Until then, I won’t sleep. No dark dream will bind me to Mr. Pratterman. I will find him on my terms. I’ll bring Liney and Bridget, just in case I need to act quickly and so neither will search where they shouldn’t. I’ve always trusted Liney not to, but Bridget’s an unknown. They’ll stay hidden at an inn on the edge of town while I collect supplies and meet with the only man who may stop my rot.
20Liney
To Fall
The days pass in a blur. I breakfast with Elle and Bridget and learn the skills to blend in with society.
Elle hems a pair of trousers and work shirt to fit my smaller frame and teaches me to walk in a masculine way. I don’t see much difference in it from her normal walk. The lines of gender are similar shades for my sister, while they feel at odds on me.
Bridget makes faces behind Elle’s back, daring me to laugh.
Elle teaches me how to avert a gaze without appearing suspicious, how to lower my voice, and which shopkeepers I should look for and avoid.
“A cap helps a great deal,” she explains one morning, adjusting it on my head. “Have you thought about your hair?”
I might have objected to the idea a few days ago. But a certain raven-haired girl, whose own short locks are quite fetching, has changed my mind.
“You’re lucky you’re blond,” Elle says as her scissors massacre mygolden strands. “No one will think twice that you’ve got no beard, it’d be too pale to see.”
“Why have you never cut your hair?” Bridget asks.
Elle hasn’t explained our predicament like I think she should. In the few moments alone we’re afforded, mainly after Elle’s gone upstairs, I’ve explained bits and pieces. But it’s hard to let someone new, even as lovely as Bridget, into the darkness that required our escape.
Elle shrugs, but there’s a glimmer of embarrassment in her glance away from me.
“You’re too proud to do it!” I shout, turning in my chair to look at her properly.
“Any shorter and I’d look like a drowned rat,” she mutters. “Limp and stringy, not like yours. You’ve got as full and shiny a coat as a retriever.”
She’s never seen herself properly. “I like your hair.” While mine needs constant brushing and braiding, hers has a natural ease. It’s moonbeams surrounding her face. A champagne crown.
“She’s right,” Bridget adds to Elle. “You might be surprised how much volume a shorter style can give you. I was.”
Elle dismisses us and gets on with cutting.
Rain has melted the snow. It’s ceaseless, pounding at the windows and showing every new leak from the last storm. Every morning when Elle comes down from the lightroom, she scowls out at the weather.
“Did you see the bags under her eyes?” Bridget whispers one morning. She’s slathering jam on a slice of bread she baked the day before. “When does she sleep?”
It’s a good question. Every appearance of my sister adds something off to her tableau. Her hair, while braided, doesn’t appear brushed or set. Blue half-moons descend from her eyes. There’s a sluggishness to her movements that I’ve never seen before. Yet every time she looks outside at the weather, she straightens and curses the clouds.
She doesn’t eat much at meals. Bridget and I have taken over thecooking. I don’t know what to say, though. Elle’s never had an issue with food. Is it stress? Or something worse?
On a thunderous afternoon, Bridget’s attempting to fix a hole in her traveling dress and cursing every time she sticks herself with the needle. It makes me laugh so hard that Elle, who’s been stacking books on my head, pinches me as the books fall to the floor. I spot Elle’s smile as she picks the books back up, though. It improves posture and gait, something our parents forced her to do to combat a slump she developed young. She promises it’s also effective to create a tall, confident man’s walk.
“We’re lucky Mr. Croxton hasn’t darkened our doorstep,” I say.
“Who?” Bridget asks, then rolls her head back from her perch on the bed with yet another poke to her thumb.
“From the harbor society,” I explain. “He came by looking for some information on the last keeper here. Did I not mention?”
“I’d wait for spring if I were him,” Elle says, hurried to move on without more questions. She tips one of my arms to test my balance. “The closer we get to true winter, the more treacherous a crossing becomes. Even the land portion of the journey can be blocked by snow or encrusted with ice. Our run must wait for a perfectly clear day.”
“Our?” I ask. Right. I’m to go with her.
Yet that would leave Bridget alone here. What I used to beg for from Elle, I now would only care for if another passenger were to join us.
Elle blinks at me, not masking her confusion. “I know it’s later than you wanted, but I didn’t think you’d forget, little ghost. In fact, I thought Bridget could come along. I wasn’t sure at first given it’ll be a tight fit in the boat with additional supplies, but it’s doable. Now—walk to the bed and back.”
