base. I only have three, though. Who would have thought I’d ever own three petticoats? Chemise, corset, crinoline, petticoats. The crinoline is my least favorite of my new accoutrements, like standing in a steel-hooped cage, a trapped sparrow. My waist is only one-and-a-half hands’ widths when I’m corseted, and then the dresses bloom outward with all the layers of flounces and furbelows beneath them. Every time I walk up or down the stairs, I must hold up my dress with one hand. Becoming a lady is hard work, but I am ready.
In the great hallway, waiting to receive Doctor, Jeannette has lined us up, but when I walk down the row, touching the shoulder of each person, I can tell immediately that she has not put us in the right order, so I move everyone about. Jeannette, me, the teachers, then Cook, nine of us. I’ll bet no one else is wearing brown . Sumner has brought them from the pier; he’d better not try to touch me with his giant, clumsy hands.
I know that Doctor is not here yet. I can always tell when he is in a room—the air warms and condenses almost imperceptibly and its weight tilts me gently in his direction, as if I were borne aloft on the high end of a seesaw, but losing balance, sliding slowly toward him on the ground. Julia does not bring warmth, but a coiling chill about my chest, while Sumner blocks all heat and wind. As for the child, we shall see. The floorboards tense and the heat circles. Doctor. After an agony of minutes, his hand is on mine, trying to write, but I wrap my arms around his waist, press my head against the buttons of his frock coat, and feel his great heart thudding against my ear. He is so happy to be back home with his Laura, it tells me! And then he has me at arm’s length, and I let him write, but I don’t even try to follow it, my head is still alive with the joy his heart has shared. He moves from me to the teachers, and I wait for the stiff caress of Julia. She is here, the floor shudders with the plot-plot of the solid heels of her traveling boots. There is a great rustling as Jeannette greets her, and then nothing. She has not greeted me. I start forward and Jeannette tries to stop me, but I shrug her off and hold my arms out wide, completely open to welcome Julia and the babe. The air is empty, but I stand my pose, waiting. Finally Julia’s ungloved fingers take mine, and she leans in to kiss me upon the cheek. I allow my arms to encircle her, but keep her bosom held away from me.
“Give me the baby,” I write.
And then her nails tap lightly, “Too small.”
For me, who has held a tiny kitten in my arms, and nursed it through sickness? Is the child a meringue that will crumble in my hands?
“Let me,” I say, and a moment passes before a delicate bundle is laid in my outstretched arms. I draw her slowly toward my chest, more careful than I have ever been, and press the tiny face against my cheek. It is cold and hard. The child is rigid in my arms. It is a doll! I don’t throw her; I just let go, and I feel her hit my feet and roll away.
Jeannette grabs my arm roughly and writes, “Laura doll.”
Oh, well, then I shouldn’t have thrown myself to the floor. Another Laura doll from far away. Another little me to add to my menagerie. Does Doctor believe me so stupid and vain that I want to spend my days hosting tea parties for all my mock selves? Is the baby being given to everyone else down the line, even to the teachers? My hands are much cleaner than their ink-stained ones. I hold one arm out into the air, my palm cupped downward, and I am content to wait. Minutes go by, and then there is a downy tuft beneath my palm, and I have only time to stroke the soft skull once, never reaching the face of my sister, before she is taken away. I rub my fingers together, the electricity of Julia Romana’s hair between them.
The dinner tonight is only for grown-ups, I am told, and Doctor says he will see me in his chambers in the morning. I am banished to eat
In the great hallway, waiting to receive Doctor, Jeannette has lined us up, but when I walk down the row, touching the shoulder of each person, I can tell immediately that she has not put us in the right order, so I move everyone about. Jeannette, me, the teachers, then Cook, nine of us. I’ll bet no one else is wearing brown . Sumner has brought them from the pier; he’d better not try to touch me with his giant, clumsy hands.
I know that Doctor is not here yet. I can always tell when he is in a room—the air warms and condenses almost imperceptibly and its weight tilts me gently in his direction, as if I were borne aloft on the high end of a seesaw, but losing balance, sliding slowly toward him on the ground. Julia does not bring warmth, but a coiling chill about my chest, while Sumner blocks all heat and wind. As for the child, we shall see. The floorboards tense and the heat circles. Doctor. After an agony of minutes, his hand is on mine, trying to write, but I wrap my arms around his waist, press my head against the buttons of his frock coat, and feel his great heart thudding against my ear. He is so happy to be back home with his Laura, it tells me! And then he has me at arm’s length, and I let him write, but I don’t even try to follow it, my head is still alive with the joy his heart has shared. He moves from me to the teachers, and I wait for the stiff caress of Julia. She is here, the floor shudders with the plot-plot of the solid heels of her traveling boots. There is a great rustling as Jeannette greets her, and then nothing. She has not greeted me. I start forward and Jeannette tries to stop me, but I shrug her off and hold my arms out wide, completely open to welcome Julia and the babe. The air is empty, but I stand my pose, waiting. Finally Julia’s ungloved fingers take mine, and she leans in to kiss me upon the cheek. I allow my arms to encircle her, but keep her bosom held away from me.
“Give me the baby,” I write.
And then her nails tap lightly, “Too small.”
For me, who has held a tiny kitten in my arms, and nursed it through sickness? Is the child a meringue that will crumble in my hands?
“Let me,” I say, and a moment passes before a delicate bundle is laid in my outstretched arms. I draw her slowly toward my chest, more careful than I have ever been, and press the tiny face against my cheek. It is cold and hard. The child is rigid in my arms. It is a doll! I don’t throw her; I just let go, and I feel her hit my feet and roll away.
Jeannette grabs my arm roughly and writes, “Laura doll.”
Oh, well, then I shouldn’t have thrown myself to the floor. Another Laura doll from far away. Another little me to add to my menagerie. Does Doctor believe me so stupid and vain that I want to spend my days hosting tea parties for all my mock selves? Is the baby being given to everyone else down the line, even to the teachers? My hands are much cleaner than their ink-stained ones. I hold one arm out into the air, my palm cupped downward, and I am content to wait. Minutes go by, and then there is a downy tuft beneath my palm, and I have only time to stroke the soft skull once, never reaching the face of my sister, before she is taken away. I rub my fingers together, the electricity of Julia Romana’s hair between them.
The dinner tonight is only for grown-ups, I am told, and Doctor says he will see me in his chambers in the morning. I am banished to eat
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