The Truths We Make (House of Poe #1)

2. Endless Sky

Endless Sky

20 years before

“ E vangeline! You’re wrinkling it!” Momma swats my hands away, my fist full of dress falling open, releasing the fabric in waves.

The gravel in front of us makes my feet sweat, the crushed particles of rock weeping from the humidity. It stretches forever, making my hands itch to hike my dress back up, freeing my legs from the fabric that’s already clinging from the moisture. Only the fear of sitting back in the car, cooked vinyl digging into skin, has me leaving the hem where it is. Momma’s hands brush down the polyester.

“At least it’s not so bad, I s’ppose,” she sighs. “Now c’mon. The faster we climb this road, and the nicer you seem, the better chance these fine people will let us sit in their air conditioning for a bit.”

I want to run up the sloping hill, to the door, at the thought.

We’ve never had air conditioning before. Not in our car. Nor in our home when we had one. Home is where your heart settles , is what Momma always says when she’s reminding me not to ask about the small one-bedroom cottage back in Carolina. I never have the courage to tell her it feels like my heart never settles when we’re driving winding roads and sleeping in parking lots .

We make it to the back steps, a grey metal door standing between us and the chill I know is in there. Momma grabs my hand, cupping my fingers. She looks down at me from the corner of her eye, her back still straight as a pin, and murmurs, “Remember what I said. Only speak if spoken to. Mind your words. Give only what you must.”

She doesn’t want me rambling away our secrets or letting something slip through my crooked little teeth. I know because that’s exactly what she said on our panicked drive over. I zip my lips with a key that, while invisible, feels heavy. She only closes her eyes, then takes a small step forward to rap her knuckles on the door.

A maid answers, white apron tied around the paunch of her middle, mouth crooked into a frown.

“We don’t allow solicitors here,” she says, already closing the door on us.

Momma steps forward, a look of panic taking over her face, as she reaches toward the screen door.

“Actually, there was a posting in the paper. You’re looking for a governess?” Momma holds up the newspaper in question. Her voice is calmer than her eyes but even those ease, too, when the maid nods her head and opens back up the door. She gestures for us to come in and wait by the door as she escapes down a dark hallway. Only three steps in the cool breeze and the stick of humidity is already disappearing from my cheeks. My lips tip up, despite Momma squeezing my hand too tight.

The house feels ancient, older even than the movies Momma makes me watch sometimes. Out of focus from the rest of us in the 21 st century and stuck somewhere before computers and electricity. Time still ticks by, even when the oddities here don’t, and all I want is for it is to slow some more. The pools of sweat that were trapped behind my knees have dried, and I want to live without the rub of slick grit as long as I can. Too soon, a man comes to the door. He’s squat, a mustache curling at the end of his mouth. He wears black like a starless night. All except for the white gloves that he intertwines in front of him.

“This way, please. Mrs. Poe will see you in the Nest,” he drawls like molasses is sticking his tongue to his teeth, sounding an awful lot like home.

Momma pulls at my hand, directing me to walk behind her. The man stops abruptly, causing me to step into Momma’s heels. Her shoulders stiffen, but she does not snap as she normally would. I hurry to give her space, while the man’s beady eyes watch me .

“Does she need supervision?” he asks.

I know Momma wants to say I do. She worries about the questions I’ll ask. Or the things I’ll snoop through. She mourns my curiosity, saying it’s the worst thing I took from my daddy, and she prays every night that I’ll give it back. But her mouth still creases, eyes filled with doubt, as she shakes her head, no . The man smiles as if this is the right answer. Or as if he wants us to fail.

“Very well. She can stay here in the kitchen until your interview is complete. Bea will watch for her when she returns.”

He turns to leave, Momma hesitating only long enough to give my hand a squeeze, a glare her final warning. Stay , it says. And I want to obey. I stand in the kitchen for what feels like forever. The clock ticks on and my heel taps in rhythm. No one comes to check on me. I think I may hear the hum of voices or the creaking of stairs, but neither is loud enough to be sure. The fear of the heat dissipates until I hardly remember consequence at all. I twist my hands in my dress, trying to contain their wandering nature. I can’t.

My feet are moving toward the counters before I realize it. The black marble is slick as I run my dirty fingernails from it to the steel of appliances: a sink, a fridge, a dishwasher. I’m about to open a drawer to snoop when I hear the tiniest scuffle of feet. Spinning, I hide my hands behind me to look as if I am innocent.

He stands in the shifting light of the afternoon, black hair wisping down his cheeks like feathers on a wing. He’s pale, glowing like the moon, skin striking out from the black of his clothes. Everyone here must be made for darkness. He isn’t much older than me, if at all. There isn’t a scar or a mark to be found, making mine burn in embarrassment at being seen. He steps toward me, hands held out as if I’m a wild thing in need of calming. I smile.

“Hello,” I say softly, cutting him off out of fear of his accusations being heard by the adults. “What’s your name?”

He shakes his head, a smirk barely lifting his lips, his trepidation dissolving. His body is so still as he watches me before he answers.

“Do names really matter, you think? Madeline says they do. That they hold the whole of our history in them. That they deserve to be respected.” He sighs as if he’s lived the full life of an adult instead of the half-measures of a child.

“What do you think?” I hear myself ask, somehow knowing he needs me to.

At that, he smiles fully, voice full of mirth. “I’m still deciding. ”

As I’m about to ask again for the boy's name, fast steps approach. A taller boy, hair cut short but black as the first, barrels into the space between us. He slams to a stop, hands on his knees as he pants. He swivels his face between us, delighted to find us here. His smile could crack a window with its sharpness as his gaze lands on me. Like a whip, he lashes out, slapping his hand into the chest of the other boy before hightailing it outside.

We look at each other. The boy’s smile fades, and he sighs, resigned. He drags his feet to me and the sweat that had dried pools again. When we’re face to face, toe to dirty toe, I can see the light green swirl of his eyes, like the tide pools of the coast. He reaches out and swats at my bare arm, leaving the sting of skin on skin. My fingers wrap around the space, appalled.

“Sorry. It’s rules of engagement,” he shrugs. “You, mystery girl, are it.”

I take several seconds of standing there to process what he’s said before I slap back at him. He lets me, not moving an inch, just rolling his eyes.

“You can’t tag back. You’ll have to find Paxton,” he says slowly walking backward, toward the hall.

“And what if I can’t find him?” I huff.

He shrugs his shoulder before turning his back to me. “Then you’ve failed, and you’ll be it forever.”

With that ominous deliverance, he walks off. Alone in the kitchen once more, I look between the hallway and the open door beside me. There are two options: let these boys think they’ve beaten me, or chase after Paxton and hope Momma doesn’t come back too soon. My feet move before I know what I’m doing, the heat and humidity of the outdoors slapping into me like a bucket of warm water. I pump my legs as fast as they go, unsure of where I’m headed, but knowing I can’t fall much further behind if I have any chance of catching up.

By the time I find him, he’s hanging upside down from the tree we passed on our way up the drive. Its massive branches stretch and sag, as if to defy any rules nature may have for its growth. His arms swing, cheeks bursting red. I run and jump, hoping to slap an exposed hand, before he pulls them across his chest, just out of reach. My eyes squeeze in a curse Momma would ground me into next year for if she heard. He just laughs.

“You couldn’t think it would be that easy, could you?” He swings himself upright and a part of me wishes he’d overshoot, catapulting himself to the ground with me. He doesn’t .

“You can’t stay up there all day,” I huff, knowing full well I can’t stay here all day either. Every second that ticks by brings me closer to Momma finding me gone. The devilish smile he’s giving me tells me he knows that.

“In the name of good fair play, I’ll give you a way to win, although I’d like it recognized that I could…” He doesn’t get to finish.

Momma likes to think there’s a lot I got from my daddy, but my tenacity and dislike of being told anything by anyone? That I got from her. And there is no way on this green earth that I’m going to let this stuck-up rich boy beat me. Or worse—let me win. I know I’m in for a whoppin’ the second my hands grip the bark. My dress is already snagging, and I can feel the rough textures of the tree daring my skin to break. But just like the boy, I don’t let it win.

I race up the footholds I can find and hang on for dear life to the ones I don’t. I get to the branch before Paxton remembers to move and now, he’s only got two choices: be tagged, or jump. My tongue peeks past my lips in happiness as I crawl on my belly toward him, the justice of exceeding his expectations filling my tummy with butterflies and the dangerous feeling that I can do anything. What I don’t expect is that same feeling being reflected at me by Paxton.

Before the yell can leave my mouth, he jumps. I scurry forward, my hands flailing to catch any part of him, but I miss. There’s another branch to the side of the one I’m on, large and dipping, bending to the ground like a slide. He grabs onto it, hoisting himself up, then scoots his butt down until his feet plant to the grass. His laughter echoes through the leaves. Anger rises from my toes to the tips of my ears, making the humid day scorching. I expect him to run away again. Instead, he looks up at me, smiling.

“What’s your name?” he yells.

I stay silent, unwilling to be friendly through my disappointment and rage. I shuffle backward.

“You can’t go that way. It’ll take you forever and you’ll tear your pretty dress. You’ll have to follow what I just did or jump from there. Tell me your name and I’ll stay right here so you can tag me when you get here. I dare you. ”

He’s calm, the laughter gone. I don’t want to take his offer, but I’m already playing with fire. If I go back to Momma with my dress anymore ruined, she’ll send me off to boarding school, away from the only person I have left—her. I can’t have that. He’s also said the three words that demand I partake. A dare can never be ignored. Still, if my pride needs to be swallowed, I’m at least going to ask for enough to wash it down.

“Fine. I tell you my name and you are it.” I think about it for another moment before adding, “AND you have to tell my momma you forced me to play.”

He thinks it over, finger dramatically rubbing his chin, before he snaps them together.

“You have a deal!” he says triumphantly.

I sigh, big and exaggerated, like I’m losing a limb instead of a game. Honestly, I think they feel the same.

“MynameisEve.” I rush the words together, embarrassed to have said them. “Now, how do I get down?”

He makes no move to help me.

“Eve. That starts with an E?” he asks instead.

My eyes roll. “Yeah. How else would you spell it? Now get me down!”

He shakes his head. “That wasn’t part of the deal. You saw me do it. Surely, you can figure it out.”

The branch creaks below me as my hand fists around it. That little snake. Just as I’m about to let out every curse word I’ve ever heard, the other boy walks up beside his brother, somehow looking both irritated and bored.

“What are you doing, Paxton? You know Madeline doesn’t like when we torment guests,” the boy says.

My nose scrunches at the second mention of Madeline, wondering if she’s a nanny or their momma, unused to either possibility.

“Oliver! I was wondering when you would join us. Eve was just about to find her way down the slide,” Paxton replies.

Oliver looks between Paxton and me for several moments. He must come to some conclusion, a clue I’m still missing, as he steps between me and the branch I’m supposed to jump to. He scowls once at his brother before giving me his attention.

“OK Eve, I’m going to need you to stand on the branch, knees bent, hands still on it for balance. You’re not scared of heights, are you?” he asks.

I want to tell him, maybe , that I’ve never tested it before today, and that lying here looking down now is making me queasy. But I can’t say it. Not with Paxton still smirking at me. Instead, I shake my head, no, and move into the position he’s told me to. The branch sways only a little, the motion of it sticking in my throat .

“Now, Eve, this is the scary part. I am going to need you to jump. But not just a little jump, I need you to commit to the jump. Really push. I’m going to stand between the branches so that if you fall, I’ll catch you, but to make it over there, you’ll need to want it. You can do it.”

I nod. Even though I don’t know if I can. Their legs are so much longer than mine and these worn-down dress shoes don’t want to stay put. But I can’t let Paxton win and I can’t let the grown-ups see me up here, like this, which they will if someone has to come get me down. I move my feet into what I hope is a better position.

“On my count,” Paxton yells.

“ONE!” I take a deep breath, hold it.

“TWO!” I release it, unwilling to let him boss me around, and jump with as much force and power as my body holds.

I’m flying, weightless. My hands and legs flail, but I feel like I could live in the sky for the rest of my life. The light ease of being suspended, given a single focus that doesn’t allow me to worry or feel anything more than this. At this moment, I know I want to be a star when I grow up, to hang in the sky for eternity. Maybe I, too, am made for darkness. I want the night to take over this cruel summer day and for the star dusted heavens to hold me in place.

The curved branch comes at me fast and I slam into it, stomach first. All the air rushes out of me and taking a breath is impossible. Still, I hold on. I wrestle the rough surface in my palms, desperate to pull my little body up. By some miracle, I do, my face sloping down, staring at the sweet, sweet grass below.

“Perfect! Now, slide, Eve!” Oliver yells as he comes into view below me, arms stretched out wide.

So, I do. I slide. Without adjusting myself. Without questioning his directions or the possibility of hitting the ground face-first. Without considering the scars the bark tearing up my hands and wrists might leave. All I think about is the boy who didn’t question my fearlessness and made me part of the sky, waiting at the bottom to catch me.