“Don’t let me interrupt your performance, Liv.” Hallie waved her hand dramatically. “Please, go on. Show us how well-behaved you are.”
Liv plopped into her chair and stared at her lap.
Hallie walked over to the stove and lifted the cold, empty pot used to heat extra water. She made a point of looking inside it and then stared right at Dagny, who was nervously biting her lower lip. Hallie held the copper pot in two fingers, as if it were a dead rat, and then she let go.
The metal crashed and bounced noisily on the stovetop. Hallie gained as much satisfaction from the loud racket as she did from watching Dagny cringe. The tea tray and pot were sitting abandoned on the sideboard. Hallie crossed the room and picked up the pot. She tilted it over a delicate china teacup. Nothing came out, so she held the lid tight and shook the pot. A few drops fell into the empty cup. Setting the pot down, she picked up the cup and served it to Dagny. “I think it’s a little weak.” The cup clattered on the tabletop. Hallie spun around, but Kit grabbed her arm.
“Don’t blame your sister, Hallie, it’s not her fault. Lee and I came in the back way on purpose, and we kept Dagny so busy, she forgot to make the tea.”
He had that stupid pipe still stuck in his mouth and she could barely understand his garbled excuse. Her angry eyes met his. “Let... go... of... me.”
His hand remained. Her laugh was forced, its pitch high, almost hysterical. “You called me pigheaded?”
Kit pulled his hand away, but the pipe remained in his bite. “Now easy, girl—”
“Now easy, girl?” she repeated. “You sound like you’re talking to your horse!I am not a horse! I’m a woman, with feelings and a brain. I’m not some silly piece of flesh and blood put on this earth for you to laugh at!” She moved her face right in front of Kit’s. “And take that confounded pipe out of your mouth so I can understand you!”
She paced back and forth in front of the stunned and subdued group. A moment later she spun around right in front of Kit. “On second thought, leave it in your mouth because I don’t care to hear anything you have to say. And you.” She pointed an accusing finger at Liv. “If you ever do something as rude as that again, I will send you to Agnes Treadwell’s for a month!”
She turned and looked at each and every one of them, and she could feel her tears. “I can hurt just like all of you!” Hallie threw her hands into the air. “I loved Da with all my heart. I worried about each and every one of your ungrateful little hides. I worry about how we’re going to live, whether I could raise you right and give you the things Da and Mama would have. I love you, but right now I don’t like you very much!”
Hallie shook so hard that her vision blurred. Tears streamed, unchecked, down her burning cheeks. She swiped at them with a fist and then held it out in front of her. “See these? They’re tears, real tears. And you know why I’m crying? Because I think you’re selfish, an-and m-mean, and right here and now, I don’t want to be in the same room with any of you!”
She ran through a doorway into the back bedroom. Leaning against the door, she bolted the lock and threw herself on her father’s bed. Hallie lay
there, hurt, drained, and tearful. And nothing, not yelling, not crying, not shaking, could stop that helpless, crushing ache that overcame her.
The room was narrowand dominated by a large walnut bed. Carved across the headboard was an arched design that looked like a crown of wooden swirls. It had reminded its owner of the eddying waves of the sea. A ribbed coverlet of deep maroon velveteen was spread atop the bed, and on it lay the owner’s eldest daughter, curled in exhausted sleep.
The intense glow of the afternoon sun glared through the bare west window, and Hallie opened her puffy eyes. She blinked at the brightness, seeing that the fog had finally melted away. Turning over on her back, she rubbed at her scratchy lids and wondered how long she had slept. She sat up, remembering how she’s acted and felt awful.
To lose control like that wasn’t something she was proud of. She sure hadn’t set much of an example, screaming and hollering like she had. And the twins. Those little boys were probably scared to death. They wouldn’t understand. She was the one who had acted selfish.
Thoroughly ashamed of herself, she got up and walked to the door, cupping her hand to better hear the quiet voices. There were no familiar kitchen sounds. She paced nervously for a moment and then paused. Maybe they were waiting for her before they fixed supper. She started to unbolt the door but stopped. She wasn’t ready to face them.
Hallie walked to the walnut highboy and rested her elbows on its top. She looked into the oval mirror. Her reflection showed the ravages of her fit. Hanging down over her chest was one loose, blond braid. Bent hairpins stuck out at odd angles from the tangled plaiting. She pulled out the pins and wound the braid back into a looped bun. Leaning a bit closer, she squinted, hoping she’d look less ravaged.
She didn’t. In fact, she looked... piglike. Her eyelids were swollen, like boiled peaches, and they made her wide gray eyes appear half their normal size. Pig eyes, she thought. Rubbing her fingers over her dry lips, she could feel the ribboned cracks in them. Her cheeks were sleep-puffy, and the skin on one side of her face bore red creases from the corded pillow.
Pig eyes, she thought, pig face... She placed her finger on the tip of her nose and she pushed upward, so her nostrils came into full view. She resisted the urge to snort.Add a few hairs to your chin and they could pickle your feet.
The nearby pitcher and bowl was dull, from sitting unused for so many months, and a film blurred its intricate bird and floral design. No water to wash her ravaged face. The pitcher would be as dry as her lips. Da hadn’t slept in this room for months.
Her gaze returned to the mirror. Maybe if she waited a few more minutes, she’d look less porcine. She drifted around the room, here and there, touching small remembrances of her father.
Sitting atop a corner bureau was an old gimcrackery box, its varnished finish faded orange with age. Hallie lifted the lid and rummaged through the contents. She held her father’s shirt studs, his broken watch and fobs, a key and a ring. Removing the wooden tray, Hallie looked in the bottom compartment. The miniatures were gone—Da always took them with him—but the daguerreotype of theSea Havenlay brown against the muted velvet lining.
Her father had loved that ship. The whaler had been more than the means by which he supported his family. It had been his spirit. One of her earliest memories was aboard theSea Havenas a five-year-old when her father spent hours showing her each facet of the whale bark. From the depths of the vessel’s immaculate hold to the sparkling brass of the ship’s bell, young Captain Fredriksen had lovingly introduced his firstborn—the child of his heart—to the ship of his soul.
Replacing the tray, Hallie closed the lid. She walked to the door and slid the bolt. With a deep breath, she left the room.
The kitchen was empty but the back door stood wide open. Hallie walked onto the small wooden porch and looked down in the small plot of yard. Nobody was there either. As she turned to go inside, she spied Liv, sitting on the bottom step.
She walked down the stairs and stood next to her sister, who was bent over her slate. “Can I sit down?”
The chalk paused but Liv didn’t look up. “I suppose.” She scooted over, making room for Hallie.
Hallie sat down. “What’re you doing, sweetpea?”
