“I like it,” Maud asserted. “I never had wallpaper before.”
“And Muffet.” Hyacinth’s eyes danced. “What do you think about Muffet?”
Maud decided to take a risk. “She has a mustache,” she said cautiously, and was rewarded with a ripple of laughter from Hyacinth.
“Yes, hasn’t she? She looks like a blacksmith in petticoats. She really is a terrible-looking old thing — but such a good cook, and so devoted to Victoria.” Hyacinth fetched an exaggerated sigh. “And our modern improvements — do you like using them? Do you like pulling the chain in the water closet?”
Maud giggled uncontrollably. Imagine a grown-up who knew that water closets were funny and admitted it. “I love pulling the chain,” she said. “And the bathtub with the lion’s mouth.”
“I knew you would be happy here,” Hyacinth said triumphantly. “Come and sit on the bed and let me look at you. Gracious, how pretty you look! We were quite right to choose that dress.”
Maud sat down sidesaddle. “It’s good, isn’t it?” she said earnestly. “And look at my boots.” She pointed her toes. “They’re shiny.”
“Lovely,” agreed Hyacinth. “You have dear little feet. Only you must have your hair cut. Are Judith and Victoria taking good care of you?”
“Yes, ma’am,” responded Maud. “They’ve been teaching me the secret things — like going upstairs when the doorbell rings. And Victoria changed the curtains in my room for thicker ones; they’re called brocade and they’re pinkish red.” She paused for a moment. “I guess if the curtains were too thin, people might be able to see someone moving around inside . . . or if I lit a candle. Judith warned me about that. She says I can have all the blankets I want, but no fire.”
She waited for Hyacinth to answer. Perhaps Hyacinth would drop some hint as to why it would be so bad if light shone from the third-floor window.
“Maud!” Hyacinth squeezed her hand. “Have you ever seen my jewel box?”
“No,” replied Maud. “How would I have seen your jewel box? I’ve only known you five days.”
Hyacinth pinched her so that she yelped. “It’s over there on the chest of drawers — the red Chinese box. Go and get it, and we’ll dress ourselves up in every jewel in the box. We’ll play at being queens.”
Maud giggled with happiness. She ran to the chest of drawers and scooped up the jewel box, eager to be a queen.
Dear Hyacinth Hawthorne,
Aunt Victoria said since I was missing you so much, I ought to write you a letter. When I say Aunt Victoria, I mean your sister. She said from now on I should say Aunt Victoria and Aunt Judith —
Maud leaned her chin on her fist and thought about her two new aunts. In the past two weeks, she had learned that Aunt Judith was the sort of adult who wanted to be left alone and that Aunt Victoria was inclined to preach. Aunt Victoria seemed to feel that Maud ought to be improved. She didn’t scold, but she nagged. Maud had yes ma’amed her way through a number of gentle little talks about ladylike manners, tidy habits, and doing her duty. Her resolve to be perfectly good was beginning to fray at the edges.
— but she said I shouldn’t call you Aunt Hyacinth because you mightn’t like it. She said she was tired of me calling her “ma’am” all the time.
Maud dipped her pen in ink. She thought it ungrateful of Victoria to tire of “ma’am” when she was working so hard to be polite. On the other hand, she was tired of it, too.
I miss you very much.
Maud searched the ceiling for something else to write. She thought of writing I wish you hadn’t gone or Why do you have to stay with Mrs. Lambert instead of me? but she didn’t dare.
Thank you for the book you sent me about Little Lord Fauntleroy. I read it twice. His mother, that he called Dearest, reminded me of you, because her voice sounded like little silver bells.
There, that was good. Hyacinth would be flattered by the comparison.
I liked how Fauntleroy rode that pony even though he never rode before.
Maud paused, considering the perfection of Lord Fauntleroy. The storybook hero was so perfect that the adults around him spent every spare minute comparing notes on just how perfect he was. Lord Fauntleroy had golden curls and lace collars. If he had been an orphan, he would have been adopted immediately. Maud sighed with envy.
I have a lot of time for reading since I don’t go to school. At first I read all the time but then Aunt Victoria said I should have a timetable. So now I dust the first floor every morning before anyone would come to the house and then I read and do arithmetic and help Muffet set the table. And then I have to sew, which I hate because it’s boring —
Maud stopped and crossed out the second half of the sentence, cross-hatching the lines so that it was no longer legible. Ladies, Aunt Victoria informed her, were sparing with the word hate. Victoria had also complained that Maud was too fond of the words boring, stupid, and horrid. Maud was puzzled as to how Victoria knew this, since she took care to guard her tongue in Victoria’s presence. Maud felt, in fact, that she was growing downright mealymouthed.
— which is tedious except it will be a summer dress with stripes. Of course I like the dresses you bought me better. I let Aunt Victoria cut my hair the way you wanted. Anyway, I have to sew and then read history or geography and walk in the garden. The plants are all dead.
Maud reread the last sentence, which was not complimentary. But what did Hyacinth expect? She had told Maud that the garden was large and lovely, but it wasn’t lovely at all. It was full of stickers, and the tall hemlocks cast so much shade that there was still snow on the ground. The hour that Maud spent outdoors was the dullest hour of the day. Victoria, however, insisted. Children needed fresh air and exercise.
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 me
ant 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.”
“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 wa
s 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.
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