Laura Schlitz - A Drowned Maiden's Hair

“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 deny it now, he’ll ask the neighbors. You know he will, Judith.”

Judith was silent, disconcerted.

“Once he sees Maud, he’ll go back to Pennsylvania.” Victoria sounded as if she were trying to convince herself as well as Judith. “He doesn’t know anyone in Hawthorne Grove. He may not tell. It’s the best we can hope for, Judith.”

Maud risked a look at Judith’s face. “Very well,” Judith conceded. “You may see him.”

Maud felt that Judith expected to be thanked, but the words would not come. Before she could speak, Victoria seized her hand and led her out of the room.

Maud followed in a daze. On the stair landing, she caught sight of herself in the mirror. She stopped, staring at herself. Her face was white, and the tie on her sailor suit hung crooked. Maud reached up to straighten it.

“Maud,” Victoria said gently, “this is no time to primp.”

Maud finished straightening the tie and gave her hand back to Victoria. She hoped that Victoria would go with her into the parlor. But Victoria opened the parlor door and stood aside. There was nothing to do but to walk past her.

The first thing Maud noticed was that the man who stood waiting — for somehow her brother had become a man — was ill at ease. Samm’l’s hands were in his pockets and the cloth over them was taut, as if his fists were clenched. Maud tried to recognize him, but all she could think of was the photograph of Samm’l as a baby.

“Maud?” he asked her. His voice had a funny creak in it.

“Yes,” she croaked back, “it’s me.”

They gazed at each other with an alertness, even a skepticism, that a spectator might have thought funny. “I wasn’t sure you were really here,” Samm’l said warily. He added, “You look well.”

“I am well,” answered Maud, raising her chin. She knew he was not speaking of her health. She was suddenly conscious of the shine on her new boots, the crispness of her petticoats, the dainty cleanliness of her whole person. She inspected him in turn. His clothes were drenched with rainwater and looked too wide for him. He was tall and lanky, and his sandy hair had darkened to mouse color.

“I’m glad you’re well,” he said awkwardly.

“So’m I,” said Maud. She looked away from him. Her eyes passed over the furniture she dusted every day, the gold-framed pictures and wax flowers under glass. Samm’l was out of place in this parlor. He knew it, too.

“Won’t you sit down?” asked Maud, as stately as Judith herself.

“No.” He dug his hands deeper into his pockets. “That is, yes. Maybe I will.” He looked at the needlepoint chairs with their spindly legs and the rococo settee. “I’m kind of wet. You’re sure it’s all right?”

“Yes, of course.”

He lowered himself to the settee and took his hands out of his pockets. He held them between his knees and stared down at the carpet. Hold your head up, Samm’l! Maud almost jumped; her mother’s voice was so clear in her mind. Throw your shoulders back! It’s the cheapest way to tell the world you’re somebody!

“Maud,” Samm’l said hesitantly, “I wanted to see you — well, I wanted to see you before I said good-bye.”

Maud felt as if he had punched her in the stomach. For a moment she could not breathe. Then she spoke. “We already said good-bye,” she reminded him.

“I know.” Samm’l’s face was pale. “That day — at St. Anne’s. That’s part of what I wanted to say — how sorry I am about that day.” He looked up again. His eyes were like hers — blue-gray, but so deep set that they looked darker. “I’ve been sorry for six years.”

“Then why are you going away again?” argued Maud.

Samm’l flushed, tweaking Maud’s memory a second time. As a child he had reddened easily: with anger, with embarrassment, with laughter. “It’s not my fault,” he said. “The Vines are going west. The last few years, the harvest hasn’t been good, and they can get cheap land out there.” He seemed to sense that he was getting nowhere, and began again. “I asked Mr. Vine if we could take you with us, seeing as how we’re starting out fresh, but there isn’t much money. But I’ll be grown-up soon.” He leaned forward. Something kindled in his eyes. “I’ll get my own farm, and when I do, I’ll send for you and give you a home.”

Maud broke in. “I have a home,” she said tightly. She waved a hand, directing his attention to the parlor. “This is my home.”

He had not expected that. Once again, she saw his face change and his color rise. She felt a flash of pity for him.