Chapter 20: The Line Again

I stood at the edge of the stage and listened to six men not quite breathing.

Starch, wool, six pairs of polished shoes on old boards.

Nobody in the hall made a sound.

"One rule," Cecelia said. "She goes down the line. She puts a hand out, and she picks."

"If she's right, I'll sit down and never say another word about it. If she's wrong, there's no marriage, and we all know it."

"This is cruel," the benefit chair said.

"It's a game," Cecelia said gently. "June loves games."

I did not answer her.

I walked down the line with my right hand out.

The first man took it and tapped the back of it twice with a damp thumb.

I felt my stomach turn.

The second did it, and the third, and the fourth.

Twice, twice, twice, like six clocks wound by one hand.

None of them had the weight of it right.

Hoyt's tap had been firm and deliberate, but these men tapped tentatively, unsure of themselves.

The fifth man's palm was soft as a baker's, and he tapped twice and held my fingers a second too long.

I took my hand back.

"Five," Cecelia said. "Nothing yet, June?"

I stood in front of the sixth man.

He was taller than the rest, I could tell by the angle of the air, and he was the only one who had not moved.

He had not offered his hand.

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