was such a blessèd retreat, till he took to banging the ceiling below with his cane. Ah well, may he rest in better peace than he ever allowed us.”
She grabbed the bedclothes, fresh from the linen cupboard, and shook them out with a good deal more force than necessary. “Thank your lucky stars your father’s disappeared,” she observed through the dust cloud. A pause, and she began to make up the couch. “You know, I always wanted a daughter. One of my ‘Things to Do’ that will never get done. Don’t let life slip away on you.” She fluffed the pillow, gave it a quick pat, and headed to the door.
“Thank you,” Mary Mabel called after, crawling under the sheets.
Miss Tillie turned. There was a tear in her eye. “Let me tuck you in.” She pulled the covers up under the young woman’s chin, stroked her hair and kissed her gently on the forehead. “Good night, sleep tight, don’t let the bedbugs bite.”
Mary Mabel hadn’t been tucked in since Cedar Bend. It felt good. Like being six with a brown sugar sandwich. Before Miss Tillie’d left the room, she was fast asleep.
She dreamed she was sailing on a cloud harnessed by ribbons to a crow. “Where are you taking me?” she asked.
The crow turned. It was Miss Bentwhistle, rowing a black boat. Or was it a black coffin? “This’ll teach you to give sass to your auntie,” the headmistress cackled, snipped the ribbons, and flew off. A gust of wind. The cloud blew apart. Mary Mabel fell and fell and woke up gasping for air.
The room was alive with dust, a rich haze of gold glittering with morning sun. What time was it? Where was she? The last few days skittered through her head. They hardly felt real. She had a sudden terror.
“It’s all right,” came a voice from the foot of the fainting couch.
Mary Mabel’s forehead tingled. “Mama?” She sat up. The sun shone in her face. She had to squint, but her heart saw perfectly. Her mama was standing before her, a beautiful angel swathed in white robes surrounded by a shimmering light. “Mama!”
A sharp rap at the door. “Breakfast’s on the table,” chirped a twin. “No time to dawdle. We’re expecting company.”
Mary Mabel glanced at the door. “I’ll be right down.” Beaming, she turned back to her mama, aching for a hug. But the room was empty. At the foot of the couch, where her mama had been standing, was a dressmaker’s dummy draped in a flowing white sheet. Surely it hadn’t been there before.
Am I crazy? she thought. No! I was awake, I know what I saw, I know what I heard. I talked to Mama. And if she’s come to me this often, I know she’ll come again.
T en minutes later, she was downstairs, eating a boiled egg and toast as Floyd crowed about his morning exertions. “At nine o’clock, the top American syndicates’ll be at the door!”
Mary Mabel sputtered crumbs. “Those men from the fairgrounds?”
“You got it.”
“But they’ll recognize me.”
“Not a chance. People see what they want to see. Besides, last night you were in shadow: seedier than a rotten tomato. Your bath’s already done wonders. By the time Millie and Tillie get through with you, you’ll be unrecognizable.”
“Ready or not, here we come,” the Twins chimed. In a spritz, the breakfast table transformed to a beauty salon, her hosts brandishing scissors, combs, makeup, and brushes with evangelical fervor.
“Yank her hair in a bun,” Floyd coached from the sidelines. “Chop out the matts. Pluck the eyebrows. And how about rouge? Lipstick? Eyeliner? Don’t be shy with the blush. And as for that birthmark, trowel on the base.”
After the paints and powders, the costume. The Twins had laid out a nurse’s uniform, their souvenir of the last poor soul hired to help their father, back in the days when the bugger was spry enough to give chase. “An appropriate get-up, given your bent for healing,” Miss Tillie remarked. “Upon my word, twenty years’ storage has even improved it, for
She grabbed the bedclothes, fresh from the linen cupboard, and shook them out with a good deal more force than necessary. “Thank your lucky stars your father’s disappeared,” she observed through the dust cloud. A pause, and she began to make up the couch. “You know, I always wanted a daughter. One of my ‘Things to Do’ that will never get done. Don’t let life slip away on you.” She fluffed the pillow, gave it a quick pat, and headed to the door.
“Thank you,” Mary Mabel called after, crawling under the sheets.
Miss Tillie turned. There was a tear in her eye. “Let me tuck you in.” She pulled the covers up under the young woman’s chin, stroked her hair and kissed her gently on the forehead. “Good night, sleep tight, don’t let the bedbugs bite.”
Mary Mabel hadn’t been tucked in since Cedar Bend. It felt good. Like being six with a brown sugar sandwich. Before Miss Tillie’d left the room, she was fast asleep.
She dreamed she was sailing on a cloud harnessed by ribbons to a crow. “Where are you taking me?” she asked.
The crow turned. It was Miss Bentwhistle, rowing a black boat. Or was it a black coffin? “This’ll teach you to give sass to your auntie,” the headmistress cackled, snipped the ribbons, and flew off. A gust of wind. The cloud blew apart. Mary Mabel fell and fell and woke up gasping for air.
The room was alive with dust, a rich haze of gold glittering with morning sun. What time was it? Where was she? The last few days skittered through her head. They hardly felt real. She had a sudden terror.
“It’s all right,” came a voice from the foot of the fainting couch.
Mary Mabel’s forehead tingled. “Mama?” She sat up. The sun shone in her face. She had to squint, but her heart saw perfectly. Her mama was standing before her, a beautiful angel swathed in white robes surrounded by a shimmering light. “Mama!”
A sharp rap at the door. “Breakfast’s on the table,” chirped a twin. “No time to dawdle. We’re expecting company.”
Mary Mabel glanced at the door. “I’ll be right down.” Beaming, she turned back to her mama, aching for a hug. But the room was empty. At the foot of the couch, where her mama had been standing, was a dressmaker’s dummy draped in a flowing white sheet. Surely it hadn’t been there before.
Am I crazy? she thought. No! I was awake, I know what I saw, I know what I heard. I talked to Mama. And if she’s come to me this often, I know she’ll come again.
T en minutes later, she was downstairs, eating a boiled egg and toast as Floyd crowed about his morning exertions. “At nine o’clock, the top American syndicates’ll be at the door!”
Mary Mabel sputtered crumbs. “Those men from the fairgrounds?”
“You got it.”
“But they’ll recognize me.”
“Not a chance. People see what they want to see. Besides, last night you were in shadow: seedier than a rotten tomato. Your bath’s already done wonders. By the time Millie and Tillie get through with you, you’ll be unrecognizable.”
“Ready or not, here we come,” the Twins chimed. In a spritz, the breakfast table transformed to a beauty salon, her hosts brandishing scissors, combs, makeup, and brushes with evangelical fervor.
“Yank her hair in a bun,” Floyd coached from the sidelines. “Chop out the matts. Pluck the eyebrows. And how about rouge? Lipstick? Eyeliner? Don’t be shy with the blush. And as for that birthmark, trowel on the base.”
After the paints and powders, the costume. The Twins had laid out a nurse’s uniform, their souvenir of the last poor soul hired to help their father, back in the days when the bugger was spry enough to give chase. “An appropriate get-up, given your bent for healing,” Miss Tillie remarked. “Upon my word, twenty years’ storage has even improved it, for
Similar Books
