The fact that it had been left to degenerate told me how little time their grandchildren spent at their home.
"You can walk to the school, but we won't ever let you go by yourself, will we, Papa?"
"Oh, no, never," he said firmly.
They lived in a small village just outside of Kingston, New York. Mr. Prescott was a retired accountant. Mrs. Prescott had always been a housewife and had never been to college. They told me they had been high school sweethearts and had married as soon as Mr. Prescott had graduated from college and gotten his first job with a big accounting firm in Kingston.
"Eventually, Papa formed his own company. We're not wealthy people, but we've always been very comfortable," Mrs. Prescott explained. I think she wanted to share their personal history with me as quickly as possible so I would feel like part of their family as quickly as possible.
Afterward I heard Madame Annjill, who was practically salivating at the prospect of someone taking me off her hands, tell the Prescotts that I was the neatest ward in her orphanage, and I had the most promise for a good future.
"She's a very independent little girl. You'll be so pleased, and you'll be doing a wonderful thing by giving her a real home and showing her what life is like with a normal family," she added. "Besides, Arnold knows well how to handle the property held in trust for her when the time comes. Who better to guide this poor unfortunate child?"
I had no idea how much they knew about my back-ground, but I had the sense that Madame Annjill had made it seem as if I had been too young to be harmed in any way by the events. I was simply a lost little girl unfairly left on her own. From the way they talked about me and themselves, I knew Madam Annjill had probably worked on them for some time. In the end they signed the papers and told me I would be coming to live with them. It all happened so fast, my head spun, but they hoped I would be happy and that it was something I wanted at least as much as they did.
When the other girls learned I was going to
someone's home to become part of a family, they all looked at me as if I had won the lottery. No one said anything unpleasant. Some of them even said they would miss me, but all of them had that distant look in their faces, telling me they felt even more left behind than ever. After all, I was the little girl no one wanted. Each of them was supposed to find a family first.
The following day the Prescotts came to get me and my meager belongings. As it had started to rain before they came, there wasn't much time to linger in the orphanage's doorway. Madame Annjill had my things packed and ready the night before. She came for me right after breakfast and made me wait in the entryway, as if she wanted to be sure they didn't come, fail to see me, and leave again. I smiled to myself at how happy she was at finally getting me off her hands. She rattled on and on about how lucky I was to have such a nice loving couple take an interest in me.
"You should be thanking me, thanking me, thanking me," she said.
I turned to her slowly and glared at her so hard, she had to raise her eyebrows. I was sure I saw a dark shadow hovering about her shoulders. It looked like it was edging over them very slowly.
"What?" she demanded.
I stepped farther away from her because I didn't want the dark shadow to touch me. I could see the fear filling her face like blood in, a glass.
"You better behave yourself," she warned, waving her right hand at me. "You just better. I'm not taking you back."
I smiled coolly at her.
"You won't be able to take anyone back," I said, and she looked like she had lost her breath.
When the Prescotts did arrive, Madam Annjill hurried me out with a simple, "Good luck with her."
I felt her hand on my back, literally pushing me out the door, her palm rolling along my wing bone for what I knew would be the last time.
Because it had begun to rain, Mr. Prescott held the umbrella over my head and guided me to the car. I looked back once and thought I saw Tillie Mae staring out a window, rubbing the shoulder that Madame Annjill had dislocated. It was something she always did when she was frightened or sad. In the window she looked as if her face was made of candle wax, with her sad, hot tears melting it away. A few moments later we turned into the driveway and were off, me supposedly to a brand-new hopeful life.
It began to rain harder and quickly became one of those early spring downpours that had decided a moment before it fell not to turn to snow and sleet. The raindrops were heavy, pounding the roof of the Prescotts' car so hard it sounded more like steel balls rolling back and forth above us. There was a clap of thunder, and a stitch of lightning made Mrs. Prescott squeal and jump in her seat.
I sat in the rear, my hands folded over my lap, and stared ahead. Because I was so silent, Mrs. Prescott was fidgety and nervous and couldn't stop talking. She asked me one question after another, and when I didn't answer one, she just went on to the next as if she had never asked the first.
"Give the child a chance," her husband kept telling her. I had yet to say a full sentence. All of my answers were monosyllabic. I was still thinking about how fast I had gone from what had been my home for so long to this new home.
All the time I had lived at that first orphanage under Madame Annjill's iron rule, I was never truly afraid. Her meanness made me stronger, her threats, more defiant. I was in a pond with the rest of the helpless fish, only I had my faith, my secrets, my brother, Noble, at my side when I really needed him. It all kept me well above the swirling waters of unhappiness and well out of danger.
Madame Annjill wasn't all wrong about the things she had told the Prescotts about me, however. She did not exaggerate everything. I was truly more independent than most of the other girls at the orphanage, and I was not a problem at school. I did do well, and I was very neat and organized.
But as I was being ripped out of this orphanage world almost as quickly and dramatically as I had been torn from my family years ago, I felt myself sinking back into the cocoon that had been woven around me at birth. Once again, silence became a warm, protective blanket to wrap around myself. That was why I didn't want to talk very much.
What frightened me the most was the idea that I was not going home. I was being detoured, perhaps forever, and I would lose the only family I had ever known. Success here and in this world would push my past back further and further, until it would be as buried as my ancestors in the little old graveyard where Noble's body had rested.
Can families replace families? I wondered. Can Nana Prescott and Papa Prescott really become my grandparents? Would I inherit all of their ancestors, their stories, their likes and dislikes? Was it like a blood transfusion after all? Is it finally true that someday for me blood would once again be thicker than water?
And how would my spiritual family feel about all this? Wouldn't they feel betrayed? Wasn't I betraying them simply by being here and pretending I wanted to become part of the Prescott family?