Laura Schlitz - A Drowned Maiden's Hair

Maud changed the period at the end of her sentence to a comma and continued on.

— but I suppose something might bloom if the weather ever gets warm. Thursday we had sleet. Aunt Victoria says it’s too cold for April.

Maud scratched her nose with the end of her pen. She wondered if Hyacinth Hawthorne had any idea how cold it was in her third-floor bedroom. There were no stoves, and Maud was not allowed a fire in the grate. During the recent cold snap, the only way to get warm was to climb into bed. Sometimes it took her a long time to stop shivering, even under the blankets.

I’ve started reading Oliver Twist. It’s so creepy, because that undertaker made the boy sleep among the coffins. Even Miss Kitteridge never made us sleep among coffins, though that might have been because she didn’t have any. That day when you said Miss Kitteridge was dreadful and took me away from the Barbary Asylum was the best day of my life, because before that —

Maud stopped short. There was no point in writing about, or even thinking about, the worst day of her life.

before that —

Maud stared at the unfinished sentence. She recalled Hyacinth saying poor little thing! in that sweet, piteous voice. Tears welled up in Maud’s eyes. She concentrated on hearing the echo of Hyacinth’s voice, reliving that moment of sympathy.

because before that, I never met you. You are like my fairy godmother.

The rest of the empty page yawned before Maud. She eyed the clock, wishing it were time for supper. She knew there would be scalloped potatoes; she had helped Muffet peel and slice them. She dipped her pen in ink, determined to finish the letter.

Aunt Victoria says I do a good job dusting and that my table manners are improving. I do not wolf my food as bad as I did. Yesterday when I was getting the silverware for dinner, I heard Muffet. She was backing up so fast she banged the table. There was a great big spider on the floor. With its legs it was as big as a tablespoon, the round part I mean, not the handle. Muffet was so frightened she was crying. I never saw a grown-up person as scared as that. I felt sorry for her so I stamped on it hard and it was horrid because it made a disgusting smear on the floor. But Muffet stopped crying and she ran to me and put her hands on my arms. I thought she was going to shake me but she didn’t. I think what she meant was she was glad I killed it. Then last night we had Floating Island and that is my favorite pudding. I didn’t think she would know what I like to eat because she can’t hear, but I guess Aunt Victoria is right and being deaf doesn’t mean she’s stupid.

My hand is tired now. Please come home soon. Or if you can’t, please, please, please write me a letter.

Your loving —

Maud paused. Should she write daughter ?

Your loving girl,

Maud Mary Flynn

Maud had never liked Sundays. At the Barbary Asylum, Sunday was a day of the utmost tedium, with church all morning and enforced silence in the afternoon. Maud was pained to discover that Sundays with the Hawthorne sisters followed a similar pattern. In the morning, Victoria read aloud from the New Testament and selected a psalm for Maud to memorize. In the afternoon, the sisters received callers, which meant that Maud was confined to the third floor.

On the Sunday five weeks after her arrival, it rained so hard that no one was likely to call. Maud was allowed to learn her psalm in the back parlor. The sisters sat by the fire. Judith read the newspaper while Victoria refurbished an ancient bonnet.

Maud eyed the bonnet speculatively. It was horribly out of fashion, and she wondered if Victoria could be dissuaded from wearing it. Victoria was not elegant like Hyacinth or distinguished-looking like Judith, but Maud saw no reason why she should look as dowdy as she did.

“Aunt Victoria,” Maud began coaxingly, “wouldn’t it be easier to buy a new hat than to trim that old bonnet?”

Victoria pushed her spectacles higher on her nose, as if by doing so she could come to grips with Maud.

“If you wore a hat instead of a bonnet, you could do your hair in a pompadour,” persisted Maud. “Pompadours are stylish. And a pompadour would make your face look taller.”

Judith snapped the newspaper against her lap. “Maud Flynn! Weren’t you given a psalm to memorize?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Maud said, “but I’m almost finished. I’m up to the part where God breaks the teeth of the ungodly.”

Judith sniffed. The doorbell chimed. The two sisters looked at each other in surprise. Maud sprang up and set the Bible on the parlor table.

“I wonder who’s calling in this rain.” Victoria stuffed the bonnet into her sewing basket. “I’ll get it, Judith.” She caught Maud’s eye and jerked her head toward the back staircase.

Maud darted out on tiptoe. She could hear Victoria speaking and a man’s voice answering. She was halfway up to the third floor when she heard Victoria call her name in a whisper.

“Maud! Come downstairs!”

Maud scurried back down the steps. She found Victoria and Judith arguing in the second-floor corridor.

“— in the front parlor —” Victoria whispered.

“Left him!” Judith sounded furious. “Have you lost your mind, Victoria? Why didn’t you tell him she doesn’t live here?”

“I did. He didn’t believe me,” hissed back Victoria. “I was afraid he’d ask the neighbors —” She kept her finger on her lips, warning Maud to keep silent. Judith took Maud’s arm and pulled her into the nearest bedroom. Victoria followed, shutting the door.

Judith’s fingers dug into Maud’s arm. “Maud Flynn, have you been writing letters?”

“Yes,” gasped Maud. She saw Judith’s eyebrows draw together in a deeper frown. She added hastily, “To Hyacinth. Aunt Victoria said —”

“Not to Hyacinth,” Judith said sternly. “To your brother. Have you got a brother?”

Maud gaped at her. She felt as if the wind had been knocked out of her. Judith gave her a little shake, and she gasped, “Yes.”

Judith threw up her hands. “Now what shall we do? After all this, to have the child’s brother on our doorstep! It shows the folly of trusting a child —”

“It isn’t her fault,” Victoria said, defending Maud. “We should never have taken her in the first place —”

Maud uttered a cry of anguish. Judith hissed, “Be quiet!” and Victoria asked, “What is it, Maud?”

“I didn’t write,” Maud said urgently. “My brother can’t be here. He’s in Pennsylvania.”

“Pennsylvania?” echoed Judith.

“With the Vines,” Maud said. “He was adopted.”

“Why didn’t you tell us you had a brother?” demanded Judith.

“I didn’t not tell you,” parried Maud. “You never asked. Samm’l’s in the picture — the photograph in my bedroom.” She appealed to Victoria. “You saw it. He’s the baby on Mother’s lap.”

Victoria said, “I thought that was you.”

Maud shook her head. Sometimes she liked to pretend that the lace-clad infant was herself, but she knew better. “No. That’s Samm’l.” She pronounced the name as she had when she was little, so that it rhymed with camel.

“Have you any other family members we ought to know about?” Judith’s voice was crisp with sarcasm. Maud flinched.

“There’s Kit,” she said reluctantly. “My little sister.”

“Kit?” Victoria repeated. “Maud, I don’t understand. What —”

Maud leaped ahead, forestalling the next question. “She lives with Samm’l. With the Vines.”