Slow, like that. Drawn out, like he’s a wolf encircling us in the woods. The girls watch me with wild but tired eyes, trusting that I will make this all right. They know nothing yet of monsters or evils, but they know the fear in my breath.
Another knock comes quicker, then another—angrier—and I can’t help the way I quake at the sound, as if he’s knocking right on my flesh.
“Hannah!”
I wince. The devil knows my name, but I don’t yet know his. The knot of dread in my stomach twists deeper, warning me of what’s to come. Warning me we aren’t safe here. Not for a moment longer.
His voice seeps through the cracks of the door again, low and teasing, like smoke. “I know you’re in there, woman.” His words are jagged and slurred through the thin wood of the door, proof of the whiskey swimming in his veins like a current.
I swallow, steeling myself. I place a hand on Katherine’s back, nudging her from the bed and nodding toward the wall, mouthing the word “go.”
She just stares at me, not understanding.
I can’t blame her. She doesn’t know, and shouldn’t need to.
She’s too young.
She fears the monsters lurking in the shadows, but I haven’t had the heart to tell her about the monsters that will someday pass her in the village with a tip of a hat and a kind word, the monsters she won’t see coming. How do I explain that they are so much worse than anything hiding under her bed?
She presses her little lips together with a look that says she’s ready, that she trusts me. Bravery fits my daughter, sits on her features well, and that breaks something deep within me.
She doesn’t make a sound as she tiptoes forward. Millicent wiggles in my arms, rubbing her eye with the back of her hand. She doesn’t speak, nor cry. She just watches. Just waits.
I desperately wish my George were here. He would protect us.
I am not ready for this. Not on my own.
Still, I move, my hands trembling fiercely as I nudge the head of Katherine’s bed aside just a finger’s length or so. The metal feet groan against the wood floor, and I wince, my mouth going dry.
I push against the boards and hear the familiar click. The wall opens, revealing the narrow, hidden passageway. When Mama showed me this place—and the others—she said it was put here long before I was born, before even she or my gran came along, which seems an awfully long time, if you ask me.She said it was left by someone who knew there would be nights like this one. Nights when the storms and wind raging outside were preferable to the monster awaiting us inside the walls of Foxglove.
They gave us hiding places and passages in which to move like shadows, to disappear whenever we might need to. Somehow, they predicted this night, and I’m eternally grateful for it.
I push Katherine forward into the passage, holding Millicent close to my chest, her tiny body limp and heavy in my arms. She’s nearly too big for me to carry her anymore, but I don’t dare ask her to walk.
Behind us, the door at the front of the house slams open.
“Hannah Wilde!” His voice roars like a beast, full of rage. Katherine looks up at me, and I shake my head, nudging her again. I push the hidden door closed behind us and take her hand. The air in the passageway is thick with dust, and very narrow. My skin scratches against the grooves of the cold stones as I straighten us on our path.
We move in silence, my focus only on getting away, on finding safety. The girls stay close to me, Katherine’s hand in mine, Millicent’s arms around my neck. They don’t speak or ask questions, their instincts warning them to keep silent. To trust me.
I hear him stumbling through the house, yelling my name and slamming doors. It sounds as if he’s breaking everything in his path. Knocking over my precious things,irreplaceablethings, in his drunken rage.
Foxglove creaks under his weight, telling me where he is, keeping me alert to his movements. There are times when he feels very close to us, when his footsteps stop with just the thin wall between us, and—when we’re deeper into the passage—just above our heads.
He paces and curses, saying things not meant for little ears, but all his anger means is he hasn’t found us.
I move steadily, not rushing for fear I might trip and fall, but my breath is coming heavier. My arm burns with Millicent’s weight, palm sweaty from Katherine’s tight grip. My chest aches. Still, we move. I lead them through the winding path, connecting one to the next until the scent of fresh air meets my nose.
I see the old spiral staircase, and I know we’ve reached the oak tree. From above, a small crack of light can be seen, peeking around the iron door.
We could stay down here, I know, and I weigh the possibility heavily, but in the end, it feels as if it’s too much of a risk. He may never leave Foxglove, may wait for our return, and if that’s the case, we must run under the cover of night.
I set Millicent down finally, my arm screaming for relief from her weight, and sink to my knees so I’m nearer to them.
I pull them in close so they can hear me whisper. “We’re going to climb these stairs, my darlings. And when we get to the top, we’re going to run.” I kiss their tiny hands. “I want you to promise me, no matter what happens, no matter if I fall or…no matter if I can’t come with you any longer, I want you to promise me that you will run into the woods and you will keep running until you reach the orchard. And once you get there, you will hide, and you won’t come out.” I squeeze my eyes closed, wondering to what fate I’m sentencing them.
If he catches me, if they run alone—hide alone—who might find them?
