Mrs. Lambert smiled at Maud’s wonderment. “All the way to Boston. I own I was surprised to see her. I never expected to speak to any of the Hawthorne sisters again. At first, I refused to see her. But she persisted. She wouldn’t go away until I listened. At last, I agreed — and she told me the whole story.” Mrs. Lambert paused and corrected herself. “Your whole story, Maud. She made me see how much you longed for a home — and how Hyacinth took advantage of your longing. Then she told me you’d been sent back here.” Mrs. Lambert’s eyes swept the office, condemning the scuffed linoleum and Miss Kitteridge’s taste in art. “I thought it was the cruelest thing I ever heard. That was when I thought of adopting you.”
Adopting you. The words rang in Maud’s ears. She tried to imagine living with Mrs. Lambert. Her imagination hung fire. All she could think of was the surprisingly neutral fact that Mrs. Lambert was rich. She supposed that Mrs. Lambert would buy her lovely clothes and new books and pretty things. The prospect gave her little pleasure. It reminded her of Hyacinth. She must be wary of anything that reminded her of Hyacinth.
Mrs. Lambert seemed to have fallen back into her former shyness. She removed one glove and drew it through her fingers. She went on, “At first I thought I was foolish to consider such a thing. I told myself it wouldn’t work. But I couldn’t forget you. I wanted you.”
Maud opened her mouth. Her chin was trembling, and she couldn’t think of anything to say. An image flashed before her mind’s eye: Muffet and Mrs. Lambert and herself, strolling down the boardwalk in broad daylight, with the wind blowing and the seagulls wheeling overhead.
“That night on the shore, when we made the crocodile — do you remember that night, Maud?”
Maud nodded.
“I think I wanted you then.” Mrs. Lambert’s voice was tender. “It felt so sweet to be with a little girl again.” She slid off the desk and stepped forward, laying her palm against Maud’s cheek. Once again, Maud was reminded of Hyacinth. She laced her fingers together behind her back, as if she could hold on to her heart by keeping her fingers locked.
“What is it, Maud? Don’t you want to come with me?”
Maud tried to find her tongue. “I won’t be Caroline.” She was surprised by how loud and rude her voice sounded. “I haven’t got curly hair and I’d never pick up a snake.”
Mrs. Lambert smiled. “Maud,” she said gently, “I’ve thought this over. I don’t want to go through the rest of my life without loving anyone. I know you won’t be Caroline, but I believe I will love Maud. I want you to come and live with me.”
Maud’s teeth were chattering. She wondered what would happen if Mrs. Lambert found out she couldn’t love Maud, after all. She didn’t know if she could survive the heartbreak of being sent back again.
“You don’t believe me.” Mrs. Lambert spoke lightly, calmly. “You don’t trust me. I understand that. If you like, I’ll keep telling you I want you till you get used to the idea. I’ll tell you tomorrow. Or, if you don’t believe me tomorrow, I’ll tell you the next day. Only, it’s nasty here, Maud, and persuading you would be ever so much easier if we were in the same house. Why don’t you come home with me now?”
Muffet raised her hands. An aggrieved noise burst from her, and the darting movement of her fingers expressed indignation and impatience.
“Anna says you want to come,” Mrs. Lambert translated. “She says you want to come very badly, and she wants to know why you haven’t said yes yet.”
Maud turned back to look at Muffet, whose eyes were fierce and shining. You come home with us. Maud read the command and went limp with relief. Why, she would be with Muffet! Muffet loved her, even if she wasn’t good. Muffet could be trusted, no matter what.
Maud gulped, “Yes,” and burst into tears.
Her response brought about a small stampede. The two women surged forward to comfort her. Muffet got there first; her crutch clattered against the linoleum as she squeezed Maud in a bear hug and thumped her on the back. As soon as Muffet let go, Mrs. Lambert whisked her around, stroking her dirty hair and murmuring babyish endearments that Maud ought to have hated, but didn’t. Once Mrs. Lambert released her, Muffet reclaimed her, sweeping her up so that her toes left the floor. When Maud regained her footing, her face was shiny with tears and flushed with emotion.
“I want to,” she assured the two women. She wiped her eyes on the back of her wrists, sniffed twice, and drew herself erect. “Let’s go home.”
THE END
LAURA AMY SCHLITZ is a librarian at the Park School in Baltimore. She is the author of a biography for young people, The Hero Schliemann: The Dreamer Who Dug for Troy; a picture-book retelling, The Bearskinner: A Tale of the Brothers Grimm; and a book in verse, Good Masters! Sweet Ladies!: Voices from a Medieval Village. About the inspiration for the main character in A Drowned Maiden’s Hair, she says, “Maud first appeared to me when I was halfway between sleep and waking. From the first, she was alive to me — I saw her vividly — but I didn’t know how to begin her story until I remembered the outhouse of the Quaker meetinghouse I went to as a child. That outhouse was a terrible place — to be resorted to only in the direst emergency. Once I’d imprisoned Maud in the outhouse, her story began.” Laura Amy Schlitz lives in Maryland.