A Drowned Maiden's Hair_ A Melodrama - Laura Amy Schlitz [66]
“All right,” she said tersely. She nipped the ticket out of the man’s fingers and turned her back on Mrs. Lambert, heading for the tiger. There was only one tiger, and she meant to ride him — but a long-legged boy was already astride him. All around her, children swarmed, claiming their mounts. Parents lifted the smallest children to the horses’ backs. Maud was terrified that all the most beautiful animals would be chosen and her ride would be wasted on an animal she didn’t like. She didn’t want to ride the pig or the leaping frog, and the zebra in front of her was baring his teeth in an uncouth fashion. She heard the first notes of music and scrambled into the saddle of the nearest horse.
He was a beautiful horse. Maud let out her breath. He was as white as sugar, and his mane swirled and peaked like icing. He had glass jewels on his harness: rubies and sapphires and emeralds. If she leaned sideways, she could admire the curving arch of his neck and the sweet expression on his face. He was serene, magnificent. As the music grew louder, he leaped into the air and eased downward. Maud floated. She was weightless, soaring, splendid. She squinted a little so that the electric lights wavered and swelled.
For several blissful minutes, she circled and flew. All too soon, the music slowed. At last the white horse halted, halfway up his pole. Children slid off their mounts and parents surged forward, calling their names.
Maud pressed her palms on either side of the horse’s neck. “I’ll always ride you,” she promised rashly. “I’ll always like you best, and I’ll name you —” She hesitated. She knew if she chose the right name, he would be hers forever. “I’ll call you Angel.”
It was the right name. He was white and benevolent, and he flew. Maud slid off and looked at him from the side. There was a sculpted hollow at the edge of his lips, which made him look as if he were smiling. Maud caressed it, smiling back tenderly. She was still smiling as she walked to the platform’s edge.
“Just a moment.” The red-haired man caught her as she stepped off. “Wait a minute, duckling. Aren’t you forgetting something?”
During the ride, Maud had forgotten everything. Now her eyes grew wide with dismay.
“I’m talking about ‘thank you,’” said the red-haired man. “Don’t you want to say ‘thank you’ to the nice lady who bought you the ticket?”
Maud’s mouth fell open. No, she wanted to say, but the red-haired man was steering her straight for Mrs. Lambert. His hands on her shoulders were strong and purposeful. She had an idea that she could drag her feet or squirm but it wouldn’t make any difference.
“Rory, don’t force her!” Mrs. Lambert’s voice was disagreeably familiar. “I don’t need her to thank me. Leave her alone — you’ll frighten her.”
Maud risked a glance at Mrs. Lambert. The rich woman appeared flustered, and Maud felt a surge of irritation. A grown-up, especially a rich grown-up, should have more self-confidence.
“She ought to say ‘thank you,’” insisted the red-haired man. He leaned down, addressing Maud. “Somebody does something nice for you, you say ‘thank you.’ Didn’t your mother teach you that?”
“My mother’s dead,” flashed back Maud.
She saw Mrs. Lambert wince. “Rory, let her go.”
The heavy hands remained in place. “If she don’t know any better, she ought to be taught.”
If she don’t know any better. Maud took in the critical words and saw Mrs. Lambert’s pitying glance. All at once, she understood: they thought she was poor. Mrs. Lambert had paid for her as if she were a beggar. Rory was trying to teach her manners as if she were only half-civilized. Maud felt a stab of shame that changed swiftly to outrage. She was conscious that she was barefoot, that her dress was tawdry, that she was wearing the absolute minimum of underclothing. Nevertheless, she was respectable — she was not a street child. She flung back her head, cheeks scarlet.
“Thank you,