Her uncle wanted to protect his secret more than he wanted to protect her. She was sure of it.
“Promise me you won’t go looking again,” Mrs. Jones said. She tapped her fingers against the doorframe.
Lenora could not promise. So she simply said, “I will not put myself in any danger.” It would have to be good enough.
Mrs. Jones looked at her for a long moment. Lenora held her breath and arranged her face into the most innocent expression she could manage. Lenora knew that Mrs. Jones could see through her thin and inadequate words, but a smile played at the edges of Mrs. Jones’s mouth. “All right, then,” she said. “You’ve been properly warned. You know the danger. You know the expectations.”
Lenora nodded.
Mrs. Jones continued. “Your uncle locks the door when he is in the east wing and when he is not. Don’t expect to find it unlocked again.” She smoothed her skirt across her belly. Her face had a satisfied look about it, as though the thought that Lenora would not have another chance to intrude brought her significant pleasure. Or perhaps it was relief.
Well, Lenora would find a way. She did not have John or Charles or Rory here to convince her to disobey, but she would do it for them. Their voices were always in her head; she could imagine their chanting even now. Do it, Lenora. Do it. Break the rules. Be a rebel.
“Good night, Lenora.” Mrs. Jones turned to go but stopped again. She looked back. “Tomorrow we’ll go into town and buy you some new things.”
Lenora nodded.
After Mrs. Jones had gone and she had taken a warm bath and changed into her dressing gown, Lenora lay awake in her bed, her thoughts folding and unfolding in her head. She wondered about the robots. She wondered about Uncle Richard’s oddities. She wondered about the enormous white sheet she had found in his lab and what might possibly be hiding beneath it.
She would gather all the pieces and put them together as soon as she could.
She would show Uncle Richard what she could do.
30
Mrs. Jones had biscuits and gravy already prepared on a plate when Lenora entered the kitchen the following morning. She had first visited the dining room, to see if Uncle Richard was there. She assumed he’d be going into town with her and Mrs. Jones, since that was the original plan. She couldn’t imagine what she would say to him after yesterday.
“As soon as you’re finished with your breakfast, we’ll leave for town,” Mrs. Jones said as she slid Lenora’s plate across the table and sat down.
“What about Uncle Richard?” Lenora said. “Is he already awake? Did he already eat?”
The smile vanished from Mrs. Jones’s face. “Your uncle is busy this morning,” she said, in a crisp, even tone that curved around annoyance. Lenora did not know if Mrs. Jones was annoyed with her or Uncle Richard. “He will not be coming today.”
Lenora knew it had something to do with what she had done yesterday. She said, “I’m sorry I angered him.” And the tears sprang up so quickly she could not blink them away.
“No, love,” Mrs. Jones said. “It has nothing to do with you.”
Didn’t it?
“Your uncle rarely leaves the house,” Mrs. Jones said. She touched Lenora’s cheek and looked down at her hands. “That’s all.”
“Doesn’t he have friends?”
Mrs. Jones’s eyes turned glassy. “Not anymore.”
Lenora wiped her cheek. She was about to ask another question when Mrs. Jones said, “He was a different man once.”
“What do you mean?”
“He was a brilliant man. Highly sought out for his scientific ideas.”
“And he isn’t now?”
Mrs. Jones let out a long, ragged breath. “Not many people listen to what your uncle has to say now.”
“Why not?”
Mrs. Jones laughed, but it did not sound amused at all. “His oddities . . .” She paused. “They leave many questioning whether he has something genuinely valuable to say.”
Lenora’s body warmed. “That’s ridiculous.” She didn’t know why she felt the sudden need to defend Uncle Richard; he had shown no love to her. And he was so different from Father, who was warm and affectionate and bright. But he was family. He was Father’s brother. He was all she had.
“It’s the way of the world,” Mrs. Jones said.
It was not the way the world should be. Lenora gritted her teeth and said, “Being odd doesn’t mean a person has nothing valuable to say.”
“Yes, well.” Mrs. Jones grimaced. “The scientific world is very critical, and reputations can be delicate. One can become famous for his ideas one day and be cast out another.”
“Is Uncle Richard an outcast?”
Mrs. Jones fiddled with an invisible speck of dust on the table. She said, “Lloyd will drive us to town.”
“He should come,” Lenora said. She felt fierce, justified. “Just because.”
“Your uncle has nothing to prove,” Mrs. Jones said.
It didn’t matter. Lenora flung herself away from the table, and before Mrs. Jones could say another word, she bolted from the room, right toward the east wing. She heard Mrs. Jones call for her, but she did not stop, only sailed past the stairs, through the door that was, fortuitously again, unlocked, and down the hallway. Her feet did not make a sound, padded by the long maroon carpet that ran the length of the floor. So when she burst into Uncle Richard’s lab, he cried out and dropped what was in his hands. It clattered to the floor, which made Lenora flinch.
“You,” he said. He looked furious—might even appear dangerously so, if not for his eyes, which were magnified comically behind thick goggles. That, coupled with the state of his hair, which could only be described as unruly, gave him the look of a true madman. Lenora backed away but kept her hand on the doorframe, to ensure that she stayed right here until she said what she came to say.
A ray of sunlight lunged through the window, grabbed the copper tube in Uncle Richard’s hand, and hurled its orange light into Lenora’s eyes. She blinked and shifted.
“I’m sorry to disturb you,” she said. She hated the way her voice quivered. She was not afraid of him. He was family.
“I told you not to come here!” Uncle Richard’s voice had a suffocating effect, clamping around Lenora’s chest and squeezing.
“I know,” Lenora said. She held up her hands. “I’m sorry. I only wanted—”
“I am doing important work! I cannot be disturbed!” His voice had not softened one bit; in fact, it was harsher than she’d ever heard it.
Perhaps it had been a mistake to come here. She had not considered her uncle’s anger as carefully as she should have. She knew nothing about him; what if he was dangerous? What if this was the reason for all the secrets?
She was not usually so given to impulsive action without careful consideration. She was the voice of reason among her brothers and sister.
But who was she anymore? Without her family? Without John and Charles and Rory canceling out her caution?
The words tumbled out of their own accord. “I only wanted you to come with us to town. I thought it might do you good to get out and away from all this”—here she gestured to his lab and all the strange supplies—“and I miss my mother and father and sister and brothers so much and you are family and knowing you is like being with my family, and they would have loved it here and . . .” Her voice faltered, curved, snapped in two with a crackling hiss.
Uncle Richard stared at her. What was it he saw? He tilted his head and squinted, his eyes still magnified behind the lenses.
She had almost turned away when he said, “I am busy today. Perhaps another time.”
Lenora shook her head. “You are afraid.”
Uncle Richard finally took off the lenses. “I am afraid of nothing.”
“You are afraid of the people. You are afraid of what they will say, because of your . . .” She pressed her lips together and glanced around the room. “Your ideas and your inventions.”
Uncle Ric
hard’s mouth dropped open, and Lenora knew she was correct.
“You are afraid of me.” The words were soft, almost a whisper.
Uncle Richard kept staring at her.
“Why?” Again, a whisper.
Again, no answer from Uncle Richard.
Lenora swallowed her fear and said, “Are you afraid because you lost some people you loved? Is that it?”
Uncle Richard’s eyes sharpened like two points.
“Get out.” He dragged the words between his teeth.
“I have lost people, too,” Lenora said, and then she stopped. No. She wasn’t ready to leave them for lost. They were alive. They were.
But if they were, they would have come for her by now. Wouldn’t they? They would have sent word. Someone would have sent word. She would know.
Perhaps they were dead. Lenora’s chest ached.
A sound whirled around her and Uncle Richard. It was loud, alarming, full of such profound pain that Lenora sank to her knees. She could not bear the sound that spilled out from her depths.
Uncle Richard fell to his knees right beside her. He did not touch her, but Lenora felt him there, hovering, enfolding her with a presence so warm she could almost imagine that she was held safely in the arms of someone who loved her. And then Mrs. Jones burst into the room and wrapped her arms around Lenora, and the three of them remained, a small coil of sorrow.
The pearl necklace, tucked beneath the collar of Lenora’s dress, pressed into her skin and warmed away the cold.
After a time, Uncle Richard said, “I will fetch my coat.”
31
They rode in silence to the town, which was twenty miles away. Lenora had been asleep the last time they had traveled this road, which wound through the trees that surrounded Stonewall Manor. Lenora’s gaze was drawn to those trees, tall and thin and so numerous that the space inside them was almost completely black. The tops of the trees curved toward the expanse of forest, as though protecting what lay within it.
“I have never seen woods like these,” Lenora said, to no one in particular. “They are strange.”
Uncle Richard stared out his own window. Mrs. Jones glanced back from the front seat, and Lenora caught Lloyd’s eye in the rearview mirror. He looked pained. Lenora wondered if she had said something wrong. Uncle Richard said, “There are many dangers in these woods. That’s why you must never enter them.”
Lenora looked at Lloyd again. He raised his eyebrows, like he didn’t believe her uncle. She wondered why.
“I have been in woods before,” Lenora said. “I have seen bears and snakes, and once I even saw a mountain lion.” She remembered that day, with Father. John had run ahead and missed the mountain lion, and he was so upset they had not called him back to see it—as if it would not have disappeared the moment one of them spoke.
John didn’t bother with technicalities when they didn’t suit him.
Lenora looked again at the woods outside her window. “What is so dangerous about these woods?” The air in the car seemed to vanish the moment the words were out. She was sorry she had spoken at all. No one was breathing. Lenora looked from one of them to the other, but Lloyd did not meet her gaze, Mrs. Jones kept her face to the front window, and Uncle Richard had closed his eyes.
So she was startled when Uncle Richard said, “They are no place for children. That’s all.”
“Because of the wild animals, or . . .” Lenora let her words trail off.
“Because of the spirit,” Uncle Richard said. “Because of the curse.”
Mrs. Jones sucked in a breath.
Spirit? Curse? Uncle Richard was supposed to be a scientific man.
The air in the car felt heavier. Lenora decided it was best not to ask any more questions. Perhaps her uncle was as mad as they all thought he was. When next she glanced at him, she saw that he gripped the side of his door so hard his knuckles were white—like they had been on the drive from Texas City. It disturbed her to see his terror.
***
Lloyd parked the car in front of a small boutique. People turned to look as they climbed out. Lenora thought they were looking at the strange car, but then she saw people whisper to one another and point to her uncle. What were they saying behind their cupped hands? Was it rumor or truth?
Uncle Richard and Lloyd headed toward a pipe shop, while Mrs. Jones guided Lenora toward the boutique. Lenora would rather be going with her uncle. She’d always hated shopping, especially for dresses.
She tried on far too many for her liking. Her favorite color, before the explosion, as she had taken to calling it (though she tried not to name it too often; it was still too painful), had been green, but she could not look at it now without thinking of her family, without thinking of her birthday and the beautiful blue-green dress. So she stuck to safer colors that she would never have worn in her previous life. Purple. Red. Black. She found herself drawn to black, and she hated this even more than she hated the shopping. Black was such a drab color. A color that meant death and mourning and ends that should not be ends. She put all the black dresses away and picked up a few pink ones—the kinds of dresses Rory would have loved.
“The green one was lovely,” Mrs. Jones said. She was trying to be helpful, as a mother would be in this situation. She held up another dress for Lenora to try on.
Lenora sighed. She would like to be done as soon as possible.
Finally, finally, finally they had assembled the number of dresses Mrs. Jones wanted her to buy. Seven dresses, two pairs of brand-new shoes. Mrs. Jones carried them to the counter. Lenora couldn’t believe that her uncle could afford anything so fine, but she didn’t argue. When Mother and Father returned, they wouldn’t need to buy her new dresses or shoes for school. She would take good care of them.
Uncle Richard and Lloyd were waiting outside the boutique, and when Uncle Richard saw Mrs. Jones at the counter, he entered and paid for the dresses and shoes without so much as a word. He had a new hat—a brown top hat that looked exactly like his black one. It made his eyes seem darker somehow.
“Are you hungry?” Uncle Richard said on the way out, and at first Lenora didn’t know he was speaking to her until he said it again. “Are you hungry, Lenora?”
“A bit,” she said, because she wasn’t ready for the day to end, not without spending some time at the same table as Uncle Richard, in a place where they could talk or she could listen in on the kind of conversation he would have with Mrs. Jones and Lloyd. She simply wanted to be with people.
“I know just the place,” Uncle Richard said. “Mrs. Jones, do you remember Ripkin Deli?”
“I sure do,” Mrs. Jones said. A ghost of a smile danced across her lips, and her eyes were bright and shining. Lloyd caught her eye and grinned. A feather of hope fluttered in Lenora’s chest. Hope, it seemed, was contagious.
“It’s just down the way,” Uncle Richard said. “We’ll walk, I think.” He looked up at the sky, and Lenora did, too. It was so blue it nearly took her breath away. There were no clouds, and the sun was high and dazzling.
“It’s been a while since you’ve been out in the open,” Lloyd said. His eyes flickered with amusement. “You could do with some sunlight, old man.”
Uncle Richard could not suppress his barely there smile.
Lenora pressed her hand into his.
32
As they walked down the street, Lenora’s hand still in Uncle Richard’s, she noticed that people stopped whatever they were doing to stare and point surreptitiously at them. She heard a man they passed say, “Well, look at that. The madman walks again.” Someone else laughed.
Lenora glanced up at her uncle. His face was pale and drawn. He must have heard the man. But he did not address the speaker, not even with his eyes. He stared straight ahead. Perhaps he was in his own world again. Perhaps that was his armor, how he kept himself safe. Anger blazed in her throat. How dare they make him cower.
After that, Lenora met the gazes of the people boldly, challenging them to disrespe
ct him again, while she was around. She felt proud to be his niece. She couldn’t explain why.
While Uncle Richard stood in line at the counter to order their sandwiches, Mrs. Jones waved Lenora over to a booth with red padded seats. The tables were chrome and shone enough to reflect back a distorted image of faces and figures. Lenora slid into a booth of her own, while Mrs. Jones and Lloyd shared the one across from her.
“It’s been some time since the people here have seen your uncle,” Mrs. Jones said, as though trying to explain the reaction Lenora had observed in the town.
“They’re not very nice,” she said.
“Not everyone understands the scientific mind,” Lloyd said. “It doesn’t matter. He knows who he is.”
Did he? Lenora glanced at her uncle. She knew the words of the people, the gazes, had bothered him.
“How long has it been since he came to town?” Lenora said.
Lloyd and Mrs. Jones exchanged a look. Mrs. Jones shook her head. “Years,” she said, at the same time Lloyd said, “Almost a decade.”
“A decade?” Lenora said.
“Your uncle prefers to stay at home,” Lloyd said. “After the accident—”
“Lloyd.” Mrs. Jones’s voice was sharp and barbed.
Lloyd looked at Mrs. Jones. They seemed to be saying something without words. Lenora hated it when adults did that. As though she couldn’t tell.
She said, “What accident?” just to show her annoyance. But she was also curious. She looked back at Uncle Richard, who was bouncing up on his toes and resting on his heels in an erratic rocking motion.
“Your uncle has never been all that good with people,” Mrs. Jones said. Lenora sighed. She wanted to know about the accident.
“She deserves to know,” Lloyd said. “It was her family.”
“It is not our place to tell it,” Mrs. Jones said. “If Mr. Cole wanted her to know, he would tell her.”
“Because he talks so much?” Lloyd said.
Lenora almost smiled, but the anger was too hot in her chest. More secrets? When would they be done with secrets? They were heavy, suffocating things. And the more there were, the more she worried that the fate of her family was a secret, too. Would they keep it from her forever?
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