A Drowned Maiden's Hair_ A Melodrama - Laura Amy Schlitz [42]
Now, about the journey. You must see that it would be fatal for anyone to see you traveling with Victoria . . .
Maud’s eyes fell to the parasol that hung from a ribbon around her wrist. The ribbon had etched a line into her flesh, but she didn’t mind that — the parasol itself was still immaculate; she had been right to hold it instead of leaning it against her knee. She recalled the thrill of unwrapping it. First the brown paper and string, then the ribbon, then the box with its rustling tissue paper, and last of all the parasol, striped green and pink and festooned with lace. Maud had not known that parasols for little girls existed. She had never thought to own such a luxury.
“That’s Hyacinth all over,” Victoria had said. “She just likes buying things — anything pretty. . . . Where on earth will you carry it? You’ll be spending all your time indoors.”
It was true. Maud’s face fell. She sensed that Victoria was hoping she would dismiss the gift entirely — stand on her dignity and refuse to be bought. It was a point that Maud could appreciate; it would be fine, somehow, to stay angry at Hyacinth and thrust aside the parasol as if she didn’t like it. But she did like it. She felt that she had never seen anything so pretty in her life, and she wanted it dreadfully. She wanted to promenade down the boardwalk of Cape Calypso with her boots shined and her dress starched and the parasol raised above her head.
A flurry of wings outside the window drew Maud’s attention away from the parasol. White birds, bigger than pigeons, with dark edges to their wings. Maud opened her mouth to ask the motherly lady what they were, and then shut it. The conductor was shouting “Cape Calypso!” and the train was slowing to a stop.
Maud never forgot her first walk down the boardwalk. The sky had cleared and the wind had risen. Maud felt the pull of the breeze against her parasol; the scalloped edge trembled violently. She felt that if she let go of the handle, the parasol would sail off like a kite. Beyond the circle of cloth, the sky was intensely blue.
And wide. Over the ocean, the sky was immeasurable. Maud gazed at the two vastnesses in wonder. The brilliance of sun on water made her blink. Before her was a world she had never thought to imagine: the pale, clean-looking sand, the foaming water, the jeering white birds against the blue.
Maud stole a glance over her shoulder. Victoria and Muffet were behind her, strolling arm in arm. Slowly, drawing out her steps, Maud processed down the boardwalk. She had a map of the streets in her head. When she came to Ocean Street, she would turn left and go two blocks. Our cottage is sage green, Hyacinth had written. You must look up and down the street to make sure no one is looking and then dart between the left side and the hedge. Knock on the back door. I’ll be waiting to let you in.
The signs on the boardwalk vied for Maud’s attention. FRANKFURTERS, SALT WATER TAFFY, ICE-CREAM SODAS, PING-PONG. What, Maud wondered, was Ping-Pong? It sounded delicious. The smell of frankfurters made her nostrils quiver; she wished she had money to buy one, or ice cream, or Ping-Pong.
She spun the handle of her parasol between her fingers and watched the stripes blur. She dawdled: she was going to make it last, this one lovely saunter down the street. She strolled slowly, admiring herself in the mirror of her imagination. Around her was a loosely connected crowd: ladies and gentlemen and children, all enjoying the breeze for which Cape Calypso was famous. The women wore parasols and enormous hats; many were dressed in white. It dawned upon Maud that they were different from the grown-ups she had known. They had no work to do. They had left their cares behind, in Philadelphia, Baltimore, and New York; they had come to this town for pleasure. It was oddly uplifting to be among such idle, genteel people. Maud tried to fancy she was one of them. There were