The Girls with No Names

by Serena Burdick

  “Why can’t I know where she is?”

  “You have to trust us. It’s for your own good.”

  I shook my head, tears streaming down my face as Daddy’s strong arms pinned me in a hug. His heart beat against my ear and I pulled away, gulping for air.

  Mama stood abruptly. “Take a breath. Don’t get worked up.” She patted the air with her hands, her anxiety visible on her face as she came toward me.

  I backed to the wall, everything pulling away, my feet and hands distant, floating objects. I couldn’t bear Mama touching me and I ran from the room, hearing Daddy say, “Leave her be, Jeanne.”

  Upstairs, I kneeled on the floor with my head dropped forward on my bed, the tightness in my chest suffocating. I slammed a fist into my breastbone wanting to rip out my stupid heart. I didn’t want to view the world through this damaged portal anymore. It didn’t make me special or different. There was no strength in my survival. It was just time, slowly wearing away at me.

  If it wasn’t for my condition, Daddy would have sent me away too. I’d lied and snuck out and gone to the gypsies. Maybe this was why Luella envied my blue fits. Did she know what he was going to do?

  * * *

  When the girl comes down the stairs, her father is waiting for her, slapping his driving gloves against his thigh as he opens the front door. Early morning light halos his head like a saint, which makes the girl laugh. She is told to get her hat and does so, only because she believes her father is going to try and convince her to go to Paris and she will have her chance to tell him she has no intention of being sent away. The girl pauses at the door and looks up the stairs, wondering if her mother and sister are still asleep. When the door closes she has no idea she won’t be home for dinner. Only when the car winds up the road and the gates to the House of Mercy close behind them does she begin to cry out.

  * * *

  No. I put my hands over my eyes. That’s not how it went.

  I jumped off my bed and returned to Luella’s room. Twilight lingered, casting shadows around the room. As much as I didn’t want to believe she’d abandon me, I hoped with every bit of my racked heart that Daddy hadn’t locked her away and she’d escaped with the gypsies. I fell on my knees and reached under her mattress, driving my hands around the flattened space. If Luella had left willingly, she would have taken her treasures with her. We had agreed to hide all things associated with the gypsies under our mattresses. Mine housed a book of Wordsworth that Marcella had lent me, a feather and a yellow ribbon that Tray and I found in the woods. I reached up to my elbows, scooting my hands around, willing them to find nothing, my breath catching as they bumped into a bulky object. Pulling it out, I tossed Patience’s blue silk scarf on the bed. The knot slipped open and glass beads spilled over the coverlet like pearls of water. There was also a silver comb and two spools of embroidery thread. I rolled a single turquoise bead between my fingers, a drop of red in its center like the spell of an evil eye.

  As certain as I was that she wouldn’t leave these treasures behind, I still brokered hope that she might, after all, be at the gypsy camp.

  Gathering Luella’s things, I went back to my room and dumped them on the bed. A sound outside drew me to the window where I watched Daddy help my grandmother into the car, her back hunched and rounded. I saw the elegant Miss Milholland in her place and felt a twist of rage at Daddy. The car pulled away and he stood with his hands shoved into his pockets looking down the street for a long time.

  I didn’t go down to dinner. At seven o’clock my father knocked on my door. “Effie? Are you all right?” I didn’t respond. “Like I said, your sister’s fine. She’ll be home before you know it. Effie, I need to hear your voice so I know you’re all right.”

  “I’m fine.”

  “Are you hungry?”

  “No.”

  The tips of his fingers drummed against the other side of the door. “Well then, at least get some sleep, you hear?”

  That night, I lay fully clothed on top of my covers with the window flung open so I would catch every sound. Carriage wheels creaked on the road, a dog barked, a motorcar revved past. When I heard the clock chime eleven, I crept into the hallway. No crack of light shone from under my parents’ bedroom door and I tiptoed down the stairs, hugging the wall where the stairs creaked the least.

  Outside, the bright, hard light of a full moon lit my way as I hurried through the woods, past our stream and the Indian caves and up the hill into the meadow. Fear pricked my feet with what felt like a thousand needles. I was afraid the field would be an empty bowl of moonlight. The gypsies would be gone, and my sister would be gone with them. I raced forward, my chest heaving with a gasp of relief when I reached the clearing and saw the gypsy fires puncturing the sky with their glow. I charged through the grass, half expecting Luella to rush up and tell me to quiet down. But it was a man who stopped me. “Christ almighty. I almost clobbered you over the head.” I recognized Job’s voice. “Hey, Pop, it’s Effie.”

  Job’s father, Freddy, emerged out of a pocked circle of light. He was large, like his wife, with black pits for eyes and a heavy beard. With a silent jerk of his chin, he directed Job back to the camp. Marcella appeared beside him, regarding me with suspicion, as if she’d forgotten who I was.

  “What are you doing here?” Freddy’s voice was cutting.

  “I came...” I stammered, “to find Luella.” My chest fluttered and my breath came out ragged. In the flickering firelight, I caught a glimpse of Tray with his hands stuffed in his pockets. He looked right at me, but didn’t approach.

  “Your sister is not here.” Marcella moved from her husband’s side, blocking my view of Tray and the fire. Lit from behind, the soft lines of her figure hardened against the night and her form looked herculean. “You shouldn’t be here either.”

  “She’s gone,” I said, trying to look around her and catch Tray’s eye.

  “We know,” Marcella said. “Your father has already come and threatened us.” Her tone held the strength of one used to being threatened, and the conviction of one used to thwarting it.

  “She is bad luck, your sister.” Freddy put an arm around his wife. “We won’t have you bringing more. I should never have allowed the two of you here in the first place.”

  A log fell into the fire. Sparks shot up, flickered and sputtered out like dying fireflies. Freddy stood, wide and still as a wall beside Marcella, blocking the way. I wanted to talk to Tray.

  Marcella put a hand on my shoulder. The touch was motherly, her voice resolved. “We can’t help you. You must go.”

  I thought of the time she’d rested her hand on my shoulder when the music played, how close I’d been to her worn knuckles and raised veins. I turned back to the woods, a motionless army of trees and bracken waiting to trip me up. The moon seemed to dim in my fright and I fumbled over roots and fallen twigs, remembering the night-blind adventure Luella and I had only months earlier.

  Back home, I paced in my room like a nocturnal creature tracking a hopeless scent. For months Luella had looked at Daddy with caustic, accusing eyes, knowing his secret, holding it over him. I slammed my window shut against the night and buried myself under the covers, shaking out Patience’s silk handkerchief and pressing it to my face, the beads and comb and thread spilling onto the bed. A bead lodged under my shoulder, one under my neck. The handkerchief smelled of lilac water and fire smoke.

  Sometime in the night the wind woke me, rattling the windows and hammering a tree branch against the glass. The handkerchief slipped and the scattered beads slid farther under me as I sat up. I’d fallen asleep not caring what indentation their round, hard shapes made against my skin. The room was stifling and I had no sense of what time it was. A figure rose from the chair in the corner and I threw the coverlet.

  “Are you awake?” It was Daddy, and I crumbled with disappointment.

  He sat on the edge of the be
d and took my hand, pressing his fingers to the inside of my wrist, checking my pulse like he used to when I was little. “It’s been a long time since I’ve asked about your writing. I’m sorry for that,” he said, his voice sedated, like something thick lay over his tongue.

  I wanted to tell him I was sorry too. Sorry that I wasn’t the great Tildon child born on the first day of the new century that he’d hoped for. Sorry that Mama and Luella and I weren’t the perfect family he’d wanted.

  In the bright moonlight, I could see faint creases around his eyes and stubble on his chin. He looked tired. “You’re the one I always worried about. Which is ironic now, isn’t it?” He patted my shoulder. “Look at you with your solid heart thrumming away in that chest of yours. I knew you’d beat it. Doctors be damned, right?” He leaned into my ear, a sparkle of fun in his eye like when he used to sneak Luella and me candy from his pocket before dinner. “We’ll keep the curse word between us, yes? Your mother wouldn’t like that. It will be our little secret, damning doctors.”

  I hadn’t beaten anything and I didn’t want any more secrets. “Where’s Luella?”

  Daddy pulled away, our moment of colluding intimacy broken. “You have to trust your mother and me. Your sister is learning the consequences of her actions. She’ll be home soon enough.” He stood up to crack open the window. Air whistled in and Daddy tucked the sheet around my shoulder. “Sleep, Effie,” he murmured.

  I didn’t want him to leave. I didn’t want to be alone. “I’ll show you my writing tomorrow.”

  He smiled. “First thing in the morning?”

  “First thing.”

  “You know, if it’s good enough, we might consider submitting it for publication. I know an editor who’d take a look at it for us.”

  “Miss Milholland’s father?”

  Daddy gave a startled laugh. “Yes, that’s the one.”

  “I don’t want him to.”

  We could see each other clearly in the moonlight. His expression told me he understood that I knew.

  “No, well, we’ll find someone else then,” he said, and left the room.

  I kicked the covers off and curled my knees into my chest, squeezing my eyes against the hot tears rolling over my temples. Behind my lids, the House of Mercy loomed massive and impenetrable, fortressed by high white walls like the gates of a duplicitous heaven.

  * * *

  The girl kicks and bites and screams as they drag her through the door. Her father, watching from the car, worries he’s made a mistake. He sits for a long time pounding his palms against the steering wheel, wondering if he should go inside and get her back. The sky is heavy with clouds and he wishes it would rain and wash away the heat. He thinks of his wife and feels the first pangs of real guilt. He’s done this for himself, and yet, as he chokes the engine to a start, he tells himself he has done it for his daughter. It’s the best thing for her. She’s learning the consequences of her actions. She’ll be home soon enough.

  * * *

  The crying made my heart race and my chest tight. I had only heard rumors about the House of Mercy from the girls at school, who’d read stories in the newspaper about quelled riots and attempted escapes. Other than the gossip about Suzie Trainer, I didn’t know anyone who’d been inside. Whatever it was like, I couldn’t imagine Luella surviving in such a place. She’d be like a caged tiger, sure to start riots, attempt escapes. Didn’t Daddy understand that Luella couldn’t be tamed?

  Chapter Eight

  Effie

  All night I tossed and turned, waking up with tearstained cheeks and eyelids so crusted that opening them felt like peeling dry paper from my eyeballs. Every part of me hurt. The morning sunlight assaulted my eyes and the twittering birds pierced my ears.

  Coming down to breakfast, I slid into my chair not wanting to eat anything. Mama sat with her arms on the table, her own eyes puffy and red. Daddy was nowhere in sight. I guess he wouldn’t be asking about my writing after all.

  “Coffee?” Mama reached for the pot, her hands shaky as she poured it into my cup. She wore a light summer dress, her face drawn and pale as the fabric. There were dark circles under her eyes, the signs of distress I’d hoped for a month ago. “Cream?”

  I nodded, watching the cream swirl and color the coffee. “Where’s Daddy?”

  “He left for work early.”

  The forced, animated lilt of her voice angered me. Daddy lying was one thing, I already knew he was good at it, but I hated that she was lying to me too. “I know Luella’s not at summer camp.”

  In a flash, she reached across the table, her sleeve fluttering like a wing as she took hold of my arm. I was struck by the pressure of her grip. She might not be a fighter, but not because she lacked the strength. “We know about the gypsies, young lady, and I know you’re not as innocent as you look. Your father, on the other hand, has chosen to believe your sister is the only reason you went.” She let go, drawing her hands into her lap and surveying me from across the table with calculated control. “You are not to make any more trouble. Is that clear? I expect impeccable behavior from you. If your father says your sister is at summer camp, you will not question him. And you will not question me.”

  Mama’s saucer clattered as she lifted the cup to her lips. She took a sip before picking up the silver tongs and dropping three lumps of sugar into my cup. “Just as you like it, yes?” Her voice was conciliatory. “Or I can have Velma make you tea since there’s no Daddy here to tell us otherwise.”

  I spent the day curled on my bed with my collection of Arthur Lange’s fairy books. Luella’s absence left me gutted. I felt heavy with anxiety and I had a blue fit that made me feel as if I was sailing out of my body. When night fell, I arrived at the dinner table and ate in silence, choking down colorless fish and buttered carrots. Mama looked aged and distracted and as abandoned as I felt. Daddy did not come home for dinner and Velma brought the dishes to the table in grim silence.

  The next morning I stayed in bed and no one came for me. The heat had broken and a cool breeze came through the window. Outside the sky was a baby blue. When I finally made my way downstairs, wearing the same gingham dress I’d slept in, the house was empty. Where was Daddy? Had Mama left too? I ran back upstairs to their room, imagining empty drawers and wardrobes, my family packed up and gone. I pushed open the bedroom door so fast it banged against the opposite wall.

  “Gracious.” Mama flipped over the piece of paper she was writing on. “What on earth is the matter?”

  “I thought you were gone.” I felt foolish, but relieved.

  “Don’t be silly.” She capped her pen, the kimono sleeves of her robe billowing as she pivoted on her chair. The front slipped open, revealing her smooth chest above her nightgown. She was not wearing her gloves and the scars on her hands stood out like white veins. When she came over and cupped my chin in her palm, I found no comfort in the uneven bumps. Instead, I found her touch disturbing. I saw her in flames, fire leaping up her bathrobe, consuming her.

  She pulled away. “Come. Sit. I have something to ask you.”

  I sat on the edge of her chaise longue, fiddling with the tufted yellow buttons as I watched her light a cigarette. Was this a habit now? I couldn’t tell if it was an old one she’d kept well hidden, or something she’d picked up since Luella left. There was a wariness in her gaze and nerves in the quiver of her smile. “Tell me about the gypsies.”

  My stomach iced over. If I told her, everything Luella and I shared would turn into incriminating evidence and the sacredness of it all would be ruined. Our collective enchantment would crack and float away.

  “I’m sorry about yesterday. I won’t be angry with you, I promise.” Mama’s tone softened as she sucked on her cigarette, holding her robe closed with one hand. “I’m sure your father’s right and that Luella made you go. It doesn’t seem the sort of thing you’d think up.”

  “Why not a
sk her?”

  Mama sighed, pressing a single finger between her brows, “She’s not talking to us at the moment.” She dropped her arm and looked at me. “How long have the two of you been going up there? Since Luella first asked about them? The time I forbid you to go? I remember being gracious enough to tell you I’d take you when there was a charitable event.” She walked over and wrenched open the window, taking a moment to exhale her smoke. “What did Luella do there?”

  “Dance,” I said, even though I knew this would wound her.

  “Dance? What kind of dance?”

  “I don’t know...gypsy dances.”

  She made a disgusted sound. “What else?”

  “Sang.”

  “She danced and sang?” Mama jerked around, stubbed out her cigarette and shed her bathrobe onto the back of a chair with quick, angry little movements. She shimmed out of her nightgown and let it fall in a heap at her feet. Wavelets of white crepe lapped the floor like frosting slipped from a cake.

  It was distressing to see the naked, pale dip of my mother’s back, the gentle rise and fall of her buttocks as she flung open her wardrobe. I couldn’t remember seeing her naked before. She opened the wardrobe and tossed a dress on the bed, pulled a chemise from a drawer and slipped it over her head, then gathered her hair over one shoulder and stood twisting it into a thick band, her eyes wide open. “What could she have possibly seen in that sort of thing? How could that vile, dirty life appeal to her?”

  I shrugged, fighting rising tears. “I don’t know.” Luella would have faced Mama head-on. Maybe she had. Maybe she’d spat and screamed as they carried her off.

  “What did you do there every afternoon?” She braced herself, ready to hear the worst of my improprieties.