wall had been set up to enclose some of the trees. Giselle found her wagon set up and waiting underneath a fine old oak, with a little chair and table set out at the base of it. By this, she gathered that she was now to be part of the “tour of the camps,” and would be expected to be sitting there, willing to make conversation and doing something appropriate to her role.
Well, I can certainly clean my guns.
She had left Lebkuchen at the stabling tent for the show horses; now she went to see if Cody was at his own tent. The camps had been set up exactly the same way they had been at Schopfheim, with slight adjustments for the trees, so she had no trouble whatsoever finding him.
He was answering questions and directing some of the others, and she gathered as she listened to him that there would be an afternoon and evening show, she should stay in her show costume, and that a cold lunch was already waiting in the mess tent. Since that answered every question she had, she trotted to the mess tent to get her hands on food; breakfast had been at the crack of dawn, and she was starving.
Luncheon apparently consisted of slapping cold cuts of smoked or cooked meat between slices of bread and the ubiquitous coffee, which it appeared Americans lived on. The local butchers who must have supplied this meat had helpfully included pots of horseradish, pickles, and sauerkraut. The Americans did not appear to know what to do with these things—other than the pickles, which they were devouring with great relish. She was perfectly happy to heap sauerkraut on her sliced roast pork. Perhaps the others would learn from her example.
It was . . . strange . . . still strange . . . to think where she had been a mere month ago, and where she was now. If anyone had predicted this, she would have laughed first, then wondered if such hallucinations were dangerous.
People were not actually hurrying over their meal, so she took her cue from them, taking her time to enjoy something that actually tasted like the food she was used to.
She was not the earliest in the lineup for the Grand Parade; Captain Cody was already in place when she arrived, as were all the Pawnee and pseudo-Pawnee. For the first time since she had joined the show, the Pawnee were . . . smiling.
She didn’t blame them. In her opinion, they finally had something to smile about. She was feeling as nervous as the day of her first performance; what if she had been wrong about all this? Oh, of course, the show could go back to the old way—but Captain Cody would never completely trust anything she had to say again.
Maybe it’s not such a bad thing after all, having the Captain take credit for all of my ideas. If this fails, he’ll be the one taking the blame for the failure, and not me . . .
The rest lined up; the formation of the Grand Parade was the same, the music was the same, and yet, there was a sense of a bit of nervousness. This wasn’t the same show. This was a new show, and in the opinion of some who still were not convinced by either her explanation or the Captain’s, a very risky show.
But there was no time for second thoughts. The band began Captain Cody’s entrance music, the curtains parted, and the Captain galloped in. He did his salute to the crowd, came out again, and the Parade began.
And it was not her imagination: although the color-guard maintained their fierce and solemn expressions—properly, really, since after all they were carrying the two national flags and the sacred standards with the eagle feathers on them—the rest of the Pawnee, instead of looking straight ahead, waved and nodded soberly to the crowd. And the spectators nearly went insane at being acknowledged by the Indians. Some of the boys in the audience even dared to attempt what they thought were war whoops. By the time they all left the arena, she was feeling more confident.
Captain Cody was the first turn, of course. She was the second, doing her non-trick shooting, and waited patiently for him to ride back out. She forced herself to concentrate on her targets; she really, really needed to be able to do this with her own skills and powers, because the sylphs, while well-meaning, were