20th of December, 1620
Plymouth, Massachusetts
The men have been gone for days now, and still there is no word. We are frightened. They should have arrived there and returned by now, with news of the colony. But all is silent. The children keep me company and we make time pass by reading aloud from the books I was able to bring over. If only we could leave this ship - it is always wet and terribly crowded, but the structures are not yet ready. The men are allowed to camp ashore, but we must remain here in this dark place.
I am afraid, but I comfort myself with the knowledge that I will know if John and the rest of the company are lost. So far, I have not felt nor seen anything in my visions. There is doubt among the colony as to whether we have truly escaped. Rumors are spreading that on of them is here, hidden among us - there is much whispering and suspicion. The Billington boy has been missing, they said. Disappeared. Taken. But someone remembers that he could have gone with the Roanoke party, so no one is worried for now. We watch, and wait, holding our breath.
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CHAPTER 15
The yearly Duchesne back-to-school dance was called the Fall "Informals," although it was anything but informal. The dance was held at the historical headquarters of the American Society, a grand red brick mansion on Park Avenue and Sixty-eighth Street. The society was an organization dedicated to keeping an archive of early American history, including documents from the first colonies and the Mayflower journey. The second floor housed a wood-paneled library with a barrel-vaulted ceiling as well as several cozy, clubby rooms ideal for dinner and dancing. It was a popular event space, and many brides-to-be shelled out a fortune for the privilege of having their wedding on Park Avenue. But for Duchesne students, it was just the place where they had their school dance.
Earlier that evening, Oliver and Schuyler were hanging out in his room, doing nothing as usual - but when Schuyler casually mentioned she'd heard that Dylan - of all people - was going to the lame dance, Oliver pounced on the idea. "Let's go."
"Us? Why?" Schuyler was horrified.
"C'mon, it'll be funny."
"No it won't." Schuyler argued. "Us go to some snobby dance? Just to see Mimi Force lording it over everyone?"
"I heard they do a pretty good spread," Oliver wheedled.
"I'm not hungry."
"C'mon, what else are we going to do?"
After the excitement of the past weekend, when they'd ventured to The Bank, it did seem a bit dull to just sit on Oliver's bed reading magazines together.
"All right," Schuyler agreed. "But I need to go home and change."
"Of course."
When Oliver picked her up, Schuyler was wearing a cocktail-length fifties-style black lace prom dress, dainty white wrist gloves, fishnet stockings, and round-toe high heels, almost as a joke. She'd found the dress on eBay for thirty dollars. The strapless dress fit perfectly around her tiny waist, and the skirt blossomed out at the hips like a graceful bell held aloft by a layer of tulle petticoats. She'd found her grandmother's pearl necklace, with the black satin ribbon, in the bottom of her music box, and tied it around her neck. Oliver had chosen a deep blue silk smoking jacket over a black shirt and black wool pants. He presented Schuyler with a breathtaking rose corsage.
"Where did you get it?" Schuyler asked as he slipped it around her wrist.
"You can have anything delivered in New York." Oliver grinned. He handed her a boutonniere, and she pinned it on his lapel.
"How do we look?"
"Perfect," he said, offering her his arm.
When they arrived at the American Society mansion, a host of sleek black town cars were dropping off students paired off in dates. The girls were in chic black cocktail dresses and pearls, the guys in blue blazers and wool trousers. No one had corsages. Instead, the girls were carrying long-stemmed calla lilies, which they carelessly tossed aside when they entered the room.
"I guess we didn't get the memo," Schuyler quipped.
They headed upstairs, trying to blend in. Several girls whispered when they saw Schuyler in her dress. "It's got to be from Marc Jacobs," someone whispered. "More like a costume shop," her friend sniffed. Schuyler turned crimson from embarrassment.
They found Dylan on the second landing by the cornucopia display. He was wearing a camel-hair sportscoat over a sharp black dress shirt and well-cut wool trousers. Bliss Llewellyn, the pretty redhead from Texas, was sitting on his lap. She was wearing a slim Costume National black sheath dress, Prada slingbacks, and the ubiquitous string of pearls around her swanlike neck.
"Hey guys," Dylan said, when he saw his friends. He shook hands with Oliver and pecked Schuyler on the cheek. "Y'all know Bliss, right?"
They nodded. Since when did Dylan say "Y'all"? He must really be into this girl.