Page 74 of Sinful

I was nearly five years old, watching the night sky race by as I sat in the back of a car. It was the first time I’d ever been in one, but I couldn’t enjoy the novel experience. My forehead was burning with fever, and my stomach hurt. I felt weak and sleepy, and for once, Miranda Thorne’s presence didn’t help. She was a wonderfully nice lady most of the time, but right now, she was screaming and crying, and I didn’t like it.

“Stop your shrieking!” Papa snapped, eyes focusing on us in the narrow mirror at the front of the car. “You’re scaring Rosamund!”

Miranda let out another sob and looked over at me. She couldn’t move much, because Jean-Pierre had tied her arms behind her back with a rope before he strapped her into the back of the car.

“Is she sick too, Papa?” I asked in a small voice.

“Yes, Rosamund,” he said curtly. “That’s why she’s crying. She’s very, very sick. But we’ll make her feel better soon.”

Miranda leaned closer to me, chest heaving. “Rosie,” she said in a ragged whisper. “Help me.”

“How?” I whispered back. Rain was falling heavily on the car now, pattering loudly, so I knew Papa and Jean-Pierre wouldn’t hear me. “You need medicine?”

“Yes, sweetie. I can get it. You just need to get something for me first. But it has to be a secret between us girls,” Miranda murmured, leaning even closer. “You understand? Our special secret.”

I nodded. “Yes.”

“In my right jeans pocket. Reach in.”

Slowly and tentatively, I did as she said, reaching over to her pocket. There was something small and hard in there.

My father suddenly barked at me. “What are you doing back there?”

I snapped my hand backward and sat up straight.

“I don’t think my seatbelt is done up properly,” Miranda said. “Rosamund was going to clip it in for me. Unless youwantme to fly headlong through the windshield in the event of a crash?”

“That won’t happen. Hands to yourself, Rosamund.”

Miranda looked over at me again, eyes wide and beseeching. She looked so scared. I understood. I was scared too. I’d never felt so sick before, and I was scared of dying like my mother did when I was a baby. I had to get Miranda the medicine she needed, even if it made Papa angry.

Moving even slower this time, I quietly slid my hand across the back seat and over to Miranda’s pants. When I reached her pocket, I looked up to make sure Papa wasn’t looking in the mirror again. Then I pulled the hard object out of her pocket and sat up straight. Jean-Pierre’s head swiveled to look at me, presumably catching my sudden movement in the corner of his eye. I feigned a coughing fit to cover it.

“She shouldn’t be here, Augustus. I told you that,” he said, turning back to the front.

Papa sighed. “I know. But I don’t trust anyone to take care of her like I can. It seems like the same fever Celeste had.”

“But the healers can—”

“Stop questioning me about it, Jean-Pierre!” Papa snapped. “I don’t want to risk losing my daughter, so I brought her. It’s done. All right?”

While their conversation went on, I looked over at Miranda. She dipped her chin toward the object I’d retrieved from her pocket. “Open it, Rosie,” she whispered. “It’s a flip phone.”

I glanced at the front to make sure Papa and Jean-Pierre were still engrossed in their heated conversation. Then I did as Miranda said and slowly opened the thing she called a flip phone. I had no idea what the device actually did, but she obviously knew it could be helpful in some way.

“Press the star button. Then the number one. You see it?” she whispered urgently. “You’re doing so well. Just those two buttons.”

I frowned down at the strange-looking device, squinting at the buttons on it. I finally saw one that looked like it could be a star, and I pressed it before pressing the number one.

“On the floor,” Miranda whispered before coughing loudly to cover the strange sound that was faintly emanating from the phone now.

I tossed it on the car floor and coughed too. My father briefly turned back to look at me, and my vision suddenly blurred as the memory became dark and foggy.

“You stupid girl!” Papa barked.

I was back at home now, and my fever was gone. I didn’t feel any better, though. I was scared, because strange men and women in matching blue-gray clothes and black boots were swarming the village, searching everywhere they could.

“I’m sorry, Papa,” I said, tears springing to my eyes.

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