When we enter the front room, Dr. Minot seems taken aback. His sharp gaze softens, and I watch as he clasps his hands and wrings them. Is it the clothes?
He gestures for me to sit on the table. My legs swing nervously. Andrew stands to one side, his gaze warning me not to embarrass him.
Dr. Minot pushes against the roof of my mouth with his index and middle finger. It makes me gag, but I decide it would be unproductive to bite him. He follows my vocal cords down to my breast. I blush and look away. He moves two fingers back and forth in front of my eyes to see if I follow them. Then he moves my lips open and closed, open and closed, like a doll, and traces my jawline.
Miss Top busies herself with the woodstove but also watches us.
Dr. Minot bends down to look into my eyes. I try to make my gaze as intelligent as possible. I search his face. After a few moments of mutual staring, he looks away.
He signals for me to stand and twirls two fingers on his right hand for me to turn around. He feels my back from my neck to my rear. What notions they have about our deafness! I face him and point to my ears to indicate that is my one peculiarity.
That makes him stroke his chin, and he seems to chuckle.
Andrew steps closer and talks rapidly. I imagine he is pompously interjecting his observations. Dr. Minot gestures and leads Andrew away.
Standing at the windows with his arms crossed, he calmly listens to Andrew, who in comparison appears like a rabid dog frothing at the mouth. The doctor lays his hand on Andrew’s shoulder to steady him and speaks to him directly. I wish I knew what they were saying.
Miss Top leads me back to my room. Before ascending the stairs, I glance back at the front door. I must attempt to escape before I lose my wits. I am certain Mama and Papa are despairing, not knowing my fate. Though Mama’s words on my last night at home still haunt me.
With these thoughts and feelings worrying my mind, I fall into a fitful sleep. I don’t know how many hours have passed when Miss Top returns with a slice of meat pie for supper. I sit up and gobble it quickly. As she stokes the hearth fire, she watches me. Our eyes meet, and she smiles.
I smile back. Might she help me?
She stands, and before she can leave, I make the sign for dipping a quill pen in an inkwell and writing on paper. She repeats my signs. But does she understand their meaning?
She smiles ruefully and shakes her head.
My heart sinks. Has Andrew told Dr. Minot that I am a half-wit, who is not to be trusted or believed?
There must be another way.
I try signing, “Please, please.” My face shows my desperation. She repeats the signs and imitates something of my facial expression. Is she connecting the two as words? I sign, “I am stolen. I must return to my family.” Again, she repeats it back to me. She nods and waits for me, but it’s clear that she doesn’t know what I’ve said. Deflated, I drop my hands.
Miss Top glances at a small bell hanging near the ceiling beside the bed. Someone must have rung it. She half curtsies and bobs, quickly exiting and locking the door behind her.
I wash my hands and face in the basin. I look out the windows and pray for some sign that I will one day be home again.
I swear I see a man in a cap staring up at the window. Is it only wishful thinking that he sees me?
I must have fallen into a leaden sleep because Miss Top has already drawn the drapes and left a tray with porridge and syrup by the time I wake. I cross the room and peer anxiously out the window. No one looks up at me. Perhaps I only dreamt the man.
Desperate for some way out of here, I turn over every object in the room. Most of them are elegant but useless. I find the cameo and cradle it in my hands. I wonder what the girl’s name was. Did she live only to the age in the picture? Does her body lie under the snowy hills or in a family plot far away? Why was I never brave enough to visit George’s grave?
When I feel the door rattle, I quickly stow the cameo back in the drawer. Miss Top has come for my breakfast tray. This time she stays and prompts me to sign by repeating the words she’s memorized and then pointing at me. I attempt to expand her repertoire, to make her see the gravity of my situation.
My signing is slow and exaggerated. Again, I make the sign for “writing,” with raised eyebrows, asking for a pen and paper. Once again, she shakes her head. This time it occurs to me that she may be illiterate. Or has Andrew forbidden her to give me anything but food?
We create a game where I point to things in the room and make their signs. She catches on quickly. Soon I am running back and forth between the objects, and she is making the signs. We exchange roles, so she can point, and I sign.
Then I string words together. I combine “bed” for my Vineyard home with “rain” outside the window, while rocking on my feet, holding my breath, and clutching my stomach as if I am about to be sick. I am trying to indicate my passage on the Defiance. Miss Top looks delighted by my performance.
I collapse on the floor. How will we ever
