The bell must call her away again because she waves goodbye and vanishes behind the door. I noticed that she doesn’t rattle the handle. Has she been careless or is her trust in me growing? Do I dare cross the threshold?
Out the window, I see Andrew walk away from the house. He has a steady stride and his shoulders are bunched up, just as he looked on the beach my last day on the Vineyard. His discontent worries me. If Dr. Minot is not supportive of his theories, Andrew may take me elsewhere.
This is my chance! I don’t feel any movement or vibrations in the house. Quietly, I creep downstairs to the front door. It is locked. I rattle the handle. I try to poke my smallest finger into the keyhole. I pray, “My Lord, open the door so I can flee and be brought to safety, like Moses in the bulrushes.” It doesn’t budge.
I tiptoe to Dr. Minot’s office. Thankfully, he is not there, and Miss Top is nowhere to be seen either.
I sift through the massive pile of papers on Dr. Minot’s desk. It is untidier than I remember from my first night in the house. I recognize Andrew’s handwriting on several letters.
I set down the paper, feeling sickened. That’s when I see, on a table in the middle of the room, George’s geography book! I open it and find the map of memories still tucked safely inside. Each pen stroke is as familiar to me as the lines in my hand, distinctly George’s creation and drawn with such love. I clutch it to my heart, feeling tears prickle behind my eyes, before I tuck it into the bodice of my frock.
In a red leather-bound notebook, I see the words
I read on:
I remember the handkerchief concealing the cameo. It was embroidered “A.M.” Amy Minot. My clothes and the other objects in the room must have been hers.
I get the feeling I’m being watched. I turn around, but no one is in the room. I continue reading:
Upkeep! I know I wasn’t as useful as I might have been, but I was never a derelict. Whatever tensions came between Mama and me, I know she never thought me useless.
I continue reading:
Once again, I feel something. I face the door to the office but see no one.
Slowly, I turn to look out the window, and the hair on the back of my neck tingles. There is someone. He is wearing a Monmouth cap and looking in at me from the street! I pull back from the pane.
I can’t help but look again. He is still there.
His cap is pulled down over his brow and ears. I haven’t seen one of those since I left the Vineyard. Have my prayers been answered?
I look again. I dare to raise my hand in a wave. The man does the same!
Just then, I feel something on my shoulders.
I jump and a startled sound flies from me. I look up to face Dr. Minot, who is gazing at his journal in my hand.
Spinning round, I slip from his hold, drop the journal, and run upstairs. Without looking back, I close the bedroom door and sink to the floor.
My face is hot with unshed tears. I rock back and forth clutching the map.
Has the man with the Monmouth cap come to rescue me? I look out the window, but there is no sign of him, only a group of merry wassailers or carolers. They are standing under an oil lamp, huddled together, and singing.
It must be Christmas Eve.
The flame I was keeping lit inside of me snuffs out.
I survived the journey to Boston in my own filth. I’ve swayed from hunger and had my ears boxed in Mrs. Muffins’s kitchen. I’ve been stripped bare and examined. But now I feel broken. Darkness grows on the edges of my vision. Wave after wave of terror sweeps over me. I gasp for breath.
My hands make signs, and I don’t know what I am saying. I am an observer in my own body.
I crawl over to the hearth rug and retch water. The fire doesn’t warm me. I shake all over.
Lord, why hast thou forsaken me? Could we have been wrong on the island? Are deaf-mutes lower beings?
I find the strength to stand and stumble toward the looking glass. Holding on to the bureau, I lean into my reflection. Whose eyes are those? The cold stare of a dead fish, lucky to be no longer wriggling on the hook. The nose squashy and too big for the sunken cheeks. The mouth a scar.
I glimpse movement behind me; it is Miss Top. Why did she come?
I make my way to the bed. I look at the small orange on my pillow and choke back tears.
The first time I had an orange was last Christmas. A sailor gave it to Papa, and he gave it to me. I ate the juicy fruit, slice by slice, and kept the peel to flavor Mama’s baking.
That same night, after supper, while George examined his new telescope with Mama, Papa drove me down to Ezra Brewer’s house to deliver a pudding I helped Mama make. I also brought a small skein of wool as a toy for Smithy. Mama and I tied red velvet hair ribbons to give to Nancy and Miss Hammond. George had caught the goose. He had gone out hunting with Papa and Mr. Pye. The men slapped my brother on the back for bringing home the finest bird. I can nearly taste the delicious crisp skin we ate together, after thanking Our Lord for the bounty. The next day, we brought whatever was left over to the Meeting House for the less fortunate.
I must spend hours lost in my memories.
In the early dawn, I see Andrew leave again. Where is he going when it’s still dark outside? I have to get
