My breath comes quicker as I examine the instruments. They resemble the tools hanging in our barn, only smaller, more refined, of smoother, polished metal.
My heart pounds.
The desk is loaded with papers. There is no attempt to conceal them. I spot quill pens and an inkwell. Do I risk defying Andrew so soon after my last transgression?
A framed document has the name Dr. Henry Minot. He must be the gentleman who brought me here. I wasn’t far off calling him a professor. I wonder about his surname. Pronunciations of English words vex me. George sometimes made futile attempts to explain them to me.
I have never been examined by a formal doctor. Mama uses home remedies when we are sick. Teas and poultices made from hazelnut and sassafras bark. We are not the only settlers who use Wampanoag cures.
I see the handle of the door rattle. A thin girl wearing a white-and-gray gown enters the room. She looks to be about Andrew’s age with a sharp face and shrewd eyes under a twist of fiery hair. She must be the doctor’s housekeeper.
She has an open, curious look about her. She reminds me of Miss Hammond. I decide that her name is Miss Top because she seems to bob a half-curtsy every five steps and, when she turns, she turns almost fully as if she is spinning around. She never stops moving.
Rolling her hands from her knees up over her head, she pantomimes for me to undress. I know for certain that Mama wouldn’t approve. I take off my cloak, hat, shoes, and stockings, and cross my arms. I refuse to go any further.
Miss Top shakes her head. Her lips are moving. She takes hold of my gown, loosening the ties on the bodice and then yanking down the skirt. At the inn, I was overworked and underfed. My muscles are strong, but I am too exhausted to resist. She instructs me to sit on the cold table. I shiver in only my undergarments.
Andrew and Dr. Minot enter the room. The doctor motions for Miss Top to light a fire in the woodstove. She does as asked and leaves me alone with them. Blood pounds in my head.
Dr. Minot looks at my ears. He looks in my mouth and feels the cords on my throat and the natural bumps on my head under my thick hair. He talks to Andrew, who takes a metal band like a crown and puts it round my head. He adjusts it with tiny screws. I jerk as if someone slapped me. I can feel a trickle of blood down my right temple. I raise my hand to wipe away the blood, but Andrew lowers it.
I feel like a bare tree in the wind, but I won’t let myself cry.
Andrew removes the metal band. He measures its diameter and notes it in a book on the desk. I have the urge to spit in his face. What does the size of my head have to do with anything except fitting a new bonnet?
Miss Top returns while Andrew and Dr. Minot wash their hands in the fresh water she pours into a basin. They talk, turned away from me.
Before I know what’s happening, Miss Top takes me by the wrist and pulls me up carpeted stairs and into a room with a tub larger than any I’ve seen. When she gestures toward the high water, I know she’s asking me to climb in.
“No, no, no, no, no,” I sign.
I will not be stripped bare by strangers. How am I to know that this girl won’t attempt to drown me, like an unwanted litter of kittens?
The shift Mama sewed is not easily torn off. I cross my arms over my chest and will not cooperate. The girl persists in her duty. I pinch. I push. I kick. But again, she overpowers me and forces me into the water. I slip under and come up coughing. When she scrubs my hair and body, I wail and must sound like a banshee or an Irish spirit.
Miss Top’s mouth pinches into a thin line as she runs her fingers over my bruises. Papa allows his flock of sheep more privacy than I am being granted.
I am so filthy the water darkens quickly. Miss Top drains and refills the tub. By that time, I breathe easier. I even hold my breath and go underwater entirely. For a moment, I can pretend I am bathing in the fresh spring at home.
Miss Top sits on the floor, flushed and panting. She wipes the hair back from her forehead. Our struggle seems to have subdued her. For the moment, she is less efficient and more forgiving. She gives me a clean shift, a mobcap, and a shawl.
Miss Top leads me to a large room with a canopied four-poster bed. It is beautiful, like something out of my stories. The polished wood floor is covered with rugs fancier than our braided ones at home. Pretty combs, soft brushes, and a wreath of pine and berries sit on top of the bureau. I am not yet ready to glance at my reflection in the floor-length mirror.
Miss Top carries the green gown Mama made me with her arm outstretched. I start to protest. She seems to understand my attachment to it, no matter its wretched state. She lets me hold it to my clean cheek for a moment before she throws it in the fireplace. I grab the fire poker and try to retrieve it, but Miss Top snatches the poker and uses it to prod the gown and ensure it burns quickly. I drop to my knees.
Miss Top leaves. I rush to the door behind her. I can see her wiggle the latch to make sure it is secure. I noticed she keeps a
