“Did I not say that?” she snaps, annoyed at being more transparent than she intended.
“I will pay you for this information.” I say. “Five hundred dollars’ worth of our goods or two hundred and fifty of your choice, to be purchased in Dawson.”
Her eyes harden. “That means nothing to me.”
I wince. Of course. Unlike Cherise, who travels to Dawson, Felicity has never used money. “Right, sorry. Five hundred dollars would buy you five good pairs of boots or five decent parkas or five hundred cans of soup.”
She tries to cover her shock, and says nonchalantly, “How many guns?”
I smile. “Nice try, but if the council caught us buying guns for you, they’d kick us out. Later, I can try to negotiate to get you one, but I can’t promise that now. It’s the five hundred in random goods or two-fifty in goods of your choice, same as I offered Cherise.”
She blinks. “You offered Cherise so much for finding this baby’s parents? That was … unwise.” She says it carefully, an adult gently admonishing a child too young to know better.
“In retrospect, it probably was. Fortunately, it seems I’ll be paying you instead.”
“I will take your goods minus the price of a gun, which you will get me before spring or pay me double its value in additional goods.”
That’s fair, but I pretend to consider it before agreeing.
“The baby’s mother is from the First Settlement,” she says. “She is—was—a companion of mine. We’d meet up with a couple of the Second settlers around our age. My grandfather doesn’t know this, and I would appreciate you not telling him.”
“I won’t. I’m sure he’s seen it with others, though. You’re two small communities with a limited number of people your own age. Down south, that’d been like the kids from neighboring small-town schools hanging out together.” I smile. “It widens the dating pool.”
She frowns, and I’m about to explain when she figures it out, deciphering unfamiliar words from the context.
“You mean our choices for marriage prospects,” she says.
“Or just romantic relationships.”
A wave of one hand, dismissing the concept. I suppose, to them, dating would be similar to wooing a hundred years ago. There’s always an end goal, and that goal is finding a marriage partner.
“I sought out their young settlers for an exchange of ideas,” she says. “I see advantage in that where my grandfather does not. We hunted together. We camped together. We grew close.”
“You became friends.”
A twist of her lips. This is a girl who sees friendship—like romance—as a frivolity for those who can afford to be frivolous, and she cannot.
“You became allies,” I say, and she nods, clearly more comfortable with that. “But your friend—your companion—found more. She found a marriage partner.”
Felicity’s face darkens. “That was not supposed to happen. Intermarriage between the communities is forbidden.”
I chuckle. “When it comes to romance, nothing tastes as sweet as the forbidden fruit. People have written a thousand stories about it.”
“Romeo and Juliet,” she says, her lip curling. I must look surprised because she gives me just the faintest hint of an eye roll. “We are not savages. The first generation brought their stories, and my grandfather brought books. We all know Romeo and Juliet. A ridiculous tale of two foolish dolts.”
I have to smile at that. “They were very young.”
“I heard the story when I was younger than the characters, and my reaction was no different. Romeo is madly in love with some other girl, sees Juliet, and falls madly in love with her. The boy wanted to be madly in love, nothing more.”
“I’m not disagreeing.”
“Even Sidra said Romeo and Juliet were dolts. And then what does she do? Falls madly in love with a boy from the Second Settlement and runs away with him.” Felicity harrumphs. “They might as well have committed suicide. For all I know, she died in childbirth, with no one to help her.” Felicity’s face stays dark, scowling, but I see the fear in her eyes. Fear and worry and hurt.
“The baby has been well fed,” I say. “She’d need her mother alive for that.”
She nods, the relief seeping out. Then she snaps, “Then Sidra was lucky. But what about next time? Is she going to continue breeding with him? Without any help? I could have—” Her teeth shut with a click, and she retreats into a deeper scowl. “Dolts.”
“You didn’t know she was pregnant,” I say softly.