“Yes.”
She stood watching me brush my teeth for a few moments. “Let me help you get into bed, at least,” she said when I finished.
I didn’t say no. I thought I might need her to do that. Despite someone’s having come in to turn down the sheets while we were at dinner, the bed was a little high, and I was afraid of putting any pressure on my right leg. Mrs. March put her arms around me and guided me into the bed. Then she fixed the blanket and the pillow.
“Would you mind very much if I gave you a kiss good night?” she asked.
“I’d rather you not,” I said, even more sharply than I intended.
Her face seemed to melt into a look of deep sadness. She forced a smile and wished me a good night’s sleep.
How mean, I thought I heard my mother say.
“Mrs. March,” I called. She turned abruptly at the door. “I’m sorry. You can kiss me good night.”
She smiled and returned to kiss me on the cheek. “You’re a brave little girl,” she said. “Braver than I would be at your age. You must have grown very strong during your desperate time.”
This is still my desperate time, I thought, but said nothing.
She turned and walked out slowly, shutting off the light and closing the door softly. There were so many lights on outside that the glow kept the room from being totally dark. I was glad of that, not that I was afraid of darkness. Mama and I had slept in too many dark and dingy places over the past year for me to have that sort of fear. Most of the time, the darkness had been more like a friend, keeping us from being seen by people who might prey upon us and take what little we had. Darkness became our cocoon.
But it wasn’t like that now. There were probably not many safer places in the world to be than in this house, surrounded by its walls, lit brightly and protected by security cameras. Darkness made little difference. No, what frightened me the most was the utter loneliness I sensed, not only in Mrs. March’s face and voice but also in the faces of her employees. When they looked at her, they, who had far less and were her servants, seemed to be pitying her.
I had come there to escape from loneliness, to escape from becoming no one in some orphanage or foster home. I wanted to hold on to my name and cherish my memories of Mama, but Alena March still haunted this house, this room. The thing was, she didn’t haunt it because she wanted to haunt it.
She haunted it because her mother would not let her go.
Maybe she would never let me go, either.
Maybe I should be more afraid of that than of anything else.
9
Mrs. Kepler
Mrs. Duval was there first thing in the morning to wake me and ask me if I wanted her to help with my bathing. I was prepared to refuse any help, but I saw something different in her face. Yesterday she seemed not only quite indifferent to me but even a bit resentful. Perhaps she had been thinking, Who is this poor nobody who has stolen her way into Alena’s world? Perhaps she thought I wanted to take Alena’s place and was taking advantage of Mrs. March. Maybe, like that maid Rosie, she didn’t know the whole story. Maybe now she had learned about it all. There was warmth in her eyes, a welcome in her smile.
“Yes,” I said. “Thank you.”
Dr. Milan had made sure that I left the hospital with plastic bags to put over the cast. Mrs. Duval took one out of the case and fastened it so that the cast would not get wet. She then helped me into the bathroom, and together we managed to get the rest of me washed and dried. She brought me one of my new outfits to wear and then called down and had Rosie bring up my breakfast, which she set out on the table in the sitting area. Even with Jackie in the hospital, I hadn’t gotten that sort of treatment.
While I was having breakfast, Mrs. March came in to tell me that my tutor, Mrs. Kepler, would be arriving in about an hour.
“After I introduce her to you, I’ll leave and let you two work, unless you want me to stay.”
“I’ll be all right, I think,” I told her.
I couldn’t imagine why she would want to stay, unless she wanted to see how smart or how stupid I was. If I didn’t do well, perhaps she would change her mind and send me away. I hadn’t been much of a student during the last year when I was in school. Mama took some interest in my work, but she was always overwhelmed with something herself, even when Daddy was still with us, or maybe because he was. The fighting took its toll on her, and I recalled many mornings when she was too tired or depressed to get out of bed before I left for school. Often, I made my own lunch to take. I never blamed her. I always blamed Daddy.
Despite my attempt to be indifferent about my tutoring, I couldn’t help but be nervous. Even when we were living in the streets, I didn’t like being thought of as stupid. No matter what the circumstances, most people who looked at the homeless thought their failures were their own fault. How could anyone not manage a roof over her head for herself and her child? How could she not find enough food and clothing?
Mrs. March expressed her pity and her sympathy for Mama and me, but what did she really think about Mama? Certainly, if her daughter had not been involved, she wouldn’t have been there at the hospital to help me and wouldn’t have seen to Mama’s funeral arrangements. Perhaps she sent checks to charities or attended affairs as she told me, but did she really see the people the money was meant to help? More important for me right then was the question Does she really see me?
When Mrs. Kepler first appeared, I thought she was going to be as stern and as unsympathetic as the people who had walked past Mama and me on the street and either shook their heads in disgust or looked away quickly. Mrs. March had told her I had been out of school for some time, but she didn’t say that her daughter had caused the accident. I could tell when we spoke afterward and I heard the way Mrs. Kepler made Mrs. March sound charitable.
“This is Sasha,” Mrs. March said. “We want to get her up to speed so she can enter school on par with the other students who will be in her class. Sasha, Mrs. Kepler.”
“Hello,” I said.