I blushed crimson at this.
“That was the biggest problem with Flora, you know,” Celine added.
“But I’m not...”
“You’re young and quite pretty, that’s what you are. I’m not only giving you a direct order, I am also giving you good advice. Don’t make the mistakes Flora made. Staying out all night and sleeping past the breakfast hour and even sneaking men into her room. I won’t abide that kind of behavior. And neither would any other employer.”
“Of... of course not.” The idea of sneaking a young man into my bedroom was absurd. I hadn’t so much as even been kissed. I’d imagined it. Lots of times. I had even practiced on my bed pillow in the dark after having overheard girls in town giggling about stolen kisses from boys who had wanted more than just kisses. But no boy had ever taken any interest in me. And my heart was shattered from the loss of my family. It was unthinkable.
“So we’re clear on that?” Celine said.
“Yes, Mrs. Calvert.”
“Good. Now. Do you want to eat with us in the dining room or take your meals on your own? It’s up to you. But I’ll just tell you that when you work for a family as a domestic, they will not expect you to sit with them. That’s not how it’s done. And I’m trying to do my best to prepare you for your life ahead, you know. Someone has to.”
“I’ll... take them on my own.”
With that, Celine stood up from the table and said she was actually looking forward to having me in the house now that she had given it some thought and everything was settled. It would almost be like having a daughter, something she’d always wanted and never had.
These details finished, I went into my bedroom to change. On the bed was a black dress with a white collar and matching white apron. I closed the door, took off my cotton blouse and twill skirt, and put on the dress.
I didn’t know how I felt about the uniform, although it was made well and smelled nice. I turned to face the mirror above the bureau and stared at my reflection. The dress made me look older, but I did not feel older. It made me look as if I belonged there, but I didn’t feel like I did.
Celine had said a moment earlier that I was pretty. I cocked my head and studied the girl I saw in the glass. I saw my father’s wavy brown hair, my mother’s sea blue eyes. Momma’s slightly full lips and Daddy’s slender nose. A thin waist, arms strong yet slender. My breasts filled out the dress in a way that seemed normal and rather average. Not too big, not too small. Did all that make me pretty? I didn’t feel ugly, but was I pretty? I wasn’t sure.
Then, from beyond the closed door, I heard the faint sounds of music. Celine had put on a record and the song was floating on the air toward my bedroom. Bing Crosby’s “Remember Me?”
The music crept in under the door and filled my mind with tiny orange and yellow spirals.
3
FEBRUARY 1939
I awaken to the sensation of being underwater.
My first thought as consciousness starts to return is that I have forgotten how to swim and am drowning, yet it doesn’t hurt like I’ve always believed drowning would. It is strangely painless...
As I become more awake, the liquid sensation is replaced by that of fabric. A sheet and blanket enclose my body, not water. The material smells of bleach. I am also aware that I have just woken from a terrible nightmare. I can’t remember now why the dream was so frightening, and yet I feel a desperate need to awaken completely so that I won’t fall back asleep and return to it.
It is so hard to open my eyes. So hard.
As I lie half in and half out of wakefulness, I slowly recall that Mrs. Grissom was in my dream. And a woman in a blue dress and a man in white named Norman. I remember there was a doctor. Dr. Townsend.
Wait. Those other people are real.
I did not dream them. They are real.
I force my eyes open.
I am lying on a bed in a dimly lit room. Above me is one long, narrow window high up on the wall, big enough for perhaps only a cat to get through if the panes could be opened. It does not appear that they could be. A pale light shines through the cloudy glass. There is nothing else in the room but the bed I am lying on. I want to throw back the covers, but I can only push them slowly off of my body. The dress I had on earlier is gone, and I am now wearing a stiff cotton shift I don’t recognize. Someone took my clothes off. Someone saw and touched my body to slide me into this nightgown-like thing I now wear. Someone put different underpants on me. Someone saw my naked body. I raise an unsteady hand to my throat. My mother’s necklace is gone, too. And the little key.
With effort I swing my legs over the side of the bed and get to my feet. A wave of dizziness nearly sends me back onto the mattress, but I steel myself as I wait for it to fade. When it does, I stagger over to the door, grasping the knob with difficulty. The doorknob will not turn. I am locked in.
Fear floods me as I draw back my hand and then land a weak thud on the door. I bang it again.
“Please, somebody!” I call out, my voice sounding as if my mouth is full of gelatin. “Somebody! Let me out. Please, let me out!”
I keep pounding, and soon a covering over a small window in the door slides open. A nurse stands on the other side. All I can see of the woman are her eyes, nose, and part of her white hat.
