A Drowned Maiden's Hair (6 page)

My hand is tired now. Please come home soon. Or if you can’t, please, please, please write me a letter.

                                          
Your loving —

Maud paused. Should she write
daughter
?

                                          
Your loving girl,

                                          
Maud Mary Flynn

M
aud had never liked Sundays. At the Barbary Asylum, Sunday was a day of the utmost tedium, with church all morning and enforced silence in the afternoon. Maud was pained to discover that Sundays with the Hawthorne sisters followed a similar pattern. In the morning, Victoria read aloud from the New Testament and selected a psalm for Maud to memorize. In the afternoon, the sisters received callers, which meant that Maud was confined to the third floor.

On the Sunday five weeks after her arrival, it rained so hard that no one was likely to call. Maud was allowed to learn her psalm in the back parlor. The sisters sat by the fire. Judith read the newspaper while Victoria refurbished an ancient bonnet.

Maud eyed the bonnet speculatively. It was horribly out of fashion, and she wondered if Victoria could be dissuaded from wearing it. Victoria was not elegant like Hyacinth or distinguished-looking like Judith, but Maud saw no reason why she should look as dowdy as she did.

“Aunt Victoria,” Maud began coaxingly, “wouldn’t it be easier to buy a new hat than to trim that old bonnet?”

Victoria pushed her spectacles higher on her nose, as if by doing so she could come to grips with Maud.

“If you wore a hat instead of a bonnet, you could do your hair in a pompadour,” persisted Maud. “Pompadours are stylish. And a pompadour would make your face look taller.”

Judith snapped the newspaper against her lap. “Maud Flynn! Weren’t you given a psalm to memorize?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Maud said, “but I’m almost finished. I’m up to the part where God breaks the teeth of the ungodly.”

Judith sniffed. The doorbell chimed. The two sisters looked at each other in surprise. Maud sprang up and set the Bible on the parlor table.

“I wonder who’s calling in this rain.” Victoria stuffed the bonnet into her sewing basket. “I’ll get it, Judith.” She caught Maud’s eye and jerked her head toward the back staircase.

Maud darted out on tiptoe. She could hear Victoria speaking and a man’s voice answering. She was halfway up to the third floor when she heard Victoria call her name in a whisper.

“Maud! Come downstairs!”

Maud scurried back down the steps. She found Victoria and Judith arguing in the second-floor corridor.

“— in the front parlor —” Victoria whispered.

“Left him!” Judith sounded furious. “Have you lost your mind, Victoria? Why didn’t you tell him she doesn’t live here?”

“I did. He didn’t believe me,” hissed back Victoria. “I was afraid he’d ask the neighbors —” She kept her finger on her lips, warning Maud to keep silent. Judith took Maud’s arm and pulled her into the nearest bedroom. Victoria followed, shutting the door.

Judith’s fingers dug into Maud’s arm. “Maud Flynn, have you been writing letters?”

“Yes,” gasped Maud. She saw Judith’s eyebrows draw together in a deeper frown. She added hastily, “To Hyacinth. Aunt Victoria said —”

“Not to Hyacinth,” Judith said sternly. “To your brother. Have you got a brother?”

Maud gaped at her. She felt as if the wind had been knocked out of her. Judith gave her a little shake, and she gasped, “Yes.”

Judith threw up her hands. “Now what shall we do? After all this, to have the child’s brother on our doorstep! It shows the folly of trusting a child —”

“It isn’t her fault,” Victoria said, defending Maud. “We should never have taken her in the first place —”

Maud uttered a cry of anguish. Judith hissed, “Be quiet!” and Victoria asked, “What is it, Maud?”

“I didn’t write,” Maud said urgently. “My brother can’t be here. He’s in Pennsylvania.”

“Pennsylvania?” echoed Judith.

“With the Vines,” Maud said. “He was adopted.”

“Why didn’t you tell us you had a brother?” demanded Judith.

“I didn’t
not
tell you,” parried Maud. “You never asked. Samm’l’s in the picture — the photograph in my bedroom.” She appealed to Victoria. “You saw it. He’s the baby on Mother’s lap.”

Victoria said, “I thought that was you.”

Maud shook her head. Sometimes she liked to pretend that the lace-clad infant was herself, but she knew better. “No. That’s Samm’l.” She pronounced the name as she had when she was little, so that it rhymed with
camel.

“Have you any other family members we ought to know about?” Judith’s voice was crisp with sarcasm. Maud flinched.

“There’s Kit,” she said reluctantly. “My little sister.”

“Kit?” Victoria repeated. “Maud, I don’t understand. What —”

Maud leaped ahead, forestalling the next question. “She lives with Samm’l. With the Vines.”

“Maud, forgive me —” Maud didn’t know what she was supposed to forgive. She gazed alertly at Victoria. “Maud, are you telling me that both your sister and your brother were adopted by the same family? And you weren’t?”

Maud set her teeth. “Yes.”

“But that’s barbaric.” Victoria spoke almost passionately. “Separating a child from her family! It’s like something from the days of slavery. How could they?”

Maud shrugged.

“Don’t shrug your shoulders when Victoria asks you questions,” barked Judith. “It’s rude.”

Maud felt cornered. She cast a nervous glance around the room. Her eyes darted over the pattern in the wallpaper, the faded watercolors on either side of the bed, the swirled plasterwork at the edge of the ceiling. She couldn’t remember what question she had been asked.

“Out with it,” commanded Judith. “The whole story, please. Don’t leave out any more long-lost brothers. And be quick. While we chatter up here, your brother’s waiting. We must think what to do.”

Maud gripped the back of her neck with both hands. She wanted to twist herself into some other shape. “There were three of us,” she began shakily. “Father was a farmer. He died just before Kit was born. Then, when Kit was two, Mama died, so we went to St. Anne’s. That’s the orphanage in Baltimore. I was five and Samm’l was eleven. That’s when the Vines came. They had a farm, and they wanted a boy to help out. People always want boys that are strong enough to do farmwork.”

She stopped.

“Go on.” Judith’s voice had softened.

Maud clamped her arms behind her back, bracing herself. “So — the Vines wanted Samm’l. The nuns took Kit and me to say good-bye. Kit was a baby, she didn’t understand, but Kit” — Maud was breathing hard — “she was real pretty. She had yellow curls, and Mrs. Vine liked her, and she made up her mind she’d adopt Kit, too. But they didn’t want three children. So they left me.” Maud swallowed. “I stayed at St. Anne’s two more years. Then the nuns closed it down and sent me to the Barbary Asylum.”

Judith looked thoughtful. She pressed her thumbnail against her lower lip. “I suppose your brother traced you here. Miss Kitteridge must have told him where you were —”

“Judith, what are we to do?” Victoria laid her hand on her sister’s arm. “If Maud’s brother came all this way —”

“What are we to do?” echoed Judith. “You can’t mean we ought to let her see him!”

“We must.” Color rose in Victoria’s cheeks. “When I told him she wasn’t here, he didn’t believe me. That’s why —”

“You invited him in,” snapped Judith. “Well done, Victoria!”

The two women faced each other. Victoria was flushed and trembling. Judith had raised her voice. It was up to Maud to keep her head.

“It’s all right,” she said. They turned startled faces toward her, as if they had forgotten she was there. “I don’t have to see him.”

“Of course you’ll see him,” Victoria said. “Really, Maud! Have you no family feeling?” She faced her sister. “He already suspects she’s here. If we deny it now, he’ll ask the neighbors. You know he will, Judith.”

Judith was silent, disconcerted.

“Once he sees Maud, he’ll go back to Pennsylvania.” Victoria sounded as if she were trying to convince herself as well as Judith. “He doesn’t know anyone in Hawthorne Grove. He may not tell. It’s the best we can hope for, Judith.”

Maud risked a look at Judith’s face. “Very well,” Judith conceded. “You may see him.”

Maud felt that Judith expected to be thanked, but the words would not come. Before she could speak, Victoria seized her hand and led her out of the room.

Maud followed in a daze. On the stair landing, she caught sight of herself in the mirror. She stopped, staring at herself. Her face was white, and the tie on her sailor suit hung crooked. Maud reached up to straighten it.

“Maud,” Victoria said gently, “this is no time to primp.”

Maud finished straightening the tie and gave her hand back to Victoria. She hoped that Victoria would go with her into the parlor. But Victoria opened the parlor door and stood aside. There was nothing to do but to walk past her.

The first thing Maud noticed was that the man who stood waiting — for somehow her brother had become a man — was ill at ease. Samm’l’s hands were in his pockets and the cloth over them was taut, as if his fists were clenched. Maud tried to recognize him, but all she could think of was the photograph of Samm’l as a baby.

“Maud?” he asked her. His voice had a funny creak in it.

“Yes,” she croaked back, “it’s me.”

They gazed at each other with an alertness, even a skepticism, that a spectator might have thought funny. “I wasn’t sure you were really here,” Samm’l said warily. He added, “You look well.”

“I am well,” answered Maud, raising her chin. She knew he was not speaking of her health. She was suddenly conscious of the shine on her new boots, the crispness of her petticoats, the dainty cleanliness of her whole person. She inspected him in turn. His clothes were drenched with rainwater and looked too wide for him. He was tall and lanky, and his sandy hair had darkened to mouse color.

“I’m glad you’re well,” he said awkwardly.

“So’m I,” said Maud. She looked away from him. Her eyes passed over the furniture she dusted every day, the gold-framed pictures and wax flowers under glass. Samm’l was out of place in this parlor. He knew it, too.

“Won’t you sit down?” asked Maud, as stately as Judith herself.

“No.” He dug his hands deeper into his pockets. “That is, yes. Maybe I will.” He looked at the needlepoint chairs with their spindly legs and the rococo settee. “I’m kind of wet. You’re sure it’s all right?”

“Yes, of course.”

He lowered himself to the settee and took his hands out of his pockets. He held them between his knees and stared down at the carpet.
Hold your head up, Samm’l!
Maud almost jumped; her mother’s voice was so clear in her mind.
Throw your shoulders back! It’s the cheapest way to tell the world you’re somebody!

“Maud,” Samm’l said hesitantly, “I wanted to see you — well, I wanted to see you before I said good-bye.”

Maud felt as if he had punched her in the stomach. For a moment she could not breathe. Then she spoke. “We already said good-bye,” she reminded him.

“I know.” Samm’l’s face was pale. “That day — at St. Anne’s. That’s part of what I wanted to say — how sorry I am about that day.” He looked up again. His eyes were like hers — blue-gray, but so deep set that they looked darker. “I’ve been sorry for six years.”

“Then why are you going away again?” argued Maud.

Samm’l flushed, tweaking Maud’s memory a second time. As a child he had reddened easily: with anger, with embarrassment, with laughter. “It’s not my fault,” he said. “The Vines are going west. The last few years, the harvest hasn’t been good, and they can get cheap land out there.” He seemed to sense that he was getting nowhere, and began again. “I asked Mr. Vine if we could take you with us, seeing as how we’re starting out fresh, but there isn’t much money. But I’ll be grown-up soon.” He leaned forward. Something kindled in his eyes. “I’ll get my own farm, and when I do, I’ll send for you and give you a home.”

Maud broke in. “I have a home,” she said tightly. She waved a hand, directing his attention to the parlor. “This is my home.”

He had not expected that. Once again, she saw his face change and his color rise. She felt a flash of pity for him.

“Look here, Maud, are you still angry with me?”

“For what?”

“For taking a home with the Vines.” He opened his hands, palms up. “Look here. Are you going to stand up the whole time? Because if you are, I’ll stand up, too.”

Maud flopped down in the nearest chair. The words
look here
unlocked a roomful of memories. A boy with a serious freckled face . . .
Look here, Maud, if you want to make a fist, you’ve got to keep your thumb on top of the other fingers.
And
Look here, Maud, you can’t bathe the cat!
She remembered how impressed she had been by his knowledge of the world. Her face softened, and she almost smiled.