“I’ve been doing this since the start. Best part of my year, seeing everyone come in. You go on now.”
I wasn’t going to argue. Besides, now that I’d gotten up my stomach growled, and there was plenty of unhealthy Faire food inside. I followed the other attendees who had arrived down the path under a canopy of trees festooned with colored banners. I caught a flash of yellow out of the corner of my eye, so I turned in that direction, heading for a small stage set up in an alcove. A group of girls in yellow dresses were on the stage, singing in beautiful a cappella harmony, and my heart swelled because there in the middle of the group was my girl. Caitlin was easily the tallest so she was in the back of the group, but my mother’s ears could pick out her voice in the harmonies. I leaned against a tree, not too close. I didn’t want her to see me. The last thing I wanted to do was distract her.
Once they’d finished singing and hopped down from the stage, her eyes caught mine and flew wide. She said something to the girl beside her before taking off toward me, skirts flying, enthusiasm making her seem so much younger.
“Mom!” She shut her mouth with a giggle, and when she spoke again it was in an exaggerated English accent. “Honored Mother! I did not expect you! What a pleasure it is to see you on this fine day!” She gave me a deep curtsy, her mannerisms that of a woman instead of that giggling girl, but when she stood up again her eyes still danced with merriment.
Oh, God. I was not doing this. I was not doing the whole accent thing. And I didn’t have to, since I wasn’t in costume. “Oh yeah,” I said, as nonchalantly as I could. “I’m helping out this summer. I must have forgotten to tell you.”
She raised her eyebrows. “I think not,” she said, accent still in place. She was good. “I believe you failed to tell me on purpose, so that you might surprise me.”
“You’re probably right.” I gave her some unenthusiastic jazz hands. “Surprise.” Having a conversation like this was unsettling, like I was speaking one language and she was speaking another. But the hell with it.
Caitlin laughed again, and even her laugh was in character. I was impressed. “It’s a wonderful surprise. Do Captain Blackthorne and Emma know that you are here? You should find them as well.”
“Captain . . .” I shook my head but then the penny dropped. Simon and Emily. Of course. I knew he was a pirate, but I’d forgotten his character name. “Do you know where they are?”
She shook her head. “Emma is often at the Chaucer Stage, where the Shakespeare scenes are acted. And of course the Captain participates in the human chess match at two of the clock. She often cheers him on then. But at this moment I know not where they are.”
“Great, okay.” I looked down the path that went through the middle of the Faire. I could probably just walk around for a bit, find something to eat, and catch my sister at the chess match thing. I turned back to Caitlin. “Would it be too out of character to give your mom a hug?”
Caitlin blinked quickly, shaking her head. My arms closed around her and she squeezed me tight. “You sounded great,” I whispered.
“Thanks, Mom,” she whispered back in her normal voice. “I’m so glad you came.”
“I’m here all four weekends,” I said as we parted. “I’ll see you around.”
Caitlin dipped into another curtsy, back in character. “Enjoy your day, madam!”
I wasn’t going to curtsy back in jeans, so I just waved as I set off down the path.
* * *
? ? ?
“Never again in jeans,” I said to myself a few minutes later. Maryland in the middle of July was hot as hell, and wearing jeans outside all day was probably the definition of insanity. The heavy, confining denim stuck to my thighs, and I was starting not to care about the scar on my leg. Vanity was one thing, but there was also the very real possibility of dying of heatstroke here. I would never doubt Nancy again.
I distracted myself with a frozen lemonade purchased from a fellow volunteer at a small kiosk, and while I fought the brain freeze I wandered the lanes of the Faire, admiring handmade jewelry and leather goods. Before long I heard the thumping sound of a hand drum in the distance, and I followed the sound. I knew that drum and the music it accompanied.
Before long I’d arrived at the Marlowe Stage, where a show had just begun. A trio of kilted musicians were playing a set of slightly naughty drinking songs and Irish standards. I tossed my empty lemonade cup in a nearby trash can and entered the glade where the Dueling Kilts were about midway through their set. But I didn’t take a seat at one of the long benches meant for the audience. Instead I skirted around the back of the crowd, to a tall, slender man wearing black jeans and a black T-shirt, his red hair mostly eclipsed by a backwards-facing baseball cap （black, natch）。 His face lit up when he saw me.
“April, hey.”
“Daniel.” Daniel MacLean was the band’s manager and he traveled with them. I’d only met him a couple of times, but I liked him. He was a quiet, steady man, very organized and business oriented. Friendly without being effusive. He didn’t offer a hug or a handshake when he saw me; a friendly nod was enough for the both of us.
The same could not be said of his girlfriend.
As the set came to a close Daniel leaned toward me. “She’s at the merch table. I’ll send her over.” He threaded his way through the crowd while musicians onstage collected tips and chatted with the audience. I tried following Daniel’s progress, but he was quickly swallowed up by the crowd and the trees. As a result, the only warning I had was a high-pitched squeal before I was almost bowled over by a tackle-hug from a blond woman wearing voluminous skirts.
“Oh my God! April! What are you doing here?”
“Hi to you too, Stace.” I laughed as I steadied myself, hugging her back. “It’s been a while.”
“I was just home at Christmas.” Stacey adjusted her bodice as we broke apart, tugging at the chemise underneath it and making sure everything was covered. She was much more well-endowed than I was—Stacey was the kind of woman who could really fill out a corset. Between her outfit and her blond hair, curled and held back from her face, she was soft curves everywhere. A native of Willow Creek and one of Emily’s best friends, Stacey had run off last summer with the two loves of her life: the Renaissance Faire and Daniel MacLean.
I nodded. “That was seven months ago, that qualifies as a while.”
Stacey crinkled her nose at me and stuck out her tongue. “Whatever.” She took in my red T-shirt. “So you’re a volunteer now? Who talked you into that? Simon or Emily?”
“Maybe I just wanted to get involved in my community,” I said primly.
She studied me carefully for a moment, then burst into laughter. “Yeah, that’s not it. So are you done for the day? Want to get a drink?”
“Yes, and absolutely. And one of those funnel cake things before we go see the human chess match, what do you think?”
“Oh, that sounds perfect.” She waved at Daniel across the way. She pointed at me and then toward the path, and he waved us off. “Let’s go.” She took my arm and together we headed down the lane.