It started well enough, Felicity tapping at Winona’s shoulder and getting a sour look back for her troubles. Then Felicity began harping on and on about her troubles, and Winona was content to slip her headphones back on to get away from it all.

  Then Felicity started to plead, and I mean really plead. Grovelling at Winona’s footsteps like the Natives who grovelled for mercy from Columbus, Washington or Custer. Nearly ripping the roots of her hair out so she wouldn’t go hungry on this long voyage to Niagara.

  Winona looked over at me, and I shrugged my shoulders. I mouthed “it’s not an act” to her, and I felt Winona beginning to pity the Brigham girl. She took a hand to her tummy, and even where I was sitting I could hear Winona’s stomach beginning to rumble.

  She was hungry too.

  She tapped on the couch, and Felicity straightened, sitting down with Winona, who began whispering into her ear. I couldn’t make out any words, but it felt like Winona was hatching her own devious scheme. Felicity’s face twisted and contoured into a strange mix of confusion and resigned acceptance, then she left Winona behind, walking over to us with only slim happiness.

  “Well?” I asked.

  Felicity nodded. “Winona wants us to stop. She’s hungry too.”

  “…And does she have a place in mind this time?” I pressed.

  “Yep, next Chinese restaurant we come across,” Felicity said.

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  “Noted,” Benjamin murmured, and we braced ourselves for a feast of Chinese dumplings and stir-fry prawns when I felt Felicity beginning to paw at me.

  “Winona wants us to stop at the Mohawk territory in Quebec afterwards,” she said.

  “So that’s the one we’re going to?” I asked.

  “Looks like it,” Benjamin murmured. “Shouldn’t we stop at it before going to Niagara?”

  I shook my head. “We might be there for a few days, depending on how much we get filmed.”

  “I suppose it makes more sense to do it when we come back then,” Benjamin said.

  Felicity was pawing at my shoulder again. Now it was getting irritating.

  “What?”

  “It’s not just that,” Felicity mumbled. “Winona wants me to be the speaking guide when we get to the reservation.”

  Had Winona outed herself to Felicity about being a pseudo-Native? I turned to look back at her, and she was mouthing “French, French, French” at me.

  “Isn’t that odd?” Felicity continued. “I mean, shouldn’t she know what tribal chants they speak?”

  I rolled my eyes at her. Harshly. Something that didn’t go amiss to the usually socially attuned Felicity.

  “They don’t necessarily speak Native languages on reservations,” I explained. “They speak English most of the time. Or French, since it’s in Quebec.”

  “Shouldn’t Winona know her way around that stuff, anyway?”

  “Tribes speak different languages, Felicity,” I said flatly. “You wouldn’t expect Americans to speak Italian as their first language, would you?”

  She gave out an exasperated sigh in frustration. “No, I wouldn’t.”

  “Then you’ll play French tour guide for us when we get to Mohawk. Otherwise…”

  Felicity grumbled out a few more expletives in frustration, then she turned and walked back to her room. This posh, pristine goddess I’d always fantasised about had just crumbled into dust.

  I looked over at Winona, and she was safe. For now. The revelation that she might never have been to a reservation before might not come undone in front of either Benjamin or Felicity.

  Hopefully, it would stay that way.