Her head lowers and her shoulders slump—
From behind, her twin appears, and Lalah looks over at the girl. Some kind of wordless communication passes between them, and then Lalah’s shaking hands transfer the reins of the horses to her sister.
The maid retracts into her red felt jacket, and she approaches the ladies as if they have weapons pointed at her.
The black-haired one looks her over. “Come on, then.” She reaches out a hand. “It’ll be all right. We just sing. One note. The three of us.”
The smile that is offered Lalah is nothing like the ones the woman gives anybody else. It’s a gentle, natural expression, without any pretense.
Bethle does the same, leaning around and nodding with echoing kindness. “Just one note. And she’ll tell us when. Big breath, okay? We do this, together.”
Lalah looks back at the crowd with fear.
I step in with them, trying to block out all the people. “Don’t worry about them, Lalah.”
She glances over, and in a meek voice says, “For you.”
I exhale, hating that I’ve put her in this position when she’s so clearly uncomfortable with the attention. But then she takes a deep breath. And another.
“I think we’re ready?” When I get nods all around, I start again. “One… two…”
Lalah takes an inhale with the other pair.
“Three.”
The women start off high and loud and lean forward as if they’re pushing the sound at the barrier, and as I tilt in and put my palm upon the crystal pane, I can feel the vibration start again. They hold the note harder and longer than before—
The raven-haired woman gives out first, her face flushing, her cleavage heaving as she recovers. Then Bethle has to stop, and she’s clearly dizzy from the effort, throwing her hand out to catch her balance.
As the echoes dissipate, I can feel Lalah looking at me.
Everything goes into slow motion as she opens her mouth. What comes out is a rough, strangled sound.
“You can do this,” I say quietly as I focus on the bruise at her temple. And then the ring around her throat. “You can bring down this wall.”
She stops. Reaches up to her battered face… then lingers her fingertips at the banding red mark across the front of her throat. As her eyes darken with pain, I nod gravely.
“Bring down the wall, Lalah,” I say in a stronger tone. “Bring… him down. All those years. All of it.”
I point at the wall. “Send the pain there.”
After a moment, the maid draws in a tremendous volume of air.
Then she opens up her mouth.
And screams.
The sound is hoarse, and it is ugly, and it gets uglier as the rage breaks out of the girl. Closing my eyes, I hear the suffering, shame, and fear leaving not just her body, but her soul. It’s all in there, the era of torment and agony, the cruelty endured, the helplessness of her life.
It’s hard to tell when exactly the tone changes.
But as I reopen my lids, the scream shifts into a something else. Lalah is singing now, higher and higher, the cliffs doubling and redoubling the sound. Louder, higher, louder, higher, louder—
Tears are streaming down her face, and as beautiful as the sound she’s now making is, she’s in terrible pain as she creates it. Next to her, the two working women have their hands over their mouths, their expressions full of regret, as if they knew what was going on with her and had had no idea how to handle it.
And wish they’d done more.
I am only dimly aware of the crowd around us, but one thing is certain. Lalah’s voice is finally getting heard, by all of them—
