She lays the dress on the bed and picks off invisible lint. “It’s named after my aunt July. She and my mother were like this”—she crosses her fingers—“until they weren’t.” Her eyes seem to dull for a moment. “The argument was over whether Aunt July had returned Mother’s ivory brooch. Later, Mother found the brooch in her wardrobe, but before she could make things right, Aunt July died of a stroke.” She picks up the dress and slips a hanger into it. “Grudges are like heavy skirts—they’re just extra weight. I design my clothes to be fluid and easy to move in, so that when life takes unexpected turns, you won’t get stuck.”

Ba lies in a cage hanging from the tree, looking like a pile of bones. His head has become more like a skull painted with skin, and his eyes barely have the strength to blink.

Below him, keys of every size and shape litter the ground. Silver, brass, gold, wood, iron.

Jamie climbs to the highest branch of the tree, where he stands, gazing up at the sky.

I scoop up keys by the handful and listen as they clatter and clank back into the pile. Which one will unlock Ba?

25

April 13, 1912

While we wait for the drumming to start, I pace the General Room with Jamie, sharing the details of my dream. Yesterday’s intense practice left both of us sore, and we spent the morning limbering up. “I don’t remember how it ended, but Ba’s struggling in some higher plane, I know it.”

Jamie sighs. “You ever think maybe he’s not the one who’s struggling? Maybe you’re struggling.”

Yeah, I’m struggling with you, trying to make you see the light.

I bite back my retort. I cannot pick a fight now, with our future at hand. We’ll only get one shot, and after yesterday’s hit-and-miss practice in the cargo hold, we’ll both need our focus to be as tight as possible. Besides, if being overbearing caused Jamie to leave, I’ll need to stop pushing so hard and hope he comes upon the light himself.

Drumbeats punch the air, and my heartbeat rises to keep time. Summoned by the noise, folks migrate to the well deck, where Drummer has rigged up a pair of oil drums.

After his bath, he spent all night hammering their lids into a concave shape, despite having worked a full day in Boiler Room 6. Mum always said God gave us two hands, one for helping ourselves and one for helping others. But as the marvelous boom-badda-boom shakes the walls, I can’t help thinking that Drummer is the rare sort born with a pair for helping others.

I roll out my shoulders. “I wish our parents could see this.”

“Mum never liked us doing the high stuff.”

“But she did like our shooting stars. They always made her smile.”