’s excitement was zooming past her daughter’s, she turned to Madeleine. “What’s going on here? When did this happen?”
“It is my fault,” Madeleine finally confessed. “I prayed for her, and applied this aloe vera to her eyes.”
“And now I can see!” Carol exclaimed.
With that, Claudia let out a scream of joy that echoed in every direction, turned to Carol, and said, “Let’s go see if you can get around the warehouse!” With that the two bounded out of the office, leaving Madeleine in shock.
Shortly Pierre opened his door. “What is going on here?” He turned to Madeleine. “Where is Claudia? And where is Carol?” Madeleine was speechless. “Come into my office,” he ordered his daughter. Madeleine complied.
Pierre retreated behind his desk and stood. Madeleine stood in front of it like an employee facing discipline.
“Now, young lady, can you bring yourself to explain what has happened in my office?”
“Carol Yedd is no longer blind,” Madeleine replied.
“And how did this happen?”
“I. . .I prayed to Jesus Christ that she would be healed, applied some aloe vera to her eyelids, and then she began to see.”
“Let me take a look at this aloe vera of yours,” Pierre said. He walked around the desk while she re-excavated the tube from her purse. She handed the tube to him. Pierre inspected it, then handed it back to her.
“‘Man clothed in the omnipotence of God,’” he quoted, looking at her. “It seems that schoolgirls are as well.”
“I am not just a schoolgirl!” Madeleine protested. Pierre looked over his daughter’s outfit from head to toe. When Madeleine looked down at it and realised what she looked like, she giggled.
“I suppose I am, at least for today.” By this time Claudia and Carol bounded back into Pierre’s office, with Luke behind them. Claudia, in good East Island fashion, fell at Madeleine’s feet prostrate, sobbing and thanking her for what she had done. This was made easier by the fact that the floor was dominated by a Persian rug, the only form of rug or carpet in the entire facility.
“She navigates the shop pretty good,” Luke observed. While the women engaged in an outpouring of emotion and Luke stood in disbelief, Pierre took Carol and stood her in front of him while he sat down and did some simple vision tests. The employees found that Pierre had a soft spot for little girls; Carol had always been a favourite. While verifying the event for himself, he held Carol’s attention through all of the commotion. Finally he stood up and everyone regained their composure enough to stand in front of the desk in silence.
“I believe that you are correct, she can see,” Pierre declared. “However, first, it is necessary for a physician to examine her and verify this, and of course determine the quality of her sight. Assuming the outcome of these tests is satisfactory, the next step is for the Verecundan school system to figure out a method of teaching her some basic things—principally how to read—and prepare her for a normal school. I say ‘figure out’ because my experience tells me that they are not prepared for an event such as this. Miss Yedd, you need to call the ophthalmologist immediately to schedule an appointment—if you have trouble, let me know, their appointments can be rather slow these days. I think now that we can resume our work.”
“Thank you, Monsieur des Cieux,” Claudia said. With that the Yedds and Luke dispersed, leaving Madeleine and her father alone in his office.
“I hope I have not caused too much trouble,” she said, not sure what else to say.
“Miss Yedd has had a difficult life,” Pierre observed. “It seems that God’s providence has extended to someone who richly deserves it. You have done well. How we will explain this to all the world is difficult to understand at this point.”
Claudia managed to make an appointment with the ophthalmologist for the next morning. Further work was futile, as she was having too much fun being with a daughter with sight for the first time in her life. Madeleine usually did homework before the end of the work day, but she ended up joining in Claudia and Carol’s joy. At last 1700 came, Luke closed the warehouse, Claudia and Carol went to catch the bus for their trip back to the Dillman-Arnold district, and Madeleine and Pierre got in the Dyane for the brief journey back to their home.

Carla had no trouble getting up the next morning. Her excitement that her friend had spent the night at her house was compounded by the fact that Madeleine was going to church with her the next day.
But this added to Carla’s anxiety in one important respect: what would her friend wear? She had never been to a church like Carla’s. In the time they had known each other, they were always in casual clothes: tennis outfits, slacks, shorts, etc. What would she look like in a dress? Would she wear a dress? What did she wear when she went to her own church? Subtle questions to Madeleine yielded no answers. One thing Carla had learned about her friend is that she knew how to play her cards close to the chest.
Carla was in such a lather that, as soon as breakfast was done, she hit the bathroom, leaving Madeleine to move more slowly, which was good since Madeleine was still weak from the encephalitis. She got dressed and left Madeleine to come on behind. When Carla finally came back to check on her progress, her heart skipped a beat and her lungs skipped a breath as she saw Madeleine in a functionally modernised, full length Worth of Paris belle époque gown.
“It’s gorgeous,” Carla finally got out of her throat.
“It was my grandmother des Cieux’,” Madeleine explained. “It was longer on her because I am taller. I had the train removed also. Other than wearing it for the children, I cannot wear it on the Point, because we have no events suitable for the occasion.”
“I guess we need to get going,” Carla said, not sure what else to say. Her mother had pretty much the same reaction, but there was little time for discussion as they piled into the estate car and headed off for church.The First Baptist Church of Hallett was actually located in North Hallett, moved there after a major hurricane in the 1920’s destroyed the seaside original. It wasn’t the oldest Baptist church on the Island—that honour went to FBC Collina—nor the largest—FBC Uranus—but it was an important piece in the Baptist collection. It was the premiere Baptist church for the northern part of Uranus, an area where churches like this were more important than elsewhere on the Island. A concrete block stucco building with a steep sanctuary roof, small steeple and ordinary looking annex for Sunday School, it was more in keeping with the Island’s architectural and climactic demands than the large, Colonial style structures Island Baptists were awed with when they visited the mainland.
There was little time to admire the architecture as the Stanleys and their guest pulled up in the gravel parking lot. Sunday School time had arrived, and the family split up into their places: Pete into the men’s class (which he taught,) Alice in the women’s (which she also taught,) and Carla into the Upper Division II class.
Now it was Madeleine’s turn for a shock. Instead of the hushed tones of coming to Mass and not saying anything to anyone, Madeleine’s thoughts were blurred by being introduced to everyone they encountered, adult, teenager and child alike. Madeleine’s appearance and that fact that she was from off the Island—there were Vidameran members of the church, so they had a touch of internationalism—made her quite an attraction; she could feel the eyes falling on her, both in the hallways and in the class.
More eyes fell when Madeleine had to endure the mandatory introduction in class. Carla was worried as she could see her shy friend become nervous over the unanticipated attention she was getting. The youth, however, did help to put her at ease with more of a friendly curiosity. It was no secret at church that Carla had been spending a lot of time with Madeleine and that her tennis game had improved as a result. In a region which suffered from an image of being “the sticks with the hicks,” Carla’s success was welcome, and Madeleine’s contribution to this was noted, especially by Carla.
Class ending, they rejoined the rest of their family in the sanctuary. Again the hushed tones in church were the thing of another world; Madeleine was surprised as she could hear the sanctuary filled with laughter, conversation and people looking genuinely happy to be with each other. She didn’t have much time to contemplate things from afar off, for there were more introductions to do, especially with their pastor, D.L. Corbett.
“It is a real pleasure to meet you,” Corbett said to Madeleine. “Welcome to First Baptist Hallett.” He looked at Madeleine from head to toe. “I see you have friends who know how to dress properly,” he told Carla.
“Yes, I do,” Carla replied. Corbett turned away to head up to the platform.
“What is he talking about?” Madeleine whispered to her friend.
“He gets after us about our short skirts,” Carla replied. “But he doesn’t know everything about you.”
“No, he doesn’t,” Madeleine agreed.
The Stanleys went on to the front of the church. They joined Carla’s brother Nathan, his wife Sally and their two children, son Paul and the newborn girl which Sally held in her arms. Both Pete’s mother and Alice’s father were there too, with some other relatives. They were barely seated when the choir began the call to worship and the service began.
They went through the opening devotional and welcome, hymns and into the announcements and prayer time. Carla helped Madeleine navigate through the hymn book and her Bible. After the announcements, however, Corbett got up to the pulpit.
“We have an item of late business to take care of,” he began. “Brother Nathan and Sister Sally had a beautiful daughter last October, and we would have dedicated her then, but they were hoping that Junior Stanley would come from the mainland for Christmas, so we delayed it. Unfortunately, they could not make it, so we decided to go ahead before little Julia left the nursery.” There were a few laughs as this. “Would the family of Julia Lynn Stanley come forward.”
It seemed that a good chunk of the congregation—including everyone surrounding Madeleine—came and stood in front of the pulpit. Corbett came down, gave his usual speech about the Bible episode of Hannah lending her son Samuel to the Lord, and urged her parents to lead her to a saving knowledge of God at the first opportunity. Then he took Julia in her arms and, as she continued her half-sleep there, he dedicated her to the Lord, and after that they all sat down.
“Sorry I forgot to tell you about this and left you,” Carla whispered.
“It is fine,” Madeleine replied. “I am glad they were looking at someone other than me.”
Her joy was short lived, as Corbett returned to the pulpit and resumed. “We have one special guest this morning,” he began. He looked at Madeleine. “I hope I pronounce your name right—it’s Madeleine des Cieux?”
“You are correct.”
“Would you please stand?” he asked. Madeleine dutifully complied. “She is the daughter of the man who keeps us rolling—many of you came her on the tyres her father sells.” Once again she felt the eyes of the church upon her, although this time she felt like charging her father’s company for being their new mascot. “Welcome to our church. She is the guest of Carla Stanley and her family.” Madeleine needed no prompting to sit down.
“I’m sorry,” Carla whispered.
“It’s okay—I think,” Madeleine answered. After this came the offering, special music and Corbett’s sermon. Corbett’s style fell somewhere between the studied phrases of the doctors of ministry now at the helm of the First churches on the mainland and the rough-hewn, high-volume style of smaller places. But, true to Baptist practice, he did not fail to give an invitation for salvation, one that, on this particular Sunday, went unanswered.
As Madeleine sat through the sermon, she looked around and saw a young man with long hair on the other side of the church. He didn’t have a Bible with him—that marked both him and Madeleine—but he was taking notes during the sermon. Carla noticed him as well, but neither said anything to each other. As the service closed, Carla turned to Madeleine.
“Let’s try to meet this guy over there,” she said. Madeleine attempted to follow silently, but in the hubbub of goodbyes and the slowness of just getting through the crowd of Carla’s own relatives, combined with the speed of his slipping away, made such an encounter impossible.
The church eventually thinned out enough for the Stanleys to make their way to the car. Madeleine was very quiet—she looked drained from the experience—as they made their way down the road and back to their homestead in Hallett proper.
Julia’s dedication brought a big family banquet at the house, but Carla was more worried about Madeleine. As the rest of the family made its way into the house, Carla took advantage of Madeleine’s slowness to speak with her in front of the carport.
“I hope we haven’t been too much for you,” Carla said. “I’m worried.”
“It is a new experience for me,” Madeleine said. “And, I am very tired from my condition.” She looked out down the long driveway. “I am fearful for her.”
“For who?”
“Julia. You have a very happy world here. I am afraid that it is about to be invaded. Her life will not be the same as yours.”
“I’m afraid you’re right. . .do you know who that guy was in church this morning?”
“I think so. . .he lives down the street from me. He goes to Verecunda Comprehensive. I see him from time to time. I think he is active in the CPL.”
Carla assumed a very worried look at that statement, then suddenly wiped her concern off of her face. “Don’t bring it up with Daddy, he’ll get mad. Well, I guess it’s time to eat.”
“There is something else,” Madeleine said.
“What is it?”
“Your church doesn’t baptise infants?”
“No, we don’t. We wait until they have accepted Christ, then we baptise them by immersion. We use a baptistery—it’s behind the choir.”
“When did you accept Christ, as you say?”
“I was nine,” Carla replied. “It was in Vacation Bible School. It’s a summer school we have at church. I went down front in the closing service, prayed a prayer of salvation with the pastor, joined the church and was baptised.” Carla was hoping for a response, but didn’t get one. “Let’s go in.”
They went in; Carla helped with putting the finishing touches to dinner, which was copious by any standard, even with the large crowd. They gathered at the table, Pete prayed, and then they ate. The food had a greater proportion of seafood than their counterparts on the mainland had, including Carla’s favourite: green turtle soup.
Madeleine was a spectator most of the time, and was happy to be one. With her very different background, the Stanleys other than Carla weren’t sure how to interact with her, with one additional exception: Julia, who was between Madeleine and her mother. She found herself instinctively taking Julia and keeping the bottle going, something Sally was grateful for. In any case, the conversation turned sour at times as Pete and Nathan sparred over the recent new taxes and Kendall’s government.
The meal wound down, and Madeleine spent a little additional time with them. But they all recognised that Madeleine had a drive back home. About 1400 Madeleine changed back into more casual clothes. After that Carla and Madeleine got in the truck and went to the store, where the Dyane had been stowed away during Madeleine’s trip to Aloxa and back.
“You sure you’ll be okay to drive back? You’re not too tired?”
“I’ll be all right,” Madeleine said.
“I’ll drive you home if you need me to,” Carla said. “We’ll figure out the car situation if I have to get Nathan to help me.” She looked outside to see a coming rain storm.
“It will be all right,” Madeleine protested.
“I hope you enjoyed church this morning,” Carla said. “I know it’s different. I hope you’ll come back.”
“As long as you go with me,” Madeleine replied.
“And thanks for coming up to watch me play—it means a lot.” They hugged each other, then Madeleine got in and started her Dyane. As Carla watched, she turned left onto the road and drove out of sight. Reaching North Hallett and passing the church again, she turned left and drove on through Uranus town and the rain that finally came. As the streets puddled with water from the much needed shower, her mind was flooded with the impressions of the last forty-eight hours—her prayers and Terry’s victory, Carla’s playing, their detour into Vidamera, Carla’s home and finally Carla’s church, which had the feel of a different planet as much as anything else. She finally reached North Verecunda and went all the way down the peninsula, turning right off of Central Avenue a few blocks before it ended and coming back to a very happy Pierre and Yveline.
Once Madeleine was out of sight, Carla closed up the store again, got in the truck, and went back home to rest and get ready for Sunday night church. As they drove back up the road, Alice turned to Carla and said, “You know, you need to present the plan of salvation to her and tell her she needs to leave the Catholic church.”
“I know,” Carla said. “I just don’t know the best time.”

Both Joyce’s and Carla’s parents arrived in time to see all of their matches. Because they played Aloxan schools more often, they had a better idea of the possible schedule than the Point Collinans, so Pete Stanley could open up the store and Hank Kerr could get his early farm chores out of the way before they went up to Beran to see their daughters compete. When the match ended, the Hallett team decided to avail themselves of the new locker rooms to clean up before they began their journey home.
Hallett was less than half the distance from Beran than Point Collina was, and for the Kerrs—who lived in the corner of Uranus north-west of North Hallett—the distance was even less. They made their way across the width of Aloxa along a narrow road whose pavement left a good deal to be desired of, passing through a collection of woods and royal estates. Before they reached the Uranan border, though, the girls, their parents and Madeleine took their leave from the boys and the coaches, who proceeded onward. They hung a left turn, went a hundred metres or so through the woods, crossed a small bridge and entered an open clearing, in the middle of which was the Three Corners Inn.
Verecundan papers had spilt a good deal of ink on “in-depth” investigation of the Three Corners region, which was simply the area where Aloxa, Uranus/Verecunda and Vidamera met. The area was described luridly as a place of “shady dealings” and “shadowy activities,” as if the sun never quite came up on the place. Reporters would repeat hushed whisperings of unnamed sources about drug deals, gun running, large cash transactions, the occasional murder and what was in the eyes of Verecundan authorities the most disreputable activity of all—the fact that the Three Corners Inn served the best snook on the Island, a fish that was illegal to sell in a restaurant in Verecundan and Collinan territory.
However, the Three Corners Inn, itself located in the realm of the King of Vidamera, was beyond the reach of the Verecundan Ministry of Health. The two families alighted from their vehicles and walked into the spacious inn, a large, sturdily built frame building with a surrounding porch. In Beran times it was the home of a cattle-raising branch of the Amhersts, and cattle could be seen grazing around the restaurant in the fading light. The ranching was now done by the Count of West Vidamera, who himself was there with his family, including his son Charles.
The Count, who well knew the adults (especially the Stanleys,) invited them to join him and his wife. The three girls were seated separately, with Charles inviting himself to be their company for the evening. The waiter came with drinks. Carla stuck with water while Madeleine took a little table wine.
Charles was a dapper looking Sixth Former who had not quite connected with the hirsute fashion of the day, combing his hair straight back. His eyes betrayed a steely, almost cold look that many said ran in the family.
“The trip to the edge of my father’s realm was well worth it,” he said, looking at Carla. “‘Came a thousand miles just to catch you while you’re smiling. . .’”
“Thousand miles?” Madeleine asked. “How is this possible on the Island?”
“He only came from Alemara,” Carla sourly noted. “It’s probably not fifty kilometres, as we’re forced to say now.”
Charles turned to Madeleine. “And who is this, who graces our table with her slightly outrageous accent?”
“Madeleine des Cieux,” Carla replied.
“Raymond’s brother?” Charles asked.
“Of course,” Madeleine replied.
“That’s what I was afraid of. I’m his hall monitor at school. He almost burned the dorm down—he’s lucky to still be in school. If you ask me, the boy’s a twit.”
The girls fell silent. Finally Madeleine said, “To be frank, sometimes I am in agreement with you.” Charles got a chuckle out of that.
“We need to say the blessing, especially with our ‘friends’ here,” Carla observed.
“We do,” Madeleine agreed. The three girls bowed their heads. Carla glanced a Madeleine, who replied by making the sign of the cross and praying the same grace she did at home, only in English.
“That means you’re Catholic,” Charles observed. “You know, in our realm, it is illegal to be under the Pope’s authority. Who knows, you might be an agent of the Jesuits. However, as long as I have anything to say about it, if you come in looking like you do now, we’ll overlook your pernicious church association.”
“And what does that have to do with it?” Joyce asked, finally getting into the conversation.
“This land you sit on is under our family’s authority,” Charles declared. “We are the masters of all that enter.”
“‘The earth is the Lord’s, and the fullness therein,’” Carla quoted.
“Ah, yes, the Bible,” Charles said. “For you, it is the Word of God. For us who have joined ourselves to the Lodge, it is but a piece of furniture, a symbol, if you please.”
“You’d be better off if you followed it,” Carla observed.
“You Christians are all alike,” Charles retorted. “‘I am the way, the truth, and the life.’ How can you know it? What do you have to show for it? When the Lodge ruled from one side of the Island to the other, we had order and prosperity. Now look at it. The Serelians set up this screwy church of theirs—but they still elect their Senior and Junior Wardens. It’s just the Lodge with a cross and candles at the front. Even the Verecundans are abandoning the faith—you know that better than anybody, Little Miss Muffett,” he said, looking at Carla.
“Going to the US won’t help either. It’s the biggest Masonic nation of all. You travel anywhere—I hitch-hiked around last summer. You see all of these monuments to the Ten Commandments, ‘In God We Trust’ on the money. It’s even Florida’s motto. But they have no state church. Why? All of their leaders are Masons. Look at an American dollar bill—the eye in the pyramid’s right there, along with that motto. They know all of this is pure symbolism, just like in the Lodge. When the Masons no longer run the place, and people start taking all of this seriously—one way or the other—they’ll start fighting like we do.”
Charles—and everyone else—could see the anger welling up in Carla. Finally she said, “Is that what you’re taught at home? And in the Lodge?”
“He’s taught at home to keep his mouth shut,” a voice came from the adult table. It was the Count, obviously able to hear his son’s speech.
“But it’s the truth,” Charles said, defending himself.
“You’d do well to learn from her and her family the practical virtues you’re supposed to be learning in the Lodge.”
“Yes, sir,” Charles replied. He turned to Carla. “Sorry.”
“That’s OK,” Carla breathed.
“So did you win the tournament?” Charles asked, trying to cheer her up.
“Lost to Denise Kendall in the championship round,” Carla reported sadly.
“I didn’t even get out of the first round,” Joyce added with embarrassment.
“You think you can beat her this season?” Charles asked.
“I don’t know,” Carla answered. She turned to Madeleine. “Should I tell him?”
“I think that Denise has realised the truth after today,” Madeleine said.
“Madeleine’s been working with me for about a year. It’s done a lot of good. . .”
“But. . .but, you’re supposed to be on the Point Collina team, aren’t you?” Charles asked Madeleine, puzzled.
“Until my season ended with encephalitis, this is true,” Madeleine confirmed. “Carla is my friend. Doing it has been a pleasure for me.”
“You two live almost as dangerously as we do,” Charles observed, after trying to sort out this new information. “You think the guys are any good?”
“Pete is very good,” Madeleine said. “The team has good depth—Jack Arnold is good when he cares. You will have hard matches. I hope Raymond improves some—really, he has a long way to go.”
“He still made the team, though,” Charles related.
“So did I,” Joyce chimed in. “Didn’t do me much good.”

The snook consumed, the families resumed their journey, crossing the Aloxan border and picking up the Stanley truck at the Kerr’s farm. They finished the trek back to Hallett and the Stanley’s house.
Their home was a ranch house on the inland side of town, about two hundred metres from the main road and on about five hectares of land which the Stanley’s fitfully farmed and diligently gardened. The land had been in their family since they came to Hallett in the last part of the nineteenth century; the house was about twenty years old. Pete had built it himself with the help of his family. But Pete found that the feed and seed store was an easier way of life than farming itself, and his nice, semi-suburban homestead confirmed this.
Carla left the losses of the tournament and the insults of the Vidameran nobility behind as the well-moonlit night made it easy to see the house coming up at the end of the dirt road. She stopped the estate car in the carport and turned off the ignition, then turned to her friend.
“I can’t believe we’re finally here together,” Carla said. “We’ve known each other for this long, and you’ve never been to my house, nor I to yours. This is great.”
“It is,” Madeleine replied.
“I’ll help with your things,” Carla said. They both got out and brought their belongings in, taking them back to Carla’s room on the back side of the house.
“So you are the baby of the family,” Madeleine observed as they put down their bags.
“I’m it. Junior moved to the mainland. Nathan’s house is over there,” Carla said, pointing to another house across the field. “But I’ve always had my own room. We’ll see how a room-mate works out.”
“You must have been looking for one,” she said, looking at the bunk beds.
“Those are my brothers’,” Carla replied. “I moved them in here for you. Dad’s remodelling the boys’ room for when Junior comes home to visit.”
Madeleine’s eyes were drawn to the awards all around her, starting with the trophies and letters for tennis and soccer. She stopped when she saw a soccer team group photo with her the only girl on a team of boys.
“How did this happen?” Madeleine asked, pointing at the photo.
“Oh,” Carla said. “That was in First Form. The goalie for the Lower Division team was killed in a car wreck right before the season started. They knew what kind of girl I was, so they asked me to play. It started out as a joke but I did all right. I was the first girl to play on a boys team in the country. But they changed the rules after that so I didn’t play boys’ soccer again. Didn’t play much of any kind of soccer after I got going with tennis.”
Madeleine continued to look at this display of victory, but her attention then focused on a group of certificates.
“Bible memorisation,” Madeleine repeated. “You actually entered contests in this?”
“Our church,” Carla said. “We have Island-wide competitions. Last year we had to go to Collina because the CPL people demonstrated the year before, even before Denise’s father became President.”
“So that’s how you could quote it to Charles.”
“That’s right. ‘Thy Word is a lamp unto my feet and a light unto my path.’ It’s important. Does your church do that?”
“I think that the Pope issued an encyclical—yes, it was during World War II—encouraging us to read the Bible, but generally we don’t do it very much.” Madeleine continued to look around the room. There were signs peeking out from behind the trophies that a young woman lived there, but not as many as even Madeleine expected.
“Not much of a girl’s room, is it?” Carla asked, almost reading Madeleine’s thoughts.
“It is yours. You are different. I know that. And you have to work between winning all of these awards.”
“Daddy started me to work when I was ten. When Nathan graduated and went away to school, I worked more. I went to Vidamera and got my drivers licence when I was in Third Form so I could make deliveries and drive the truck around. You could get away with it then.”
“I carry a Vidameran driver’s licence,” Madeleine confessed.
“Do you? Let me see it.” They spent the next five minutes comparing their licenses, which did not have photos.
“When Nathan came back from university,” Carla resumed, “he took a position as an accountant with the farmers’ co-op. Since Junior wasn’t coming back, that left me to do the work. It’s not bad; I get to know everybody around here and they give me time to play tennis and do other things.”
“You have a boyfriend now?”
“Not right at the moment,” Carla replied. Madeleine always sensed that this was a sore subject with Carla, so she didn’t press it.
“So is Junior still on the mainland?”
“Yeah. Daddy was sure he’d come back to the business, but he took a position working for a farm equipment company. Regional sales manager, or something. He knew everything about it, so he does real well. Wife is what they call a ‘Southern Belle,’ not like me. He’s on the Deacon Council at his church. Kids are beautiful. He’s got everything. He can make so much more money there than he can here, it’s unbelievable.”
“So will you come back and run the business?”
“Me? No. Girls don’t do that up here. Daddy’s tried to talk Nathan into it, but he’s doing too good these days. I don’t know what Daddy’s going to do. I really don’t want it anyway—I like working there, but it’s not something I want to do the rest of my life. You still work sometimes at your dad’s place, don’t you.”
“Occasionally,” Madeleine replied. “Especially when the workers are on holiday in the summer. You know I don’t do the physical labour you do. But there is no danger in me inheriting the business—unless I go back to France and charm the right man. . .” They both got a laugh out of that.
Alice walked into the room. “Is everything OK?”
“It’s great,” Madeleine replied. “This is a very nice place.”
“Bet you don’t have all of these trophies in your room,” Alice said.
“No, I don’t,” Madeleine answered.
“When I found that that Carla’s best friend was French, I was hoping that some of that elegance and chic would rub off.”
“Unfortunately for Carla, France is also the country that produced Jeanne d’Arc,” Madeleine observed. Alice gave a blank look.
“Joan of Arc,” Carla clarified.
“Oh,” Alice said. “You want anything else to eat or drink?”
“We’re still stuffed,” Carla replied. “No, thanks.” Madeleine nodded in agreement.
“Well, if there’s anything else, let me know. We’re exhausted—it’s been a long day. Good night,” she said, hugging both Carla and Madeleine.
The two girls—especially Carla—were too excited for bed, so they continued to tour the room and then went outside. The house had a little back porch where the family would gather for cook-outs. The moon made for excellent illumination, along with the security light.
“I still can’t believe Terry Marlowe got past the first round. We were surprised when Terry went in the first place. She’s not that good. Besides, in the coaches’ meeting, Denise insisted on having her play Elisabeth Cassidy. We figured going in that Joyce would play her—she’s not the best to start with, and she’s still struggling to get over mono. Denise must have it in for Terry.”
“It is primarily political,” Madeleine observed. “Terry is a Gerland. Her grandfather and Denise’s father are mortal enemies. It’s her way of playing out her father’s desires. And, of course. . .as you say here, Terry doesn’t ‘run in the pack’ with Denise or her friends. But I don’t know her that well.”
“Oh. . .” Carla replied. “I hate it when everything turns into politics. Why can’t we just live? It’s just like the Student Council thing. And the taxes. They’ve raised them twice on our business in the last two years.”
“We know what he is doing.”
“I’ve hung around you too long—I tried to explain this to my parents. Daddy got real mad, told me the less fortunate need the extra help. Besides, a lot of people up here think that Kendall’s the one who saved them from their land being taken by Lucian Gerland. All I see is a bunch of bureaucrats hassling us more all the time. But he won’t see that. I guess that’s why I want to beat Denise so bad. You think I can do it?”
“You can,” Madeleine replied. “It will not be easy. She is a very good athlete. I’m not sure I could have beaten her for first on the ladder. But you may have to win because of circumstances beyond your control.”
“And what can I do about those?”
“You still must try.”
Carla looked towards the moon, then turned back to her friend. “I’m going to do it. For you. For my family. For my country. For my God. I know, I’ll be ‘Carla Stanley, Maid of Hallett.’” Madeleine started to giggle at that. “All right, it’s the best I can do.”
“Then you must do it,” Madeleine replied.

It was still dark as the Point Collina tennis teams—or the portions of them which were headed to Beran—gathered at the bus parked near the two locker rooms. Three planets hovered near the horizon in the direction of the government beach, and the Moon was just setting more or less in the direction they were about to go. Terry was the last one to arrive, springing from her grandmother’s Mini and surprised to see that her team captain was already there. Denise wasn’t known as a morning person, but there she was, talking to the girl’s coach, Jane Dorr, a well tanned, mannish looking woman a shade shorter than Denise, who was also the school’s Girls’ Athletic Director. The guys were all together with their coach, an American named Thomas Hancock, who came to Verecunda when his student deferment expired and ended up coaching tennis and teaching English.
“You finally made it,” Denise contemptuously told Terry as she started up the bus stairs to store her bags.
“Did we have to all go together? It’s awful early, and a little chilly,” Terry observed, wearing her sweater over her tennis outfit. “And why couldn’t we dress when we got there?”
“Ever been inside an Aloxan locker room?” Dorr asked. “It’s for your own good.”
“We’re a team,” Denise reminded Terry. “We play together, we travel together.”
“Daddy said he could have found some place up there where we could have stayed.”
“Daddy’s off the Island,” Denise reminded Terry with a sneer. “You need to grow up.”
“Are we all ready?” Dorr asked Hancock, yelling over to the guys.
“Yeah, let’s go!” Hancock agreed, and with that the bus was loaded.
In a nation whose president’s inaugural address promised “real equality,” rank and hierarchy reigned on the bus. Hancock drove, having just acquired his Verecundan commercial driver’s license. Dorr was up front with the two team captains Denise and Pete, obviously steady now. Although it was a “small” school bus, it swallowed up its six occupants. Terry and Jack Arnold went to the back together. As they stopped at their “appointed” row, Jack leaned over to Terry and whispered, “Welcome to my world.”
“Thanks a lot,” Terry replied.
They sat across the aisle from each other. Jack’s hair and skin colouring were very much like his sister’s, reflecting both genetics and spending a lot of time in the sun. His hair was very full and shaggy, parted on one side and just barely touching his collar, with the ample sideburns that were the order of the day. Although two forms ahead of Terry, he had to look up to her a bit when they were standing together.
Leaving the school, they went down Bolton Street to Ocean Avenue. Turning right, they went through the town centre and arrived shortly at the Collinan border. Passing through was a formality, although the Collinan authorities required passports from everyone.
Development stopped right at the border; beyond it was an undeveloped estate that sat between Verecunda Bay and the ocean. The road narrowed considerably as they got into Collina, slowing their advance through the Island’s oldest republic. The group in front had some conversation but not much; the back sat in silence, taking in the morning to the extent that they could, as the wall of sleep hadn’t been broken very long for either of them.
They reached Collina town, passing through a quiet city centre and crossing the river. About 0730, as the sun’s light finally appeared on the horizon and outlined the trees to shine through the windows on the right side of the bus, the trip came to an abrupt halt at the Aloxan border as the bus stopped at the gate.
Hancock opened the bus door, and the Aloxan border guard came up the steps, complete with immaculate uniform and AK-47 slung around his back. He looked around, then said, “Everyone off of the bus. Leave your articles on.” Terry and Jack looked at each other in a worried way as they were the last off. The border guard’s colleague motioned the team and coaches to make a kind of line-up along the side.
“Passports, please,” the other guard said as the one boarded the bus.
“You can’t search my things—I carry a diplomatic passport, if you don’t mind,” Denise sternly said, taking her specially coloured one and handing it to the guard. “My bag has my name marked on it.”
“Don’t search Miss Kendall’s things,” the guard yelled to his fellow on the bus. He took everyone’s passport and he also searched the girls’ purses (except, of course, Denise’s.) “Wait here,” the guard said upon finishing passport roundup. He went into the guard house.
Terry and Jack eased away from the rest and went around back.
“What are they looking for?” Terry asked.
“Drugs,” Jack replied. “I hope Pete left his pot at home. I sure did. If he didn’t, they’ll throw us all in the klink—except, of course, ‘her highness.’”
“Great,” Terry sighed. “Or maybe he stashed it in Denise’s bag.”
“You two trying to start something?” a voice came from the left. They turned and saw it was Denise. She looked first at Jack. “Why don’t you pick on someone your own size?” she asked. She then turned to Terry. “He’s not your type—trust me. They’re just about through.” Denise walked back towards the bus door. By that time the guard had emerged from the house with the passports. He gave back each of them stamped, but saved Terry’s for last.
“You’re Mr. Richard Marlowe’s daughter, aren’t you?” he asked Terry.
“Yes, sir, I am,” Terry answered.
“I see him at the border often,” the guard said. “Haven’t you been to Aloxa lately? I thought I recognised you.”
“I think it was back in June,” Terry said.
“Your father is a fine man,” the guard said, handing her passport back. “Tell him that Noel Saxton was asking about him. I usually am posted along the Beran-Hallett Road, but I am on temporary duty here.”
“I’ll do that. Thank you,” Terry replied, turned, and stepped back up into the bus. She was barely at the top of the stairs when the Aloxans raised the gate. Hancock put the bus in gear and lurched forward, sending Terry hurtling down the aisle. When she came even with her seat, she threw herself backwards, landing sitting upright on the vinyl seat with a satisfying, if not particularly ladylike, thud.
“That’s right slick,” Jack said, impressed with the show of female gymnastics. “Think you can manoeuvre that good on the court?”
“If we make the trip,” Terry answered. Denise and Pete were laughing at the whole show; it broke Denise’s jealous stare at Terry’s nice talk with the guard.
The bus’ progress was reasonable until they got to Aloxa town. It was market day, and the streets were crowded. The bus picked its way past the central square and the palace. The people in the streets were virtually all black, except for the occasional native from Fort Keane, and this intimidated the bus riders. They also passed the Aloxa Royal school, one of their rivals in the tournament they were going up to. As the bus worked its way through Aloxa town traffic, Dorr made her way to the back of the bus people to brief them on what she didn’t know.
“Do we know anything more than we did before? Coach Hancock didn’t say much other than to pick Pete and me to go and told us to show up at 6:00 this morning at school,” Jack asked.
“Not really,” Dorr replied. “We know the Aloxans want to show of their new school—Beran-Williamstown. We know each school invited—and that means us and Hallett—were to send two boys and two girls. Beyond that, we don’t know much of anything.”
“Is this a new court?” Terry asked.
“It is a new court,” Dorr confirmed. “But nobody from our side of the border has ever seen it. I think they’ve been practising on it so they’ll have an advantage.”
“How good are these people, compared to last year?” Jack asked.
“Depends,” Dorr replied. “The three schools—now two—only graduated two boys off the team between them. You remember how they played last year at the Collinan Invitational.”
“Really,” Jack recalled, “that guy from Aloxa Royal knocked me out the first round.”
“We’ll, he’s back.”
“So what about the girls?” Terry asked.
“Hard to say,” Dorr answered. “They’ve only had organised girls’ athletics in Aloxa since King Leslie was crowned. There’s one girl from Williamstown who’s supposed to be terrific, but she’s never played outside the country before.”
“So that leaves us Hallett,” Jack observed.
“Their boys’ team is the worst Upper Division team in the country,” Dorr declared. “The girls have Carla Stanley, and in my opinion she’s the only one in our regular season schedule who can beat Denise.”
“She wasn’t that strong last year—good, but not great,” Terry noted.
“I saw her at an exhibition match they had with Uranus Consolidated about a month ago. She’s come a long way. Somebody’s been working with her other than her coach, but I don’t know who.”
As they eased out of Aloxa town, they entered what should have been the most scenic part of the trip: the journey down the Royal Road along the Aloxa River to Beran. Out of the left they could see the river pass by them with its overhanging trees, but the closer they got to Beran the more nervous they became, as much from the uncertainty of the tournament structure itself as from the possibility of losing.
But their worries did nothing to slow their advance. It wasn’t long before they came up on a bridge which carried them over Beran Creek. Off to the left about 500 metres away they could see the creek open up to the Beran Bay. In front of them was the town of Beran, Aloxa’s second largest.
The name Beran was one East Islanders spoke with reverence. It had not yet been a half century since the slave revolt that birthed Aloxa swept away the Masonic monarchy that lorded over a realm extending from where they rode to Drago on the other end of the Island, and up to the Claudian Islands that marked the northern limit of this patch of sand and coral. For Verecundans, Beran was their chief rival; its elimination assured Verecunda’s pre-eminence—if not its territorial dominance—over the Island, and Verecundans tended to regard Beran as a quaint, picturesque town inhabited with black people they had as little to do with as they could.
Jack and Pete had never seen the place before; they took it in as best they could as Hancock made his way to his appointed left turn onto Central Axis Road. Ahead of them in the distance was the Ashlar Pier, the traditional entrance into Beran, but today Verecunda’s privileged children entered by means of school bus. The traffic was very moderate—market day concentrated itself down towards the pier—as they passed the old Beran school, now consolidated with Williamstown’s to the north. Terry looked out and noted that it was now owned by the Beran Pentecostal Church, who were converting the building to their own use.
They then turned right onto the Williamstown Road and proceeded slowly. Hancock wasn’t completely sure what he was looking for next, but Denise spotted a very small, hand painted sign pointing left to the school. Hancock made an abrupt turn to follow it; Terry found it necessary to hang on to the seat in front of her to prevent her tall frame from ending up on the bus floor. Driving down the new Beran-Williamstown School Road about 750 metres, they bore slightly left through an impressive gate announcing the school and at last came onto school property.
On their right was a nice looking, Spanish style building in concrete-block stucco, painted pink, with a white roof.
“This looks better than some of our schools,” Jack noted.
“Yeah, but. . .where is everybody?” Denise asked.
“When did they say we were supposed to be here?” Pete asked, realising that Denise was right.
“Says here eight thirty,” Dorr replied, looking at a piece of paper in her hand.
“I should have known,” Denise sighed. “These people haven’t figured out what a clock is for.”
Terry looked at her coach with concern. “I need to go to the bathroom,” she said softly.
“What a baby!” Denise scolded.
“Just because you’re a camel!” Jack shot back.
“Shut your face!” Denise shot back. Hancock, re-engaged the clutch and threw the bus back into gear, forcing everyone firmly back into their seats. He drove around the west end of the school and found a custodian walking on the back side of the building.
“We’re here from the Point Collina school for the tennis tournament. Where are the Aloxan teams and coaches?” Hancock asked the custodian.
“I don’t know,” the custodian replied. “They should be here in a while.” Denise rolled her eyes at this response.
“Are there locker rooms where these people could freshen up?” Hancock asked.
“Oh, yes, they’re right over there,” pointing to the two doors about ten metres away. “I’ll open them up for you. And, welcome to Beran.”
“Thank you,” Hancock replied. He pulled a little closer, stopped and opened the door. The bus riders—all of them, including Denise—bounded out and headed straight for the two of them, barely allowing the custodian to unlock the doors and turn on the lights.
The guys came out first and, each looking around as he emerged, spotted the tennis courts in front of them and a little to the left. The girls came out as a unit and, seeing the guys already at the court, went the same way.
“The plumbing sure was screwy in there,” Denise observed. “I could barely figure out how to wash my hands, let alone flush the john.”
“I think some Swiss contractor built this for them,” Terry replied. “They had to bring just about everything in from Europe.”
“And how did you know that, smarty pants?” Denise asked.
“I was working at Daddy’s last summer,” Terry replied. “We sold them some things, did some freight forwarding as well.”
“You get around too much,” Denise replied. They came to the courts. There were two of them in a common, chain-link enclosure with wind break material threaded in the links. Obviously meant for spectator events, there were two sets of bleachers, one on each side. What really caught everyone’s attention, however, was the fact that the courts were right next to a beach on the Beran Bay. All of them stood in front of the fence and looked out on the beach in front of them and outward to the bay. It was a very nice day, with a breeze blowing from inland and the temperature already around 22ºC.
“I don’t believe these stupid people wasted a perfectly good beach on a school,” Denise said as she looked wide-eyed on the scene.
“You and Cat would be out on the beach every day if you went here,” Jack said.
“We don’t go to the beach that much,” Terry replied.
“Hey, speaking of beaches, isn’t that Avinet’s Beach over there on the right?” Dorr asked, pointing at the beach across the bay whose shore curved towards the north.
“What about it?” Hancock asked.
“It’s the place where the first King of Beran crucified an entire family of Christian people for not being Masons,” Dorr said.
“You mean, literally, crucified them?” Hancock asked, taken aback.
“Yes, sir,” Dorr replied. “The King didn’t want any Christians in his realm, and that stuck until Beran came apart.”
“Oughta do it again,” Denise said. The conversation came to a sudden halt with that remark; even Hancock was shocked, and they looked at each other in disbelief.
They drifted back in silence towards the courts; Denise walked on, first looking over them very carefully. They were brand new and obviously played on very little. She pawed the surface with her tennis shoe, then turned to Dorr in amazement.
“They’ve put clay courts in,” she said. “I can’t believe these turds did this.”
“Are there any others on the Island?” Terry asked.
“Not that I know of,” Dorr said.
“I wonder what other booby traps these spooks have set,” Denise mused.
“I guess we’ll find out when we have the coaches meeting,” Dorr replied. Hancock shook his head in disbelief at this kind of dialogue. They wandered around; Denise got out her racquet and a ball or two and tested the courts out, as did the guys. About ten minutes later two vehicles came around the school, a large American estate car and a VW Beetle right behind it.
“Here come the hillbillies,” Denise said. The two cars rolled up and stopped behind the bleachers; Carla emerged from the driver’s seat of the estate car, dressed pretty much the same way she was when making deliveries. The rest of the passengers and the Beetle’s driver followed suit.
“Don’t you people have a bus?” Dorr asked their coaches, a husband and wife team named William and Cassie Lawrence.
“Broke down yesterday,” William replied. “Have to get a part from the mainland.” Denise’s attention immediately shifted from the coaches when she saw Madeleine des Cieux emerge from the back seat of the estate car.
“What are you doing with these people?” Denise asked.
“They offered me a ride,” Madeleine simply replied.
“You could have ridden with us—we had plenty of room,” Denise came back.
“I don’t remember receiving an invitation,” Madeleine answered in her soft voice. Now it was Dorr’s turn to show displeasure in her face at this dialogue.
“So where are the Aloxans?” William asked.
“Haven’t seen them yet,” Hancock replied.
“Is there anywhere to change?” Carla asked. “We need to be getting ready.”
“Locker rooms are over there,” Terry pointed. “They’re pretty nice.” The Hallett teams went and got their gear out of the estate car and headed towards the locker room. Madeleine, dressed in shorts, decided to go down and wade in the bay, taking a spare towel from the estate car. The Point Collina team beat the ball around for a few minutes while the coaches traded whatever notes they could while waiting for the Aloxans.
It was another fifteen minutes before both Aloxan teams emerged from the locker rooms, the boys first and the girls a minute later. They had gained access through the front of the building shortly after the Point Collinans had passed it. The Point Collina and Hallett coaches introduced themselves, then the teams were introduced to each other. The coaches then retreated to the building for the meeting. The Aloxan coaches did not bring their captains with them while the others did.
The Aloxan players for their part took over the court. Jack wandered off to the beach to admire the scenery. A couple of Aloxans sat where the grass met the beach and watched.
“How did you know this place was next to a beach?” Jack yelled to Madeleine as she eased through the water.
“Papa told me,” she coolly replied, turning back to Jack to answer him.
“Does he know everything?”
“And everyone,” Madeleine added.
“So you were ready,” he said, pointing to her legs in the water.
“Haven’t you seen a woman dressed in this way before? This is the Island, after all.”
“Well, yeah, but. . .”
“So it is not a problem.” She turned back and waded some more. Jack, sufficiently buffaloed, wandered around a bit more.
“Is she your girlfriend?” one of the Aloxan boys asked Jack.
“Nah,” he replied. “Just in my class.”
“If you want to change that, you have a long way to go,” the Aloxan came back, laughing with his friend. Jack swallowed the insult; he could have started a fight but didn’t.
He looked at her sandals and towel on the beach. I could swipe these, he thought to himself as his glance alternated between her and her belongings. But her purse is somewhere else. Bet it’s locked up in the hicks’ car. She thinks of everything. If I did, all she’d do is walk barefoot to the bleachers. Not quite like stealing Vannie’s panties at the Elaron Beach Hotel last spring. Besides. . .he looked at her again. . .I don’t know. Better not. He found his own restraint inexplicable as he left the beach and worked his way back to the courts.
Terry retreated to the eastern bleachers, too keyed up from both past and future to do much else. Shortly thereafter Elisabeth Cassidy, one of the Aloxan girls, stopped practising and went over to Terry. She was different in that, while the other Aloxan girls sported Afros, her own hairdo was more in the style of Diana Ross.
“You have been up here before, haven’t you?” she asked.
“Some,” Terry said, still not totally there.
“You are Richard Marlowe’s daughter, aren’t you?” Elisabeth asked.
“Yes, I am,” Terry said, lightening up a bit.
“Your father is a very nice man,” Elisabeth said. “My father is grove manager up in Williamstown. Your father comes to see us every now and then; he helps us a great deal when we need to obtain things from off the Island.”
The light finally came on inside of Terry. “You’re Devin Cassidy’s daughter then,” she said. “That means. . .you’re Queen Arlene’s younger sister. I’m sorry, Your Highness,” she said, coming up from her seat and bowing.
Elisabeth laughed. “Don’t be so formal,” she said, looking up at Terry. “Besides, according to our law, I am not to be addressed as a princess. But you are very kind. You are also very attractive, you look very much like your father.”
“Thanks for saying so,” Terry answered. “People back home think I look strange.”
“To be honest, people in Verecunda have odd attitudes about many things,” Elisabeth observed. “Your father always treats us with respect, as does hers,” she continued, pointing to Madeleine, knee-deep in water.
“Daddy always enjoyed coming up here. He also liked seeing his Aloxan customers at the office. Sometimes they would bring large amounts of cash to pay for their items. Sometimes Daddy sent me to the bank with it—I always was scared to carry all of that.”
Elisabeth laughed again. “The only thing worse is to go to the bank with nothing.” They both laughed at that, talked about mutual friends, adult and teenage. Finally the coaches meeting broke and Elisabeth left to meet with her team.
The Point Collina teams coalesced around the back side of the bleachers. Jack was the last to join them.
“So what’s the deal?” Jack asked.
“Single elimination tournament. No doubles. Consolation match, no tiebreaker. Here’s the line-up,” Hancock said, handing the men’s chart to Pete and Jack.
“So what about us?” Terry asked.
“You were talking with your opponent,” Denise said angrily to Terry. “She’s second seed, the best girl in the country.”
“Denise is first seed. She plays Alice Fitzwilliam, Beran-Williamstown’s other player,” Dorr said, trying to avert another round of sour dialogue. “Girls play the west court, boys play the east. Your match is first,” she continued, looking at Terry.
“Let’s go get ‘em,” Hancock said, and with that their little huddle broke. As they dispersed, Denise grabbed Terry by the arm.
“I didn’t bring you up here to jive with the jigs,” she angrily snapped. “You’re here to play tennis. You screw this up, and your season is over with, just like hers,” she said, pointing to Madeleine. Terry fought back the tears as she turned away to head to the court.
By this time a crowd was filling up the stands, mostly Aloxans and mostly to watch the men, but a few Verecundans sprinkled the spectators. Madeleine slipped behind the bleachers to intercept Carla before she joined her team on the bottom row.
“I can’t believe they matched Terry with Elisabeth Cassidy,” Carla said. “That’s sheep to the slaughter.”
“Denise has her own idea,” Madeleine replied.
“I hope I can beat her, if we play,” Carla said. “Thanks for everything you’ve done for me.”
“Just do your best,” Madeleine said. Carla joined her team-mates while Madeleine went to the third row. It wasn’t a minute before Madeleine’s journey through her inner thoughts was interrupted by a voice.
“Is this seat taken?” a Chinese woman, of greater than expected height and cheery disposition, asked.
“Oh, no,” Madeleine replied. The woman sat down.
“I am Ling Shu-Yi, Terry’s grandmother,” she said. Madeleine mentally made the connections, a process made simpler by the facial resemblance between Shu-Yi and Terry.
Down on the team level, Denise looked around as Terry got ready to go out on the court. She spotted James Bennett, an Aloxan student at Point Collina, in the stands, looking very ebullient.
“I’ll bet he’s rooting for Cassidy,” Denise said to Pete, who was sitting next to her.
“Who’s that?” Pete asked.
“Bennett. Look over your right shoulder.” Pete did so and recognised him. “We got a lot of rats in this school.”
“I’ll say,” Pete agreed. “The two here are foreigners. Maybe your dad could revoke their visas.”
“He won’t do it. Bennett has a diplomatic visa, if he was expelled, he’d just come back up here a hero. Maddy. . .I don’t know, her father seems to have a lot of connections. So he won’t do that either.”
“Yet,” Pete added. He got up and went over to the eastern, “men’s” court to join Jack, who himself was first up. At this point the provincial governor got up and made what seemed to be an endless speech of welcome, with greetings from King Leslie. This was followed by similar speeches from the headmasters of the two Aloxan schools; neither of the Verecundan schools’ chiefs bothered to show up. After this they announced the first two sets.
Terry walked out onto the court, visibly nervous but making an attempt to carry herself properly. Her jet-black hair was tied back and formed far more than a ponytail down her back. Her visor strapped itself under her hair tie and her sweat band was already doing its job on her right wrist. Her metal racquet stood out on her team; before her only Madeleine had used one, a habit she passed along to Carla. The Point Collina girls had the shortest skirts of any team on the Island, which worked against Terry in that it called attention to her very long legs. Her long figure cast a slender shadow, nearly four metres long, which stretched diagonally across the court towards the bleachers where the spectators for the girls’ competition sat.
“Isn’t she beautiful?” Shu-Yi asked Madeleine, pointing to her granddaughter getting ready to receive the serve. “She will make a fine wife someday.”
Her physique is totally unsuited for this game, Madeleine thought to herself. At that uninspiring thought Madeleine was seized by another one, one that seemed to come from somewhere else: Pray for Terry. Pray like you never prayed before. Pray like Carla prayed for you.
Madeleine responded to this impulse by reaching in her purse. She pulled out her rosary, and looked at it. This just won’t do the job, she thought to herself. She threw it back in, put her purse down between herself and Shu-Yi, and crossed herself. In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit, she prayed silently. Shu-Yi picked up on this immediately and followed suit.
Madeleine continued silently: Our Heavenly Father, please have Terry Marlowe win this match, for our good, and the good of all his church, and for the greater glory of God, in the name of Jesus Christ our Lord, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, world without end, Amen. She continued in this vein intermittently as Terry played.
Terry’s strength was in her serve; unfortunately, while in Lower Division, she had lost many a match by fumbling game after game after a killer serve. She started out repeating this pattern, and Elisabeth seemed to be moving towards wrapping things up in two sets. However, as she got the feel of the clay court, she progressed beyond her previous play. Instead of having to think about every shot and return, she more and more felt like she was running on autopilot; she just reacted and volleyed the ball back before she knew it. The more she went into this mode, the harder Elisabeth found it to keep the ball in play, and so Elisabeth was only able to win the first set 9-7.
By this time the Point Collinans suddenly realised they had a contest on their hands. Shu-Yi stopped praying and starting screaming for her “baby,” as she called Terry. Dorr started to get carried away as well, and even Denise starting cheering for Terry. Madeleine yelled some between prayers. Most schools—to say nothing of tennis clubs—on the Island were strict about controlling their crowds, but the Aloxan schools always had a different view of this, which their opponents usually found unnerving. This time the shoe was on the other foot, but the Aloxans, always lively spectators, tried to counter this with larger numbers. As Elisabeth’s whole élan kept slipping away, they turned more to silence. Terry was energised by all of this and kept the pressure up. The second set went 7-5 for Terry, and the final set 6-4 for her also, with only two games in the last set going deuce.
There was applause from the few Verecundans when Terry’s victory was announced, but after that the crowd got quiet again, the Verecundans regaining their normal tennis decorum and the Aloxans in a state of shock. The two players went to the net to shake hands. As Elisabeth came close, she made eye contact with James Bennett and made a quick clapping motion, and he responded by standing and applauding, and his fellow countrymen followed suit, giving Terry a standing ovation.
“You played magnificently,” Elisabeth said to Terry as they shook hands. “How did you do it?”
“I have no idea,” Terry replied sheepishly. They walked off of the court and Terry sat down. It was Denise’s turn to defend Point Collina’s honour, and she got up without saying anything to her victorious team-mate.
“I knew she could win,” a jubilant Shu-Yi told Madeleine. All Madeleine could think of is, What have I done? She was lost in the whole thing. She was taught to pray. She was taught it worked. She prayed. It worked. Now she didn’t know how to take the results. Why did Elisabeth have to lose? And would Terry go on to win the tournament?
All of these hung over Madeleine like an invisible cloud as Denise faced Alice Fitzwilliam, the other Beran-Williamstown player. It was Alice who didn’t have a prayer this time; Denise dispatched her in two lopsided sets. A similar result took place when Carla Stanley played Aloxa Royal’s Maureen Avinet. Carla had the same kind of help that Terry did, although not as intense.
Elisabeth’s loss put the Aloxans’ strategy for their girls in jeopardy. Any hope of winning anything came down to Philomene Scott, who played Carla’s team-mate Joyce Kerr. A slightly chunky brunette who was as close to the court as Terry was to the sky, Kerr showed Hallett’s lack of depth by being nearly blanked in two sets.
As the girls’ first round ended, the Aloxan boys were doing better. Both Pete and Jack advanced, as Hallett was knocked out up front.
The second round began. Denise went up first, taking longer than expected to beat Philomene Scott. For Madeleine, the time of hard choices came when Terry played Carla. Shu-Yi was doing her usual support, but Madeleine was torn. Carla was her friend, Terry her schoolmate. She decided to keep quiet both on earth and to heaven, and under these circumstances Carla kept Terry off balance most of the match, although it took her the full three sets to beat the tournament’s surprise.
“Carla’s playing better that she was last year,” Denise noted to Dorr as they watched her play. “A lot better.” She looked up at Madeleine, then turned back to Dorr. “You think Maddy’s been coaching her?”
“Looks that way,” Dorr agreed.
“What were we supposed to do if Maddy played with us?”
“Glad we didn’t have to find out. Now, she’s too out of commission to really coach her right. But Carla’s still playing well. You better be your best.”
“Carla can’t win,” Denise flatly stated. “She just can’t.”
As the tournament went to its championship matches, the Aloxans decided to take no chances on losing it all, especially with the women. Some of the students headed to the music room—Beran-Williamstown was the first school in the country to have a symphonic band—and returned with drums and brass instruments. By the time Terry made it to the court to play Philomene Scott, she could barely hear herself think, let alone her grandmother cheer her on. Not only did they do the cheers, but they also did some gospel music, since many of the players were both students at the school and members of a church. None of the Point Collinans had any idea what they were playing, and Coach Dorr’s attempts to get the Aloxans to stop it were in vain. The fact that Philomene wasn’t a Christian didn’t seem to faze anyone either. Carla knew what they were playing, but she also knew it sounded entirely differently at her church. Terry was unable to keep her wits about her and went down 6-4, 3-6, and 9-11.
“You play very well,” Terry said to Philomene at the end of the match.
“We learn the hard way,” Philomene replied. “I chopped cane before I took up the racquet.”
The Aloxans weren’t too interested in the girls’ championship between Denise and Carla, which Denise won after more effort than she thought she would have to put into it. Carla was thrown off by Denise’s powerful backhand, which put the ball in places that most girls on the Island could not match. In the meanwhile the church band had repositioned itself on the men’s side, now with steel band elements. The Point Collinans braced themselves for the worst.
They got it. Hancock’s complaints almost got him thrown out as Jack struggled in his consolation round with Prince Desmond of Aloxa. Jack finally cracked and went down in four sets. Now it was left for Pete to play proper lawn tennis against Claude Millington of Beran-Williamstown. Millington was a good player, but he wasn’t quite ready to go up against someone whose game had few weak spots, a game which vaulted him to first on the ladder and the team captainship at Point Collina. It took a string of drug-out deuces but Pete finally managed to put Millington away and obtain the championship.
The winners’ ceremony was brief. As the Point Collinans walked back towards their bus, Terry felt a hand on her shoulder.
It was Elisabeth Cassidy. “You had the touch of God on your game today. What church do you go to?”
“I’m Catholic,” Terry replied.
“You come see us the next time you’re in Aloxa.”
“Thanks,” Terry replied.
They got to the bus, and Dorr asked Terry, “Are you sure that hotel has good shower facilities available? It’s the high season.”
“Yeah, they do—I called the manager yesterday. He’s waiting for us.”
“Then let’s get out of here.”
“Great idea,” Hancock agreed. They piled into the bus with their things, assumed the same positions they had going up. With a jolt Hancock put the bus in gear and began their journey back to the Point.
As they left Beran and headed down the road back towards Collina, they could see the sun set over the right front hood of the bus and the moon rising nearly behind them. For a bus that carried both tournament champions and the upset of the day, the mood was sombre, induced as much as anything by fatigue. Everyone was content to look out of the windows and content themselves with the company of their own thoughts, which interacted with the passing scenery. Hancock decided that the trip back didn’t need to be made in silence, so he turned on the radio to Verecunda’s “Top 40” station, which entertained them with Smokey Robinson’s “Tears of a Clown” and Santana’s “Black Magic Woman” as they sped through the Aloxan countryside. The town itself was clearing up, so getting through it was relatively easy, as was making the border crossing. About 1800 they turned into the resort entrance.
The name Collina—both republic and town—means “the place with hills,” which are exceptional on an Island where flat is the rule. The country sat on top of a group of coral ridges that began at Point Collina itself and curved around, forming the west coast of the island all the way to Beran Bay and reaching heights of around sixty metres. When travelling through Collina, the team followed one ridge from the Point to Collina town and crossed the river. Immediately after that it ascended to the crest of another ridge. From there it gently descended to Aloxa town and Beran.
The nation itself thus sat on the most interesting—and in case of hurricane, the most protected—real estate on the Island. Unfortunately it had difficulty translating this into greatness. From the start it had to compete with Verecunda’s superior port, and also with Beran’s slave system for primacy in agriculture. It was also trapped between the two rivals, siding with Verecunda until Beran’s collapse. Verecunda rewarded Collina’s loyalty by forcing it to concede Point Collina, and in the meanwhile the drainage and cultivation of Uranus put it at a disadvantage agriculturally. This led to emigration to Verecunda, and not a few inhabitants of districts such as Dillman-Arnold and University came or had ancestors from Collina. In more recent times there were a few émigrés from Verecunda who wanted to get away from Kendalls “march into the future,” but Verecunda leaned on its small neighbour to avoid turning it into a hotbed of dissent and governments in exile. The Republic of Collina that presented itself to the tennis teams was one of a collection of small to medium size farms and old estates which had grown over with subtropical scrub, a tangled mess of palmetto palms and slash pines with the occasional row of Australian pines.
The one exception to this was Collina town itself. The Collina River—a creek in reality—emptied itself into Collina Bay. On the south side of both was the town itself, a picturesque collection of houses and buildings that reminded foreign visitors of Bermuda but with a warmer climate. Beyond the town and peninsula was a chain of small islands on top of the best coral reef in the West Island for diving and snorkelling, but they also afforded some protection to the harbour itself. On the steep slopes of the north side was the place where the coral ridge that formed the nation’s backbone came closest to the coastline, and it was here that Lucian Gerland had built his first resort outside of Verecundan territory.
The Collina Hotel and Resort was perched on a terrace in the rapid rise of the hills from the water, and its first storey sat about twenty metres above the water. It was situated to have easy access to the fine beaches in the small bight to the north-west and a dock for boating in the inner harbour to the south-east. Above the hotel were the tennis courts and golf course. To get to the hotel, it was necessary to turn westward from the main road and go past the course and courts, then make a sharp left turn and descend down a road to the main entrance on the north-west end of the building. The bus did just that and came to a halt in front of the lobby entrance.
For the first time all day, the team was in Terry’s territory, and she got up and out of the bus to see what was what. In her own element and coming off of an improbable victory, Terry entered the lobby alone with a princess’ demeanour. To be a grandchild of Lucian Gerland was to have at one’s disposal the best recreational facilities on the Island, and the various properties got a taste of these presumed heirs and heiresses often. Of the six of them, Terry was the oldest, and also had the reputation as the most personable and best mannered. The help was always happy to see her. About five minutes later she returned to the bus.
“They’ve had a tour cancellation,” Terry explained. “We have six rooms on the hill side to clean up in. I have the keys here,” holding them up. “They’ll be expecting us for dinner shortly.”
“Great,” Denise said. They piled out of the bus, taking the keys and Terry’s directions to each room. Terry herself was thrilled to get a chance to clean up and revert to her preferred slacks so she wouldn’t look like something out of the Wild Kingdom. She made her way to the dining room, which overlooked the bay. The maître d’ sat her a table next to the plate glass window, which gave a spectacular vista of Collina town on the left, now illuminated with its own lights, the Collinan Peninsula at the centre and right which ended at the lighthouse, and the last gasp of the light of day over the bay in front of them. The ridge that started at the end of the peninsula rose slowly as one panned one’s eyes to the left. Unlike other places on the Island, where the front row of buildings blocked the view of most of what was behind them, the houses and other buildings built on the side of the ridge could easily be seen from the downward vista of the resort.
She was taking in the scene in while trying to put the day behind her when she heard a voice. “May I sit and stare at you for awhile? I’d like the company of your smile.” She looked up. It was Jack.
“Sure,” she replied.
“The sunlight in your hair—you look so good, just sitting there,” Jack continued after seating himself.
“You like that album, don’t you?” Terry asked, piercing his boulevardier talk.
“It’s great,” Jack agreed. “‘Brown is the colour of skin/that I’d like to be in/’cause it doesn’t seem right/to be coloured so white.’ Bet you like that line.”
“Actually, I do,” Terry said, smiling. “But I’m not that brown. Seems you like like the album a lot better than Cathy did. I brought it back to her all the way from England, got an extra copy. Glad someone else likes it.”
“Cat’s a teeny bopper,” Jack observed. “So where did you go in England?”
“It wasn’t a big tourist deal or anything,” Terry replied. “Daddy went to see some of his British business associates, so he took me with him.” Jack could see Terry’s face lighten up at the thought. “We rode a lot of trains, and got to see a lot of factories and offices.”
“Like what?”
“Well, a couple of candy factories—tried not to eat too much, I love English candy—and the place where they make Aston Martins.”
“Like your old man’s DB-4?”
“Yeah. . .actually, Daddy’s made arrangements to get me a DBM.”
“DBM? No screaming!” Jack exclaimed.
“It’s a used one, some managing director wants a new one. It’s only supposed to be a year old. It’s supposed to get here in October.”
“Cat always said you could be a Bond girl. . .now, you’ll just be Bond! When can we ride in it?”
Terry blushed as best she could. “I promised Cathy she’d be the first one. You can come along.”
Jack thought a second. “I’ll be going to university on the mainland by then. But I’ll check it out on Christmas break.”
“I hope my mother doesn’t mess it up,” Terry said. “She’s not too happy about it. Says I shouldn’t have an expensive car like that, especially with the crime we’ve got. But I want it so bad.”
“You’ll get it,” Jack assured her. They looked out of the corner of their eyes to see the coaches come in and be seated. Right then the waiter came up and took their drink order.
“I wonder where’s Denise and Pete?” Terry asked.
“As they say in the sticks, they’re probably makin’ bacon. Denise is pretty fast.”
“I was afraid of that.”
“Can’t stop ‘em.”
“So why did she break up with you?” Terry asked.
“Beats me,” Jack shrugged. “One day we were tight, the next day we weren’t. I kinda think when Pete made captain she decided to back a winner. Maybe he’s better at what he’s doing now. There may be some politics involved, too.”
“Politics?”
“My old man shot his mouth off about Denise’s a couple of months ago at some meeting. That probably painted a target on me. Besides, Pete’s stepdad is big in the CPL. Like your mom.”
“I know that.”
“Well, it’s over now. We had a lot of fun times—Denise is a great girl when you’re on her good side. All I ended up showing for it was the clap. But I’ll be okay.” He looked out the window at the city lights. Terry could see the pain he was trying to hide. They sat in silence for what seemed to Terry like an eternity. Finally the silence was broken by Denise and Pete making their entrance. They were seated across the room from Terry and Jack and not so far from the coaches.
“Cat thinks you’re the greatest,” Jack said.
“I’m not sure why—I don’t do a lot of the things she does,” Terry replied.
“She’s okay with that. Opposites attract. She needs somebody to turn to when the party’s over. She thinks you’re the prettiest girl in the school—she thinks you make her look good.”
“I keep telling her she needs glasses,” Terry replied. “Besides. . .gentlemen prefer blondes. Like the Americans say, ‘five foot two, eyes of blue.’”
“What gentlemen?” Jack shot back. They both got a chuckle out of that. “She thinks you could model, with your height and figure.”
“This place isn’t ready for an Oriental model.”
“Then move to the U.S.”
“I don’t like the U.S. That’s where all our problems come from.”
“Maybe your dad could line up something for you in England then. The Island is a small place. Maybe you’re ready for something bigger.”
“I couldn’t even get to go to St. Anne’s. It was all Daddy could do to get her to let me go to England with him for two weeks.”
“Your old lady’s cracked. Cat talks about it all the time. One minute she wants you to party like her, the next she won’t let you go where you could really do some damage. You can’t live with that.”
“I know. . .” It was Terry’s turn for silence. The waiter came back with their drinks and took their meal order. “Did you hear them talk about Maddy helping Carla Stanley out?”
“A little bit. From what I saw, Stanley was playing a lot better.”
Terry looked around, then leaned towards Jack. “Did Cat tell you?”
“Tell me about what?”
“Our trip up here last summer.”
“She had a blast.”
“Yeah. . .but she did a lot of that on her own.”
“I never figured that part out. Where were you?”
“Up here taking tennis lessons. The pro here is the coach at Collina Comprehensive. I came up several times after that.”
“So?”
“It’s no different with Maddy and Stanley.”
Jack took a swig of his soda. “It’s all a bunch of crap. Everybody needs help to get better. So what? That isn’t the problem. Denise hates Maddy. Hates you too, but that’s no surprise. I can’t blame you for sneaking up here—you can’t learn this game with Denise breathing down your neck. You two won’t drink, smoke pot and get laid like she does. She doesn’t trust anybody that won’t. Besides, Maddy’s stuck up—thinks she’s better than everybody because she’s French. You are better than everybody. That sticks in Denise’s craw.
“The big problem, though, is that Maddy really has better technique. On the court. If Denise wasn’t such a mo, Maddy would have started first on the ladder. But now that she’s sick, Denise has the top spot to herself—no one else will challenge her. Least of all Vannie.”
“So why did Denise make me come to this tournament? Vannie should have. They’re so tight, and everything.”
“It was a set-up. Denise figured Cassidy would wipe you out, then she could claim you were an embarrassment to the team and the country and force you to quit. You totally screwed up her plans. Now she’s stuck with you, for a while at least. Besides, the last thing she wanted was to go to this tournament. Her old man made her go—diplomacy, or something. If it had been up to her, you and Vannie would have gone.”
“Then Vannie and Carla would have played the final. I don’t think Vannie would have won.”
They had a good time talking, although Jack tended to turn the conversation intoz a “Cat Roast.” But the meal came to an end, the teams and coaches gathered themselves together, they got back in their bus and began the last leg of the journey home.
By this time night had fallen. The full moon was rising over Uranus; there was little in the sky to obscure it except for the trees and the cut that was blasted into the coral rock to allow the road to make a gentler downward slope to the bridge that crossed the Collina River. They passed once again through the city centre and the parallel rows of royal palms that lined the road south through Collina town. Ascending the ridge behind the town, they left it behind and once again found themselves in rural Collina. As was the case going through Aloxa, the bus was regaled with AM rock as they moved through the southern Collinan countryside. It wasn’t so long when they arrived at the border.
“Finally back in civilisation,” Denise proclaimed as they pulled away from the border crossing. They retraced their route from early morning back to the school.
Shu-Yi was faithfully waiting for her granddaughter when they pulled in. The weary teams gathered their things and got off of the bus. As Terry started towards the Mini, she felt a hard tug on her left arm. She turned around to see Denise.
“That was a great match you played today,” Denise said, looking her straight in the eyes. “I know I’m on your case all the time, but I needed to say that. Thanks too for dinner—it was great.”
“You’re welcome,” Terry replied blankly. She turned to walk to towards Shu-Yi. They threw their arms around each other.
“I am so proud of you,” Shu-Yi said. “Your father will be too. Would you like to drive?”
“Yeah,” Terry answered, cracking a smile. They loaded Terry’s things in the back, then Terry got behind the wheel, readjusted the seat and mirrors the best she could as Shu-Yi got in, started it up, and pulled out of the school.
She turned right onto Bolton, then left onto Bay Avenue, which in that stretch didn’t actually face the bay but was separated from it by houses that did. The moon was up enough to give good supplement to the street lights, welcome since the new regime wasn’t much on replacing them. The night air was pleasant as it blew through the windows of the Mini, occasionally picking up the scent of melaleuca from the passing shrubbery. When Bay Avenue ended, Terry turned right onto Stinson Street, then left back onto Ocean for the final leg of her journey home.

The cafeteria of the Point Collina school was a cut above those of any other school in the Republic of Verecunda, which reflected the fact that everything else about the school was the same way. In theory it was a “private” school, but it received some money from the Republic, which made it affordable for exceptional students. The cafeteria spanned the building, on one side having large windows that gave a view of the street below and the other that opened up to the athletic fields. Separating these two views were a series of parallel long tables where the students took in whatever lunch the kitchen took a notion to fixing for them.
In the corner closest to the exit from the cafeteria line and on the side of the athletic fields, Denise Kendall “held court” during lunch with about a half dozen of her friends, male and female alike, the first day back from Yule vacation. Daughter of the President of the Republic, she presided over her court—and the student body that surrounded it in the cafeteria—with an authority that sometimes made her father envious. The only thing average about her was her height. Her wavy, medium brown hair, wrapped into a ponytail that never quite hung straight, sat atop a well-tanned, husky, athletic physique that was the base for her position as the Republic’s—and possibly the Island’s—foremost Upper Division girl tennis player, ruling that court as she ruled the one facing her at lunch.
Most of the people surrounding her were on the Upper Division tennis teams. To her left was Marguerite van Bokhoven, whom everybody at school called “Vannie.” She was almost Denise’s alter ego, with fairer complexion and slighter build than her imperious friend. Her wide green eyes reminded some people of the shallow waters of the Cresca Sound, but her face reflected an uncertainty that drew her to stick with Denise for stability.
Across from Denise was Pete Alter. Although Point Collina still had rules for maximum hair length, Pete chose to push his long wavy brown hair to the limit, as it rested on his collar. Already at noon he had a five o’clock shadow, and although his back was to most of the cafeteria he spent a lot of time turning around to check out who was there.
Diagonally across the room were two Fourth Formers who spent a lot of time together but were opposites from their appearance onwards. One was Cathy Arnold, a petite, miniskirted blonde with the rather strange combination of one grey eye and one green one. Her family went back to the beginnings of the Republic, but her informal demeanour did not betray that to the casual observer. The other was Terry Marlowe, whose straight, jet black hair went straight down to her waist. Her facial features, along with her hair, reflected her Sino-Italian background, especially the Chinese part. A scion of the Gerland family, she wore slacks and a shocking pink top, as opposed to the more muted colours of her friend. Terry’s use of bold colours was her preference but unnecessary to draw attention. At 181 centimetres, she was the tallest girl in the school, and that included the Fifth and Sixth Formers, and even sitting she looked down at her friend.
“I still can’t believe that Denise dumped Jack the way she did,” Terry said to Cathy, referring to her brother.
“She sure did,” Cathy replied mournfully. “We got back from our Christmas trip to Serelia, we went to the yacht club, found her with Petey boy over there. You could tell they were already steady. Jack went up to them but Denise blew him off. No goodbye, no ‘Dear John’ letter, nothing. I think that her and Pete went to the club knowing we ate there on Friday night, just to make the point.”
“But. . .why?” Terry pressed.
“I dunno. Maybe it’s because Pete was elected captain of the boys’ tennis team. It looks so cute when the two captains are going steady,” Cathy said sarcastically.
“Maybe it’s political,” Terry observed. “Maybe her dad’s about ready to put the hurts on your family.”
“You’re too paranoid about that,” Cathy retorted. “Face it, Jack and Denise are ‘kissing cousins,’ as they used to say. We’re related somewhere back there.”
“More than kissing,” Terry wryly observed.
“Don’t be smart,” Cathy came back. “Just because you don’t. . .”
“I’m sorry,” Terry apologised. “So what about this trip to Serelia?”
“Oh, yeah, that,” Cathy remembered. “It was weird. Really different.”
“You actually spent Christmas up there?”
“Yeah, we did.”
“Why?”
“My father had a client with some kind of legal problem up there. Mother was tired of the same old thing at Christmas, and Trey was going to his girlfriend’s home on Long Island, so we just decided on the spur of the moment to head to the East Island.”
“So what’s it like? Mother won’t let me go.”
“Primitive,” Cathy replied. “We stayed at this inn in Serelia, right near the Palace and the Cathedral. Bathroom was down the hall—good thing we were the only people there, but we made our own line anyway. But it’s right on the beach, I got to sunbathe. The Serelians kept staring at me, like I was a creature from another planet.”
“They probably hadn’t seen a bikini like yours.”
“Very funny,” Cathy came back. “But you’re probably right.”
“So what about this legal matter?” Terry asked curiously.
“It was a joke,” Cathy answered. “We got there on Wednesday before Christmas. They made us cool our heels until after Winter Court started on Monday. We’d still be there, but my father has connections in the church—Grandpa helped start the Church of Serelia—and as soon as they were past their Christmas liturgies, they arranged a special audience with the King. They brought us all in, we did our little bow, Dad went back into a meeting with the King, we waited about half an hour, he came out, the matter was settled, and that was it. We came home and Jack found out Denise had pulled a switch on him.”
“I’ve heard the Cathedral up there is beautiful,” Terry said.
“It is,” Cathy agreed. “In some ways, the best part of the trip. It takes your breath away the first time you walk in. But going to church there—it seemed like we made every service, there wasn’t anything else to do—is like a time machine. Old prayer book, old music, everything’s old. . .but there was one point where I really wished you were with me.”
“When was that?”
“It was after Morning Prayer on Sunday,” Cathy continued. “We were standing in the narthex while Dad was trying to figure out something with Bishop Tanger. This guy came up to me and starting talking to me about my family—my grandfather, everything he did for the Church of Serelia, all of my relatives. It was really weird. He was a walking encyclopaedia about my family. He just went on and on.”
“What did he look like?” Terry asked, intrigued.
“He was tall—God, he was an inch taller than you, and skinny, like you. His hair was a shade darker than mine. Kind of a nerd, but kind of cute, too. I think he’s a Fifth Former.”
“Two and a half centimetres taller, Cathy,” Terry reminded her friend.
“Sorry,” Cathy said, only half-apologetically.
“Just trying to keep you out of trouble.”
“How do you keep up with that?”
“Working for Daddy,” Terry answered. “A lot of the stuff he brings in is in metric—weight, size, all of that. So I had to learn. So what’s his name?”
“Let me see. . .oh, yeah, Lewis. Julian Lewis.” Cathy looked at Terry intensely. “You two would make a cute couple—if you could get him down here.”
“Probably not my type,” Terry sighed despondently at the thought of the geographical separation.
“So how was your Christmas?” Cathy asked, abruptly changing the subject.
“About the same,” Terry replied laconically.
“Still fighting with your mother?” Cathy asked.
“Yeah,” Terry answered. “Daddy did manage to take me to Midnight and Sunday Mass. And Mother and I argued over the same old thing.”
“She needs to get off your case about that,” Cathy said. “It’s your body. If I can go along with you, so can she. Look, why don’t you tell her that I do it enough for both of us?”
Terry giggled at the suggestion. “You’re the best. I wish that would work. But she’s worried about her reputation in the CPL.”
They would have continued but the dismissal of court in the corner caught their attention.
“What’s she coming over here for?” Cathy asked, realising that Denise was coming in their direction.
“I dunno,” Terry answered. “Hope it’s not to rub it in about Jack.”
“You and me both,” Cathy agreed. The closer she got, the more evident it was that Denise was focused on Terry, not Cathy.
“Frenchie’s off the team for the season,” Denise announced to Terry. “You know she got real sick. You’re going with me to the Beran Invitational this Saturday.”
“But. . .I’m only sixth on the ladder,” Terry protested.
“Fifth,” Denise corrected her. “I don’t care. You’re still going. And if you get up there and screw up like you’re famous for, your half-breed ass is grassed.”
“Who else is playing?” Cathy asked while Terry winced from the racial slur.
“It’s their tournament, so they choose,” Denise answered. “Two schools from Verecunda and two from Aloxa. It’s to show off their new tennis court at Beran-Williamstown Comprehensive, although I hate to see what their idea of a new tennis court is. Aloxa Royal is the other school of theirs. I just learned all of this late last week.”
“So isn’t there one more Verecundan school?” Cathy asked.
“Close, it’s Uranan. They picked Hallett, which means that I’ll probably play that Bible-thumping Goldilocks for the championship.” She turned to Terry and said, “But you’ll have your hands full. See you at practice.” She began to walk away, but turned back to Terry and warned, “You better be careful who you hang out with. It could be hazardous to your health, if you know what I mean.”
“Be seeing you,” Terry said cheerily as Denise turned and walked away. Cathy fumed like she was about to explode when Terry softly sang, “Love like a man. . .”
Cathy started giggling, and Terry broke down with her. “You’re wicked. That black hair of yours becomes you today,” Cathy finally managed to come out with.
“It’s the truth,” Terry simply replied.
“Speaking of the tennis team, where is ‘Frenchie,’ as she calls her?” Cathy asked.
“Saw her walk into the building this morning,” Terry informed her friend. “She looks really pale. Isn’t moving too fast, either.”
“I haven’t seen her here the whole lunch break. . .come to think of it, I’ve hardly seen her at lunch this whole year.”
“I think she has lunch with Madame Seignet a lot. I’ve heard”—she looked around to make sure no one else was in earshot, then leaned over to Cathy—“that they drink wine when they close the door to Seignet’s room”
“Talk about teacher’s pet!” Cathy exclaimed.
“Maybe she deserves it,” Terry observed.
“What do you mean?”
“Madeleine does a lot of work teaching the little primary school kids French. I think they do planning while eating. Gets credit for it too. Besides, Daddy told me that Monsieur des Cieux told him she almost died from that encephalitis. Guess they’re still glad to have her around. . .well, I guess we better get back to class. I’ve got a long week ahead of me.”
“So does Jack,” Cathy said. “He’s supposed to make the trip too.”