The Girls with No Names

by Serena Burdick

  “Does that help?” she asked, keeping her eyes straight ahead.

  I slunk down and looked out the window, deciding I didn’t have much choice but to trust this woman.

  The cab made a slow left and the houses dropped away, the spacious trees holding their branches over the road like protective arms. Not until we were driving past the gates of the House of Mercy did I recognize where we were. Alarmed, I yanked myself forward, but the car kept going and the gates slipped from view.

  Not far ahead, Mrs. Tildon rapped her hand on the seat in front of us. “You can drop us here.”

  The driver pulled to the side of the road and got out, helping Mrs. Tildon from the car. “There’s nothing here, ma’am,” he said, passing his hand to me. I ignored it and climbed out on my own.

  “We’ll be fine, thank you.” Mrs. Tildon fished in her sleek handbag and retrieved a folded bill that she handed to the driver. He tipped his hat, thanked her and climbed back into his car.

  When the cab disappeared, Mrs. Tildon glanced into the forest, her lips pinched, her face pale and determined. “This way,” she said, stepping off the road into a clean cover of pine needles.

  I followed, curiosity replacing my fear as we crested the hill and a ring of colorful wagons and sleek horses came into view.

  Mrs. Tildon stopped and took the hat from my head, settling it back on hers. “I’m giving you the one-thousand-dollar reward for the return of my daughter, which you’re to turn over to these people.”

  “Why would I do that?” I cried. One thousand dollars was an astounding sum of money.

  “Money won’t do you any good if the police find you. I’m sure the doctor has already informed them by now. I doubt there’s a train you could board safely, and a cab would only take you so far. You’re vulnerable alone. If these people are willing, you could hide amongst them. Only, I suggest you not let on that you’ve committed a crime.”

  “Then why, exactly, am I supposed to be hiding amongst them?”

  She pursed her lips, thinking this over. “I’ll think of something. One foot in front of the other. Come on.”

  Heat rose from the curled brown grass as we picked our way across the field toward a hefty woman watching our approach with apprehension, her face hard as she stroked the side of a dappled horse.

  Mrs. Tildon stopped directly in front of her. The woman was as sturdy and bulky as the beast she stood beside. Without any greeting Mrs. Tildon said, “We’ve found Effie. She’s sick, but alive.”

  The woman sank in on herself a little. “Tray,” she called.

  A slender, alert-eyed boy emerged from the back of a wagon and jumped to the grass with a thud.

  “They’ve found Effie,” she said, and the boy burst into a smile.

  “She’s all right, isn’t she? I told you she’d be all right, didn’t I, Ma?” The boy was as scrawny as they come, with a spindly torso and stringy arms.

  “She’s sick,” the woman said.

  “I want to see her. Can I see her?” The boy looked at Mrs. Tildon as she nervously ran her fingers over the backs of her scarred hands.

  Without answering him, she said to the woman, “I’ve come to see if you’re leaving or staying another winter.”

  “Leaving as soon as the cold sets in. Why?”

  “I need your help.”

  There was obvious respect between these women, but also a clear, mutual dislike.

  “With what?”

  Mrs. Tildon touched a hand to my sleeve. “This girl is responsible for Effie’s return, which means she’s entitled to the reward. A reward she’ll bring to you, if you’re willing to take her in.”

  The woman rested her dark, unreadable eyes on me. “How much?”

  “Ma.” The boy nudged her as if she’d made a rude remark. I’d have asked the same question. “Can you work?” He looked at me, arching his brows earnestly.

  “Done nothing else but work for the past two years,” I said.

  “See?” He threw an arm around his mother’s shoulders. “She’ll be helpful. We could use another set of hands now that Patience has gone off again.”

  Marcella ignored him. “How much?” she repeated, lifting her chin.

  “One thousand dollars,” Mrs. Tildon said.

  Tray whistled. “You’re worth a bundle. What do you need us for?” He leaned into his mother, his arm still around her.

  “She needs protection,” Mrs. Tildon cut in. “We’ll leave it at that. The sooner she’s away from the city the better. If you agree, the money is yours and I’ll allow your boy to come see Effie before you set off.”

  In a startling motion Tray reached out and hugged Mrs. Tildon, who went rigid. “There now,” she said, pushing him away. The boy stepped back with a bright smile.

  “I need to ask my husband.” Marcella kept her eyes on me. “But I know he’ll say that if you’re honest and pull your weight, the money’s yours to do with as you wish. For now, Tray can show you around.”

  “Indeed.” Tray extended his hand with a slight bow and I was suddenly aware of how filthy mine were.

  I stuffed them into my skirt pockets. “I’ll keep them to myself, thank you.”

  “Though she be but little, she is fierce.” Tray smiled.

  “I’m not little,” I said defensively.

  “No, you’re not in the least. Taller than my mother here, and not many intimidate her. Come on, there’s horse dung that needs cleaning up.”

  I followed him, feeling ungrounded as I walked into another new life. There was a shovel in my hand and the smell of manure, and I was suddenly digging a hole as I had all those times ago for my mama’s babies. Only the ground was hard and dry and when I looked up, there was nothing to bury in my hand, no rain, just an arch of clear blue sky and a boy looking back at me.

  “You’re shaking,” he said. “When was the last time you had anything to eat?”

  “I can’t remember.”

  “We can remedy that,” the boy said, easing the shovel from my tightly clenched fingers. There was strength in the fine features of his face, radiance in his eyes. This time, I took the hand he offered, not knowing, yet, that this boy would grow into a man filled with a light impossible to extinguish.

  His happiness would become infectious, and in him, I would find my identity.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Effie

  The slope of my mother’s cheeks, the sharpness of her nose and the line of her lips seemed real. But it was the halo around her head, a golden orb of light crowning her thick, dark hair that made me realize I was only dreaming. She was crying, and when I touched her cheek I marveled that a dream could bring the dampness of tears.

  “How are you feeling?” she whispered. Then my father’s face appeared above hers, his forehead creased, the blue of his eyes achingly familiar, and something shifted. This wasn’t a dream.

  I tried to answer my mother, but couldn’t. I had lost all of my words. My legs were anchored to the bed, my body tingled and my chest felt caved in against my backbone. I scanned the room for the apocalyptic creatures who’d been crouched with me for so long that their absence, now, felt like abandonment. My parents’ faces hovered in their place and I wondered, as the room slipped from view, and the halo behind my eyes became warm and welcoming, why Luella wasn’t here.

  I woke up with a sharp clarity, the room bright and the heat from the covers suffocating. I kicked them off as my mother leapt to my side. She took my hand, her face pinched with worry.

  “You’re not wearing your gloves?” I said, feeling the uneven bumps of her skin.

  “I never wear them anymore.” She spread her fingers out over mine.

  “I can breathe.”

  She nodded. “We’ve found a good medicine.”

  “There’s a light above your head.”

  “It�
�s a side effect.”

  “It’s beautiful.” This made Mama smile. “Where’s Luella?”

  “She’s coming.”

  “And Daddy?”

  “I’m right here.” I turned to see my father on the other side of the bed. He took my other hand and pressed his finger to the inside of my wrist, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Still ticking.”

  There was so much to say, so much I needed to know. Where was my sister? And how had I gotten here, and where was Mable? But Mama pressed her fingers to my lips. “Save your breath. You’ve barely come back to us. Please, please don’t exert yourself. There’s plenty of time to catch up.”

  Plenty was an exaggeration. By the time Luella came home from England, the digitalis had taken the swelling down and I no longer had my blue fits, but I could feel my body slowly letting go.

  The day she arrived, I dressed myself in a dark blue skirt and blouse and met Mama and Daddy for breakfast even though they pleaded for me to stay in bed. It was the end of September and the sky was clear and bright, the air slightly warm.

  “I want to meet her by the stream,” I said.

  Mama and Daddy exchanged a worried look. They’d said yes to everything I asked since coming home, which I found pleasing and worrisome.

  “It’s a short walk and I promise I’ll go slowly. I’ll take my notebook. My hands are steady for the first time in a long while, and it will be nice to write again. I’d like to be outside before it gets cold.”

  Mama wrapped her hand around her teacup, running her thumb up and down the handle. I still wasn’t used to seeing her exposed hands, but I liked it.

  “I’ll walk you there,” Daddy said, and Mama pinched her lips, keeping her eyes on her cup.

  “I’ll be okay, Mama,” I said.

  She gave a tight smile, on the verge of tears. “Of course you will be.”

  That afternoon, Daddy walked me across the field, the grass burnt golden from a dry summer. We went up through the trees to the edge of the stream where a trickle of water still flowed. Daddy shook out a blanket and left me seated with my notebook in my lap. “If the steamer’s late, I’m coming for you myself,” he said.

  I nodded and waved him on, surprised at the relief I felt at being left alone in the woods. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky and I lay on my back and stared into the pale blue abyss, a halo of yellow like the crown of God hovering across my vision. I preferred to think of this as the glow of an angel following me, rather than a side effect.

  I was anxious about seeing Luella, which I hadn’t expected. I worried our reunion would be cautious and hesitant. That we wouldn’t recognize the changed people we’d fallen into.

  As the wind rustled through the leaves, I thought of Mable, of the bond between us, how I heard the fiddle for the first time, in this very spot, and then how Mable played for me in the cabin. A week ago, when Tray visited, he told me they were leaving for New Jersey and taking Mable with them.

  “She’s fiercer than we’re used to,” he said. “Not even your sister had that much fire. But Ma’s good with the strong ones.”

  When he left, I felt something smooth and cool under my pillow. Pulling it out, I saw that he’d given me The World, the card as crisp and new as when I’d first held it, the creatures still dancing around the voluptuous woman with her wands. In the corner Tray had written, all good things in the end.

  Lying next to the stream, I pulled the card from my pocket and held it up to the sky. I owed being here to Mable, a girl I hardly knew and yet missed. Rolling onto my stomach, I opened my notebook and began to write.

  * * *

  I wrote until I heard footsteps crunching over the leaves. Looking up, I saw Luella coming through the trees. She stopped a few feet from me, her hesitation making me feel as if everything had changed between us. My sister’s eyes were more serious than I remembered, her face and figure slimmer, her dimples diminished. There was an interval of stillness as we looked at each other. The world held its breath for us. And when it exhaled, I was the one who went to her. I didn’t want her guilt, or an apology. I just wanted her to know me.

  We hugged for a long time, words too much for either of us.

  When I grew tired, I said, “I need to sit down,” and Luella pulled away with a pained expression.

  “Of course. How thoughtless of me to keep you standing.” She took me around the waist and led me to the blanket where we sat leaning against each other.

  “You’re still writing?” She flipped open my notebook on the blanket beside her.

  “I’ve only just begun again. It’s a long story.”

  “Is it a good one?”

  “Fantastically good.”

  “I haven’t heard a good story in ages. Is it gory?”

  “A bit.”

  “A dazzling heroine?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well then, I can’t wait to read it.” We sat silently for a while before she softly said, “I never stopped believing you’d come back.”

  I rested my head on her shoulder. “I stopped believing you’d come back. That’s what got me into so much trouble. I think it’s easier to be the one lost.”

  “I’m so sorry, Effie. I’d take it all back if I could. I’ve gone over and over that day I left, and all the days leading up to it.”

  I pulled away, looking at my sister’s bright eyes and the thin wisps of hair blowing over her forehead. In the sunshine, in our old familiar spot, she didn’t seem so changed after all. “It’s strange how little it matters now that we’re together again. Do you remember how scared I was that night we got lost in these hills? I could sit here all night and through morning and not fear a thing now.”

  “You were always braver than you thought.”

  “Maybe.” I scooted down and lay my head in her lap. “I want to hear all about the gypsies, and London and Georges, who Mama says is delightful.”

  Luella loosened my hair and ran her fingers through it. “I want to take you to London so you can meet Georges for yourself. I want to plan a future with you.”

  I didn’t say anything, and we sat for a long time listening to the trickle of the stream and the scurry of small animals. Overhead, geese flew in perfect formation, their honking growing quieter as they turned to dark specks in the sky.

  “We lost time,” Luella said quietly, and in her voice, I could hear that she was crying.

  “I know.”

  “I never believed you were dying.”

  “I know.” I sat up and scooted to the edge of the muddy creek, the wet ground soaking through to my drawers. “It’s not spring, but we might as well.”

  Luella scooted next to me, muddying her fine traveling dress as we unlaced our boots. Peeling off our stockings, we held each other up as we waded over the slippery rocks, Luella smiling through her tears the way she used to when she was getting away with something deliciously ill-mannered.

  Even though it had been a dry summer, the cold water still reached to my ankles and tingled and numbed my feet. Beside me, Luella pulled the pins from her hair and let it fall around her shoulders. I watched her tilt her face to the sun, the arch of light I carried in my vision making her glow.

  * * *

  I walked out of the stream with my sister that day feeling stronger than I had in a long while, but by midwinter the creatures returned, their wings unfurling to greet me, expanding overhead into a shimmering sky as another stream swirled around my feet—enjoying the joys of earth while guarded by the divine watchers. All at once time stilled, then raced forward. When I looked down, I saw the translucent arch of my foot and the hard, white stones of my toes. With the rustle of wind in my hair, and my sister’s hand over mine, I finally understood what my fortune meant.

  I was bone and skin and earth and sky. Death was not literal, just as Tray had told me. Time was infinite, my existence eternal.<
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  Epilogue

  Jeanne

  Effie died on January 23rd, 1915. She was fifteen years old. As much as I wanted to believe she held on for us, it was the story she was writing that kept her going. She died the day she finished it, dictating her last words to Luella.

  That morning, I woke before the sun had risen to check on her, as I always did since her return. Luella was asleep in Effie’s bed, holding her sister’s hand. Effie was barely breathing, pausing at the top of each breath as if deciding whether to try for one more. I held her other hand and traced her clubbed fingernails, listening as her breath became labored and shallower until her heart gave a final leap and settled silently in her chest.

  Death was not what I expected. It did not strip Effie, or leave her empty and ashen. It laid itself inside her with a warmth that turned her cheeks baby pink. I watched her until the sun came up through the windows. Luella stirred, and I called to Emory who rushed down the hall in his bare feet and nightshirt. It was the only time in my life I saw him weep.

  Luella wept the hardest, climbing in next to her sister, refusing to let go. In the end, it was her father who lifted her from the bed. He carried her to a chair and sat holding her like an infant as she buried her face in his chest. With his free arm, Emory reached out to me. I went to him, and he wrapped his arm around my legs, holding on. For one last moment we were a family, one daughter crying on her father’s shoulder, the other daughter releasing us with the blessing of having lived.

  * * *

  I had moved back into the house after Effie returned. While she was alive, I slept in the guest room, creating a space of my own and coming and going as I pleased. I had planned to move out again after her passing, but with the war, Luella could no longer return to England. And as I didn’t want to leave her behind, I stayed.