A Drowned Maiden's Hair_ A Melodrama - Laura Amy Schlitz [7]
Maud cast a sidelong glance at Judith, whose face was serious, almost grim. “I understand the part about hiding,” she ventured. “I mean, I can stay hidden from other people, if you want me to. But I don’t understand why.”
“No, of course you don’t,” Hyacinth said tenderly. “All this must seem terribly mysterious to you — and so sudden.” She put an arm around Maud’s shoulders and drew her close. Her voice grew even softer, as if she were talking to a very little child. “Is it very hard, not knowing? Are you frightened? I can’t bear to think that you should be afraid.”
For a moment, Maud could not think what to do. One part of her wanted to bury her face in Hyacinth’s violet-scented coat. Another part of her understood that she had it in her power to confer a favor. She gave herself a little shake. “No,” she said stoutly. “No, ma’am, I’m not frightened.”
Hyacinth squeezed her again. “You really are a darling girl,” said Hyacinth Hawthorne. “Isn’t she, Judith?”
Judith didn’t answer. The elder Miss Hawthorne had turned to face the window. Her profile was hawklike, with its sharp eyes and Roman nose. Maud had a feeling that Judith didn’t talk about “darlings” very much. A little daunted, she glanced back at Hyacinth.
Hyacinth was smiling faintly. Maud relaxed. It was Hyacinth who mattered, after all — and Hyacinth thought she was a darling girl.
Maud dreamed. All at once Hyacinth was shaking her, calling her name. The dream broke into fragments and melted away. The train had stopped.
“We get out here,” Judith told her. “Quickly, gather your things.”
Maud fumbled for her books and the brown paper parcel that contained the remnants of her past life: a calico nightgown from the Barbary Asylum, a toothbrush, a comb, and a framed photograph of her mother when her brother was still a baby. She ran her tongue over her dry mouth, tasted the foulness of long sleep, and got to her feet. The Misses Hawthorne led her down the aisle of the train and out onto the platform.
The cold night roused her fully. She was in the country. Overhead, the moon was rising, and the stars were sharp and white. The railroad depot stood at the edge of an empty field, with a grove of trees beyond it. The ground was hard with frost.
“This way,” Hyacinth directed her. “We have a short walk.”
Maud followed her. Never, as long as she remembered, had she been outside by night. With one quick leap, she reached Hyacinth’s side and caught hold of her hand, but Hyacinth’s hand, so caressing before, had grown stiff and cold, like the hand of a doll. Maud’s mind flitted back to the events of the day: the Asylum, the department store, the bookshop, the train ride. She could not think of anything she had done wrong.
“Here.” They had come to the edge of the field and stood before the wood. “Here’s where we go in.”
“Here” was a tangle of black branches and shadowy brush. Maud clutched her new books to her breast. She stepped forward into the greater darkness, raising her face to the moon.
“You’re not afraid of the dark, are you?” asked Hyacinth.
“No,” Maud lied quickly. “That’s for babies.”
“I love the woods at night.” Hyacinth bent over a mound of bushes. She appeared to be searching for something. At last she retrieved it: a lantern. Maud watched as she struck a match and kindled the light. As the flame grew in height, it elongated Hyacinth’s long jaw and the hollows below her cheekbones. For a moment, she looked less like a fairy than a witch.
“It’s three miles to Hawthorne Grove,” Judith said in a low voice. “Come along.”
Maud stepped forward. She kept her eyes fixed downward, lest a snake curl around her ankle or a toad leap out from the underbrush. She wondered if there were large animals in the woods — bobcats or bears. She considered catching hold of the edge of Judith’s coat but thought better of it. Her eyes followed the light as it bobbed along