Colonial Madness (12 page)

“Yeah?” said Caleb with a hopeful smile. “You won't get caught?”

“Not if my mom thinks I'm doing chores for the contest,” I said. “I'll tell her I'm gathering wood, and then I'll just happen to run into you in the forest.”

Caleb's eyes sparkled mischievously. “I like that. We can have a secret code. Like, you'll tell your mom a task, and I'll meet you at that location.”

I smiled and got to my feet, spirits lifted. “I might just make it after all,” I said.

And it was exactly how I got through the next few days. Every day, Mom and I would tank one of the contests, and every day, instead of yelling at Mom, I'd announce that I was off to pick peaches or try to catch fish. Caleb and I would hang out for a couple of hours while I did those things, and then I'd head back to Mom.

Strangely, for every challenge we lost, we'd excel at a different one. We were terrible when it came to chopping wood
but number one at making candles (thanks to my personal efforts). We didn't know a thing about healing herbs, but Mom could ride circles on horseback around everyone else.

By the end of the first week, Mom and I were in third behind Angel's family and Dylan and Uncle Max, and the number of competing families was down to six.

But then . . . Saturday came.

We all, admittedly, smelled pretty ripe by this point, even with a change of clothing and me rubbing minty vinegar under my arms. I was surprised Caleb didn't maintain a safe distance or force me to stay downwind whenever we were together. So it came as a relief on Saturday morning when our challenge was . . . doing laundry.

“I thought you could all use a break,” said Eli, “and a reduction in odor.”

We all laughed and headed down to the river on the edge of the property. Since I was always the one who did the laundry at home, I took it upon myself to gather our dirty clothes, except the ones we were wearing. Those we'd wash once the others were clean.

“So, how are you handling not getting to see Caleb?” asked Mom, dunking one of her shifts in the river.

“Who?” I asked in my most nonchalant voice. “Oh, Eli's son?”

Mom rolled her eyes. “Yes, I'm sure he's
that
difficult for
you to remember. I thought you'd be pining away for him every night, but instead you play Guess Who Died Here? with me.”

“That's not true,” I said. “Tuesday I played Remember the Mall? with Angel.”

We both looked at my cousin, who was helping her mom knock dust out of a blanket with sticks. Although Angel was using so much force, it was like she thought the blanket was a piñata full of makeup samples.

“How she's survived so long without her smartphone is beyond me,” mumbled Mom.

“You know what I wonder . . . how Uncle Max and Dylan have survived so long,” I said, glancing downriver.

“What do you mean? They're good competitors.”

“Yeah, but they never win any food and I never see them looking, and I
know
Dylan didn't get very much when we did the mad scramble.”

Mom shrugged, still watching Zoe and Angel. “I'm sure they have their ways.”

I nodded at my cousin. “You think we should give our blanket a beating?”

“Or we could let Queenie stomp on it.”

“That is the laziest idea you've ever come up with,” I said. “Even lazier than keeping refrigerators in our bedrooms at home and cereal under the beds.”

“Think of the time savings!” said Mom. “Not to mention the luxury of always having breakfast in bed.” She finished cleaning her shift and tossed it in the basket. “Someday you'll come to your senses and realize what a genius I am. Look how well having Queenie upstairs has worked.”

“Oh, yeah,” I said, flashing her a sarcastic thumbs-up. “That milk every morning makes the poop in my slippers worth it.”

We finished our washing and then turned to lathering the clothes we were wearing . . . while we were still in them.

“Okay, I was wrong.
This
is the laziest idea you've ever had,” I said, dropping down into the water to rinse myself off.

“You know, I really think we could take this whole contest,” said Mom. “Especially if we keep winning challenges.”

“Exactly,” I said. “
If
we keep winning challenges. We can't let Dylan and his dad have any more. Or Angel and her folks. We have to take this seriously.”

“Who says I'm not?” Mom disappeared under the water and emerged a moment later. “Geez, this dress is heavy.”

Mom stepped out of the water and pulled the gown off over her head so that she was only wearing her shift.

“Mom!” I covered my face with my hands. “Please, please put on some clothes or burst into flame . . . something to distract from the fact that you're standing around in your underwear.”

“What? We're all family,” said Mom. “And besides, it's
full-length underwear. Hey, how many points do I get for this basket?” She balled up her dress and spun around, launching it toward our container of clean clothes.

She missed by a mile, and it ended up in a tree.

“There go our hopes of you being drafted by the WNBA,” I said, clambering up the riverbank to retrieve it.

Mom had thrown the dress with enough force to lodge it in some branches. I did my best to extract the fabric without tearing it, and in the process I saw something that didn't normally belong in a tree.

A video camera.

It was a black orb no bigger than my hand, wedged into a nook and duct taped in place. Whoever had left it there did it intentionally.

I dropped the dress and grabbed the video camera.

“Hey, Mom, come over here!” I called.

“Really, you just throw my clothes on the ground?” she asked, kicking the dress to one side. “What have you got?”

I held it out to her. “I found it in this tree. Looks like Eli's been filming the family.”

Mom frowned. “What? Why?”

“TV stations are always looking for new reality shows, right?”

“Nooo. He wouldn't.” Mom glanced over her shoulder. “Would he?”

“Only one way to find out,” I said, taking the video camera back from her. “Hey, Eli!”

I charged down the hill, toward the river.

Mom chased after me. “Honey, wait! That might not be a good idea!”

“Eli!” I called again.

Everyone, including Eli, looked over. I stopped in front of him, waving the black orb.

“Found your video camera,” I said, tossing it to him.

Eli looked startled when he caught it. “My what?”

People gathered around to look at it. Eli furrowed his brow and inspected it. “What is this? Where did you get this?”

“Oh, like you don't know,” I said.

He glanced up, nothing in his eyes but confusion.

“Oh,” I said. “You
don't
know. It's a video camera,” I explained. “I thought it was yours, but”—I studied his outfit and reflected on the past week—“now that I'm thinking about it, you're not really the type of person who would care about filming something for reality TV.” I cringed. “Sorry.”

Beside me, I could see Mom cover her eyes and shake her head.

“Then whose camera is this?” I wondered aloud.

There was a buzz of conversation from everyone gathered as we all began to speculate.

The confusion in Eli's eyes changed to something else—realization. Then they fixed on me. And they were not friendly.

“This object you accuse me of owning.” He held up the video camera. “You name it as if you know it.”

“It's not mine, if that's what you're getting at,” I said.

“Yet you know what it is and you know what it does,” he said.

I marveled at him. “Yeah. It's a video camera. Everybody knows what they do.”

Eli shrugged and I continued.

“It takes moving images of people?” I held my arms open. “Seriously?”

“Careful.” Mom spoke out of the side of her mouth. “It's a trap.”

He inspected it closer. “It has a maker's year imprinted upon it. 2015.” He looked up at me. “Yet this is the seventeenth century.”

I sighed and stared at the sky.
“Shoot.”

“You have come into possession of an item from centuries hence, armed with knowledge of its function,” said Eli. “Spend some time with your family today, Miss Porter. Tomorrow you will stand trial.”

“Trial?” Mom and I said in unison.

Eli nodded to her. “Aye. Your daughter . . . she be a witch.”

I
blinked at Eli, since my eyes were the only muscle group in my body not frozen in shock.

“Sorry,” I said, tapping my ear, “but I think river water's sloshing around in my head. It sounded like you said . . . I'm a witch?”

Eli nodded solemnly. “Aye. You bring me a witch's ball that can capture people inside—”

“I didn't say . . .” I broke off, realizing that any explanation would work against me.

“This is an item of magic. You are in possession of said magic. Therefore, you must be a witch!”

I goggled at him. “I told you, I found it! It isn't mine!”

“Perhaps it were the Devil who led you to it,” he said with a shrug. “And you know who works with the Devil? A witch!” He pointed at me.

“This is ridiculous,” said Mom, wrapping an arm around me. “Shouldn't you be focusing your attention on finding the owner of the video camera?”

The next words out of Eli's mouth completely jarred me. In a thick Boston accent, he said, “Look, lady, regardless of who it belongs to, your daughter's either in the game or she's not. If she's in, she has to suffer the consequences.” He held his arms out, as if awaiting our decision.

I separated myself from Mom and stepped forward. “I'm still in the game. What are the consequences?”

“You've been found a witch,” said Eli, resuming his colonial voice. “You must stand trial and account for your actions. And so must your mother.”

It was Mom's turn to drop her jaw. “Me? What did I do?”

Felicity spoke up. “You defended a witch. Only a fellow witch would decry her.” She glanced around at the rest of the family members, as if encouraging them to speak out of turn.

Nobody said a word. And several people took a few steps away from us.

“Thanks for the support,” I muttered. “I can promise I'm
not a witch. I don't have any warts, cats, or flying broomsticks.”

“Reserve your arguments for the trial,” said Eli. “And enjoy your last night of freedom.”

He climbed the slope up to the manor, and everyone followed. I turned to Mom, who gave me a strained smile.

“I hate to say I told you so,” she said.

I shook my head. “Don't you get it? If we're accused of witchcraft, they won't let us stay in the competition.”

Mom shrugged. “So what? At least we had fun. And if you remember your promise to me, you were going to enjoy this experience and
not
worry about money?”

I gripped her arms. “But, Mom, we're
so
close to winning . . . to our troubles being a thing of the past. All we need is a few lucky breaks, but this isn't one of them!”

I plopped down on the grass. Everything always seemed to be against us. Me and Mom versus the world. Maybe if my dad were still around, he'd know what to do.

“Come on.” Mom grabbed me under the armpits and lifted. “On your feet. We won't be disqualified. I'll come up with something.”

I let her help me up. “I just hope it works,” I said with a sigh, and trudged up the hill. Mom let me walk alone.

Halfway to the manor, I met Caleb running down.

“I heard what happened. Are you okay?” he asked.

“Your dad accused me of witchcraft,” I said. “And now I'm standing in front of you in a soggy old dress. I've had better days.”

Caleb covered his eyes with a hand. “I'm not even looking.”

I smiled. “You know, I'm pretty sure that if you're not supposed to be talking to me as a contestant, you definitely shouldn't be talking to me as a witch.”

“I can just say I came to tell you the time of your trial. It's right after breakfast, by the way,” said Caleb, “but unfortunately, tomorrow I'll have to be on the side that's convinced you're a witch.” He made a face. “Sorry.”

“It's okay,” I said. “At least I'll get one last bowl of gruel.”

We walked in silence for a moment, and I noticed that his steps kept bringing him closer and closer to me.

“Can I give you some advice?” he asked. “My dad has nothing against you personally, but I can tell he's really excited for this witch trial. The odds aren't in your favor.”

I frowned. “How very
Hunger Games
.”

“Come up with a pretend backstory for yourself,” said Caleb. “If you talk about modern times, it'll just confirm you're a witch. Play along, and you might get away with just a warning.”

I paused and took his arm so that he was forced to look at me.

“And if I don't—”

He shook his head. “You can't think that way.”

“But if I don't,” I pressed, “my mom and I will have to go home. And home is very far away.”

Caleb stared at the ground. “I know.”

I wanted to hug him, but we were out in the open where anyone could see, and a hug probably wasn't something you gave a contestant who was on trial for witchcraft. My fingers squeezed his arm instead.

I let my hand drop down by his, and our fingers touched for a fraction of a second before he pulled his away.

Caleb sighed. “Good luck tomorrow. And remember, play the game.”

“Thanks,” I told him, and we parted ways by the back door.

When I got up to the room, Mom was talking to Queenie.