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Maud uttered a cry of anguish. Judith hissed, “Be quiet!” and Victoria asked, “What is it, Maud?”

“I didn’t write,” Maud said urgently. “My brother can’t be here. He’s in Pennsylvania.”

“Pennsylvania?” echoed Judith.

“With the Vines,” Maud said. “He was adopted.”

“Why didn’t you tell us you had a brother?” demanded Judith.

“I didn’t not tell you,” parried Maud. “You never asked. Samm’l’s in the picture — the photograph in my bedroom.” She appealed to Victoria. “You saw it. He’s the baby on Mother’s lap.”

Victoria said, “I thought that was you.”

Maud shook her head. Sometimes she liked to pretend that the lace-clad infant was herself, but she knew better. “No. That’s Samm’l.” She pronounced the name as she had when she was little, so that it rhymed with camel.

“Have you any other family members we ought to know about?” Judith’s voice was crisp with sarcasm. Maud flinched.

“There’s Kit,” she said reluctantly. “My little sister.”

“Kit?” Victoria repeated. “Maud, I don’t understand. What —”

Maud leaped ahead, forestalling the next question. “She lives with Samm’l. With the Vines.”

“Maud, forgive me —” Maud didn’t know what she was supposed to forgive. She gazed alertly at Victoria. “Maud, are you telling me that both your sister and your brother were adopted by the same family? And you weren’t?”

Maud set her teeth. “Yes.”

“But that’s barbaric.” Victoria spoke almost passionately. “Separating a child from her family! It’s like something from the days of slavery. How could they?”

Maud shrugged.

“Don’t shrug your shoulders when Victoria asks you questions,” barked Judith. “It’s rude.”

Maud felt cornered. She cast a nervous glance around the room. Her eyes darted over the pattern in the wallpaper, the faded watercolors on either side of the bed, the swirled plasterwork at the edge of the ceiling. She couldn’t remember what question she had been asked.

“Out with it,” commanded Judith. “The whole story, please. Don’t leave out any more long-lost brothers. And be quick. While we chatter up here, your brother’s waiting. We must think what to do.”

Maud gripped the back of her neck with both hands. She wanted to twist herself into some other shape. “There were three of us,” she began shakily. “Father was a farmer. He died just before Kit was born. Then, when Kit was two, Mama died, so we went to St. Anne’s. That’s the orphanage in Baltimore. I was five and Samm’l was eleven. That’s when the Vines came. They had a farm, and they wanted a boy to help out. People always want boys that are strong enough to do farmwork.”

She stopped.

“Go on.” Judith’s voice had softened.

Maud clamped her arms behind her back, bracing herself. “So — the Vines wanted Samm’l. The nuns took Kit and me to say good-bye. Kit was a baby, she didn’t understand, but Kit” — Maud was breathing hard — “she was real pretty. She had yellow curls, and Mrs. Vine liked her, and she made up her mind she’d adopt Kit, too. But they didn’t want three children. So they left me.” Maud swallowed. “I stayed at St. Anne’s two more years. Then the nuns closed it down and sent me to the Barbary Asylum.”

Judith looked thoughtful. She pressed her thumbnail against her lower lip. “I suppose your brother traced you here. Miss Kitteridge must have told him where you were —”

“Judith, what are we to do?” Victoria laid her hand on her sister’s arm. “If Maud’s brother came all this way —”

“What are we to do?” echoed Judith. “You can’t mean we ought to let her see him!”

“We must.” Color rose in Victoria’s cheeks. “When I told him she wasn’t here, he didn’t believe me. That’s why —”

“You invited him in,” snapped Judith. “Well done, Victoria!”

The two women faced each other. Victoria was flushed and trembling. Judith had raised her voice. It was up to Maud to keep her head.

“It’s all right,” she said. They turned startled faces toward her, as if they had forgotten she was there. “I don’t have to see him.”

“Of course you’ll see him,” Victoria said. “Really, Maud! Have you no family feeling?” She faced her sister. “He already suspects she’s here. If we