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Viktor was waitingfor us in the parking lot at the mountain. I'd never seen it as packed with cars and people as it was today. My stomach turned over at the idea of jumping in front of all these people.
“You're going to do great.” Viktor kissed me. “Now, I'm going to leave you and go up to the spectator section and pretend like I don't know who you are.”
I thanked him and promised to do my best.
“Now off you go,” he said. “Fiona, good luck to you too.”
“What do I need luck for?” Fiona wrinkled her nose.
“You're her manager,” Viktor said.
“I thought that was your job,” Fiona said, laughing.
“Don't fight over me,” I said. “There's plenty of me for both of you.”
We were all laughing as Fiona and I headed off to find my disguise.
I changed into my ski clothes and the head cover Mrs. Olofsson had made for me. When I’d told her I wore the first one the other night, she’d made a new one of a different color. I told her she should sell them, because they really did a good job of protecting one’s face.
When we went outside, Fiona walked ahead of me, as if she didn't know me. I went over to the registration table to get my number. Flynn was on the other side of the table talking to several of the men here from the Denver and Louisville newspapers. He looked well, with no signs that three weeks ago he'd been shot in the chest. It did seem my brother was like a cat. He had many lives and always landed on his feet.
I kept my head down as I approached the table. The man handing out the numbers looked vaguely familiar to me but no one I knew well. Whether he'd been with us the night of the shooting, I wasn't sure.
I told myself to act completely natural, as if I belonged here instead of in the spectator stands. People milled all around. Mrs. Johnson had brought her popcorn maker. Clive and his brother had set up a stand for their sausages. Our resident candymaker, who had recently come out from the east, sold fudge from a portable table.
“I'm Cecil Barnacle. Here for the jumping competition.”
The young man looked up at me. His eyes widened for a moment before he looked back at his paper with admirable discretion. “Welcome, Cecil.” He sorted through a box with envelopes and pulled out one with Cecil's name on it. “Here you are. Good luck today.”
“Thank you.”
He smiled up at me and said under his breath, “If they ever have a shooting competition, you should do that too.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.” I gave him a quick smile.
“Give ’em heck.” He winked at me.
I thanked him again and scuttled off feeling conspicuous. Was there anyone who hadn't figured it out yet?
Never mind all that. Time to focus on the competition. I'd practiced as much as I could over the last few weeks, but the slopes and jumping area had been busy. Many of the competitors had come early to get used to the runs and jumps. Fiona had been stealthily collecting scores and so far she hadn't found anyone who could beat my fifty meters. None of the athletes from the Winter Games were here, of course, or it might have been a different story.
We had only Americans, most of them from Wisconsin and Minnesota, many of whom looked as if they could be Viktor’s Norwegian cousins. Regardless, if I could clear fifty, that meant I’d beat the scores of the medalists in Chamonix. The best score had been 49.5 meters.
My family were all in the spectator stands near the jumping area. Mama and Papa and my youngest sisters stood together. Jo and Phillip had come without their children and were bundled up in a corner with Theo and Louisa next to them. Flynn and Shannon were not there. I wondered if Shannon would come this weekend at all? She had a good excuse, given the baby, but I suspected it had more to do with staying away from her husband. When Fiona had been over to bring a basket of food, she'd seen that the guest room bed had obviously been slept in.
Viktor and Fiona stood together near the railing. I pretended not to know any of them as I climbed the steps up to the dropping-off point, even though it would have helped my confidence to get a wink or smile from one of them. If they knew, they weren't letting on. I still hadn’t confirmed if Papa knew my secret. He hadn't said anything, but I assumed Mama had told him. After I shot a man, however, I couldn't imagine he'd care too much.
There were four of us competing. I was slated to go last. Three judges, all older men, were at the bottom of the jump near the boys who would measure us. Flynn had brought them in from out of town. Apparently, they’d judged many competitions in Wisconsin and Minnesota.
I took in deep breaths as I watched the first jumper take off down the mountain. He sailed through the air with perfectly straight posture. The measurer stuck a red flag into the snow to mark his distance. From here, I couldn't tell how far he'd gone. The second, a man built similarly to Viktor, went next. He, too, had straight posture and turned his skis out slightly. Was that technique or nerves? He fell short of the first jumper. My heart pounded as the third man took off down the mountain. He was slight and probably five inches shorter than the second. His posture was the same as the others. He beat the second jumper, but not the first.
Finally, it was my turn. I took a deep breath and stepped off the platform. They'd leveled the snow to give us a place to start off from, followed by a steep decline. I skied over to the starting place. My body felt strong and ready. All those weeks of tossing rocks around had given me the muscles I needed. Scanning the stands, I panicked for a second before finding Viktor and Fiona standing next to Jo and Phillip. I made eye contact with Viktor. He placed his hand over his heart.
Gathering strength from that simple gesture, I sped down the steep slope, making sure to keep my skis only inches apart. As I approached the jumping-off point, I folded my body nearly in half.
And then I flew. As fast as an eagle, I went. For a moment, I soared. Angels were all around me, pushing me farther and farther. Whatever happens, they seemed to whisper, you will have had this. No one can take it away from you.
I landed perfectly and gracefully came to a stop. A quick glance behind me told me what I’d suspected. My jump was at least ten meters longer than the second best. The crowd roared. I raised my poles in triumph.
The judges were scribbling notes. There would be no disputing this race. I had won.
I glided over to the bottom of the platform and unhooked my skis. For the first time, I realized no one could acknowledge it was me. I would not have the congratulations of my family or fiancé in public. That would have to wait until later. As excited as I was, a small cloud of sadness hung over me. Shaking it off, I held up my hand to the still-cheering crowd.
