Laura Schlitz - A Drowned Maiden's Hair

Only once, at the very beginning of her life, had she fought her way forward with such urgency. The splintered wood gripped her tightly, snagging her dress, gouging her skin. She felt no pain. Head first, she labored, pulling and kicking, until she toppled free and tumbled onto the floor of the library.

She leaped to her feet. She took one last look through the hole in the panel and saw the room was full of smoke. The fire was surging toward the front parlor. Maud raced through the library door, into the hall that led to the kitchen.

The kitchen looked surprisingly peaceful. The supper dishes were done. There was one place laid on the table. Muffet had left out Maud’s supper; a covered plate stood between knife, fork, and spoon —

Maud froze with her hand on the door. Was Muffet in the house? Muffet almost always went for a walk after dinner — or out into her garden — Maud flew to the screen door and strained to see out, into the dusk. Please, she thought, let me see Muffet. But the hired woman was not in the garden. If she were upstairs, she would not hear the cries from the street.

Maud stood paralyzed. She knew what she wanted to do. She wanted to flee from the fire. Even if Muffet were upstairs, she wanted to run. She tried to imagine Muffet out walking. The hired woman would come back from her walk, with her basket of seedlings, and Maud would greet her and they would both be safe. Then the drama changed. Maud saw herself leaving the house. Only later would she learn that Muffet had died, trapped in the attic, burned to death. Maud tried to imagine life after that and found it impossible. She let go of the door handle and turned toward the back stair.

Her body rebelled. Just as she couldn’t picture a future in which Muffet died, her legs could not accept the idea of turning back to the fire. Maud knew her time was short. If she was to go upstairs, she must go quickly. But her legs belonged to an animal that didn’t want to die, and they would not budge. Maud forced herself to take a step. Another. Her body fought back every step of the way.

Up the stair she clumped. The smoke pursued her, a ghost without a shape. Another flight — one jerk at a time, each foot a lump of lead. At last she reached the attic. She shrieked, “Muffet!” though she knew Muffet could not hear. She jogged stiffly through the box room and into Muffet’s bedroom. “Muffet!”

The room was dark. Maud stooped and swatted the bedclothes. The quilt was smooth and cool. Muffet was not there.

With that knowledge, Maud’s body underwent a transformation. All at once, she was free to leave the house, and every cell in her body leaped with joy. She flew down the steps with a grace and fluidity she had never known. Her feet scarcely touched the treads of the stairs; her hand soared five inches above the balustrade. Even when she reached the thick clouds of smoke on the second floor, she was euphoric. She soared through the smoke like an owl through the dark. She whisked through the kitchen, palms out, smacking open the screen door so that it slammed behind her.

Once outside, she began to cough. Her eyes watered; the smoke smell was so strong that she fancied that the insides of her nostrils were scorched. She was aware of the sound of great bells ringing and the brassy din of someone hammering a gong. She heard people shouting from the front of the house. There were hoofbeats — galloping horses — the firefighters were coming. Maud pulled off Caroline’s wig and stashed it under the lilac bush. Then she fled, taking the path toward the shore.

She was halfway to the ocean when she stopped running. She halted, panting, one foot on the boardwalk and one on the sand. Why had she come here? She sat down and pulled off Caroline’s stockings.

What should she do? She tried to recover her wits, heartening herself. She was alive and Muffet was alive. That was good; that was better than good. Moreover, she had done well during the séance. But beyond that thought, another lay in wait. Maud shook her head to ward it off. She got to her feet. She had to know what was happening back at the house.

She started down the boardwalk. She slipped up the alley a street beyond her own. She would watch the fire from the opposite side of the street. If she kept to the shadows between the houses, she would not be seen.

A crowd had gathered. Some were neighbors, holding buckets. Others had come to watch. The street was crowded with vehicles: the steam engine, with its three gray horses; the fire chief’s buggy; the ladder truck; the hose carts. The long ladder truck blocked her view of the house, but she could see the flames rising to the second-floor windows. Judith’s room, thought Maud, and spared a pang of pity for Judith. She edged forward, careful to keep in the shade of a sycamore tree.

No one noticed her. Night was falling, and the fire drew every eye. The firemen rushed back and forth like actors in a play. The firelight played on the wet street, which seemed to be strewn with snakes; the flames hissed and steamed, brilliant against a background of dingy smoke. Maud tried to catch a glimpse of someone she knew. She almost jumped when a voice spoke on the other side of the tree.

“Anybody in there?” A boy in knickerbockers jerked his thumb toward the blaze.

Another boy, somewhat older, answered him. “Nobody.” He sounded disappointed. “It’s just old ladies that live there, and they all got out. One of ’em caught her skirt on fire. They said she fainted, but that’s all.”

“See that fellow there?” The younger boy pointed to one of the firemen. “That’s Mr. Dowell from the pharmacy. He’s one of the volunteers. He sold me an egg cream yesterday.”

The other boy was unimpressed. “It’s not much of a fire,” he said gloomily. “All that rain th’s’afternoon.” He took a step forward. “What’s that?”

Maud heard the cry. She recognized it — it was Muffet’s voice. The younger boy said, “What in thunder —?”

“Somebody trying to get in.” The older boy was on his tiptoes. “One of the women — trying to get into the house. She must be crazy.” There was a murmur from the crowd. “One of the firemen’s caught her. There, he’s got her.”

“Mr. Dowell says that’s stupid. He says if you get out, you stay out. It’s different for the firefighters, because they know, but ordinary people — well, Mr. Dowell told me about this old maid who went back in the house to save her cat. The roof fell in and crushed her skull. Killed her like that.” He smacked his palms together. “Just plain foolishness.”

“I’d go in for a dog, but not a cat,” remarked the other.

Maud cursed them with a look of hatred and disdain. What did they know about fires? They’d leave their own mothers to burn, probably. She made a wide circle around them, pushing to the front of the crowd.

Muffet sagged in the arms of the fireman. The fireman turned his head from side to side, as if he were searching for someone to take the burden off his hands. A tall woman hurried toward him. Maud saw Mrs. Lambert gesticulate, indicating a point somewhere down the street. The fireman heaved the unconscious woman onto one shoulder and followed Mrs. Lambert to her carriage.

Maud set one foot ahead of the other. She imagined herself sprinting forward, ordering the fireman to let her go with Muffet. Then she imagined Mrs. Lambert’s surprise, and Hyacinth . . . Where was Hyacinth? She supposed they were all together — Mrs. Lambert and Hyacinth and Judith. Mrs. Lambert would take them back to her hotel. . . . Even as Maud pondered what to do next, the carriage began to move. Maud’s mouth fell open. They were leaving her.

Maud spun in her tracks. She sped from the crowd, regaining the cover of the alley. Once in the alley, she increased speed, trying to outrace the demons in her head. She no longer cared what happened to the house. Let it burn. She ran until she crossed the boardwalk and stumbled down to the shore.