Maud interrupted him. “Don’t be stupid,” she said crossly. “They wouldn’t have let you. Grown-ups always get their own way.”
Samm’l’s face was filled with hope. “Do you really believe that?” he asked. “I mean, do you forgive me?”
Maud shook her head in confusion. “I don’t know,” she said. “I don’t ever think about that day. It was the worst day of my life.” She saw him wince and felt sorry for him again. “I guess when Mama died, that was really the worst, but I don’t remember that. Anyway” — she swallowed — “I was pretty bad that day.”
“You weren’t bad,” Samm’l said gently.
“Yes, I was,” Maud contradicted him. “I kicked that old Mr. Vine and I screamed. It’s no wonder they didn’t want me.”
“That’s not what happened,” Samm’l said firmly. “Don’t you remember? That was what you did after they said they were taking me and Kit. That was when you threw a fit.”
Maud shook her head. “No.”
“Yes, it was,” insisted Sam. “When you understood we were leaving you behind — that was when you threw a tantrum.” His mouth twisted into a grin. “It was a pretty good tantrum, too. You left teeth marks in my hand.”
Maud had forgotten that. She glanced guiltily at his hand, as if the marks might be there still. “Are you sure?”
“I’m sure.” Samm’l looked at her intently. “By God and all the saints, I swear it.”
Maud’s voice was a thread. “Then why didn’t they like me?”
“Well,” gulped Samm’l, “I don’t rightly know — but it wasn’t anything bad you did. The thing was, they wanted me for farmwork, and then, Mrs. Vine, she just fell in love with Kit. Kit’s always been as pretty as a picture — still is, in fact — and you’d been making mud pies.” He looked at her, shamefaced. “I don’t know what to tell you, Maud. They took a fancy to Kit, and they needed me, and I guess that’s about it.”
Maud nodded dumbly.
“I wish it had been different.”
“I don’t,” Maud said, between clenched teeth. “Because if those Vines had adopted me, I’d never have come here.” Her gesture took in the faded splendor of the parlor. “This is a better home for me. And Hyacinth Hawthorne — she’s the one who chose me — she wanted me.” She threw the word at him as if it could knock him flat. “She liked me the minute she set eyes on me. And she’s rich,” she finished stoutly.
“I can see she is.” Samm’l inclined his head. “That’s right, Maud! You look at the bright side. Mother used to say, ‘Maud’ll fall on her feet no matter what.’ That’s what she used to say.”
“I have four dresses and books of my own,” Maud shot back, “and we never have oatmeal, and there’s a servant.”
“Good!” Samm’l said heartily. “That’s great, Maud! I couldn’t be happier.”
There was a sudden silence.
“Though it’s funny,” said Samm’l.
Maud had lost track of the conversation. “What’s funny?”
“The way the old lady acted,” answered Samm’l. “When I asked her if you lived here, she said you didn’t. And then I said you must, and she told me to go away. I said I had to see you, because I was your brother, and that’s when she got red in the face and started stammering. First she said I couldn’t, and then she told me to come inside and wait.”
“Oh.”
Samm’l waited for her to explain.
Maud linked her fingers together and turned them inside out. “I’m kind of a secret.”
“A secret?” Samm’l’s brows drew together. “What kind of secret?”
Maud took a few moments before she answered. “I don’t know,” she said blankly. “They haven’t told me yet. All I know is, no one’s supposed to know I live here. The neighbors don’t know, and they mustn’t. You can’t tell, either.”
Samm’l leaned forward, peering into his sister’s eyes. “I think you’re telling a lie,” he said.
“I’m not,” Maud said earnestly. “Honest. That’s how it is.”
“It doesn’t make sense,” Samm’l argued. “Why would anybody adopt a little girl and keep her secret? It sounds to me as if they’re up to something that isn’t right.”
“What, then?” Maud threw out her hands. “What could it be?”
Samm’l’s brow knotted.
Maud’s voice sank to a whisper. “I can’t figure it out, either.”
“Are they good to you?”
Maud nodded vehemently. “They give me everything I want,” she said. “Beautiful dresses and books and the food is so good — bacon at breakfast and meat every night — and dessert. They let me eat s’much as I want. And there’s a bathtub and a water closet, and I don’t have to do any chores except lessons and setting the table and dusting. And Hyacinth Hawthorne, she says I’m clever, and she likes the way I sing. And nobody’s hit me — ever — or even slapped me.”
“There aren’t any men around, are there?” inquired Samm’l. “Coming to the house at night, after dark?”
“No,” Maud said firmly. “They’re old maids. And they’re ladies,” she added, as if that clinched it. Maud’s ideas of social class were as vague as they were snobbish, but she knew that ladies did not do wicked things.
“Do they go to church?”
“Judith does,” Maud answered. “Victoria doesn’t. But she’s always reading the Bible, and she makes me learn a psalm every Sunday.”
Samm’l shook his head again. Then he gave a little leap, as if he had just remembered something. “I almost forgot.” He dug into his pockets and brought out a necklace of coral beads. “I wanted you to have it. ’Twas Mother’s.”
Maud’s hand went out. The beads were warm from the heat of her brother’s body. A silver crucifix hung from one end of the necklace. Carefully she spread the string of beads over her fingers, preparing to put it on.
“You don’t wear it,” Samm’l said critically. “It’s a rosary — Mother’s coral rosary. Each bead is a prayer. Don’t you remember? Mother was Catholic. Kit and I” — he frowned, as if embarrassed — “well, the Vines are Presbyterian, so we’ve had to be Presbyterians, too, but once I’m a man, I’m going to be Catholic again. You ought to be Catholic, too. It’s what Mother would want. You ought to go to Mass every Sunday.”
“I can’t,” Maud said. “I don’t go out.”
They were back to the secret again. Maud watched her brother’s face knot with incomprehension. “I don’t like it,” he said. “I don’t like leaving you in a place where I don’t know what’s going on.”
Maud watched him. A cold wisdom passed through her mind. She knew that he would leave her whether he liked it or not.
“I like it here.” She spoke so forcefully that he flinched. “I don’t care if I have to be a secret. I want to stay here. Promise me” — she clutched his hand — “promise me you won’t tell anyone. If the neighbors find out I live here, I might get sent back to the Asylum.” She held out the rosary. “Promise. Swear it on Mama’s necklace.”
Samm’l took her hand, but he did not promise. Instead, he pulled her into his arms.
Maud hid her face against his sodden jacket. He smelled of wet wool and wood smoke and cows. It was the smell of the home she had lost, and all at once she could remember it. She envisioned the farmhouse kitchen, with her father’s boots just inside the door and her mother’s geraniums by the window. She remembered the touch of her mother’s skirts and the softness of her mother’s lap. She gritted her teeth. She had raged and cried when Samm’l left before. This time she wouldn’t shed a tear. She threw back her head and spoke fiercely. “Promise. Promise not to tell.”
“I promise,” Samm’l said. He drew her close again and she sagged against him, closing her eyes in relief.