20

Winnie was standing with her cheek pressed into Tuck’s chest, her arms flung tight around him. She trembled, and kept her eyes squeezed shut. She could feel Tuck’s breath come and go in little gasps. It was very quiet.

The Treegap constable knelt over the sprawled body of the man in the yellow suit, and then he said, “He ain’t dead. Leastways, not yet.”

Winnie opened her eyes a crack. She could see the shotgun lying on the grass where Mae had dropped it. She could see Mae’s hands, too, hanging limp, clenching, then hanging limp again. The sun was scorching hot, and near her ear a gnat whined.

The constable stood up. “What did you hit him for?” he wheezed resentfully.

“He was taking the child away,” said Mae. Her voice was dull and exhausted. “He was taking the child against her will.”

At this the constable exploded. “Ding-dang it, woman, what you trying to say? Taking that child against her will? That’s what you done. You kidnapped that child.”

Winnie let go of Tuck’s waist and turned around. Her trembling had stopped. “They didn’t kidnap me,” she said. “I came because I wanted to.”

Behind her, Tuck drew his breath in sharply.

“You wanted to?” echoed the constable, his eyes wide with disbelief. “You wanted to?”

“That’s right,” said Winnie unflinchingly. “They’re my friends.”

The constable stared at her. He scratched his chin, eyebrows high, and eased his own shotgun to the ground. Then he shrugged and looked down at the man in the yellow suit, who lay motionless on the grass, the blazing sun white on his face and hands. His eyes were closed now, but except for that, he looked more than ever like a marionette, a marionette flung carelessly into a corner, arms and legs every which way midst tangled strings.

The one glance she gave him fixed his appearance forever in Winnie’s mind. She turned her eyes away quickly, looking to Tuck for relief. But Tuck was not looking back at her. Instead, he was gazing at the body on the ground, leaning forward slightly, his brows drawn down, his mouth a little open. It was as if he were entranced and—yes, envious—like a starving man looking through a window at a banquet. Winnie could not bear to see him like that. She reached out a hand and touched him, and it broke the spell. He blinked and took her hand, squeezing it.

“Well, anyway,” said the constable at last, turning businesslike, “I got to take charge here. Get this feller into the house before he fries. I’m telling you now: if he don’t make it, you’re in a pickle, you people. Now, here’s what we’ll do. You,” he said, pointing at Mae, “you got to come with me, you and the little girl. You got to be locked up right away; and the little girl, I got to get her home. The rest of you, you stay here with him. Look after him. I’ll get back with a doctor quick as I can. Should have brought a deputy, but I didn’t expect nothing like this to happen. Well, it’s too late now. All right, let’s get moving.”