Grace was in the kitchen, murmuring to herself. Harriet and Annis went down the hall to Frances’s bedroom. The door was open, and they could see Velma dusting the bureaus and windowsills with a large dust cloth. Frances was seated in an armchair, which Velma had turned to allow the winter sun to shine on her face.
With Velma’s cot added to the room’s furniture, the room felt crowded. Harriet knocked on the door frame, and Velma, dust cloth in hand, turned to see her former mistress. “Oh!” she said. “Miss Annis! Am I coming back?”
“No, Velma,” Annis said gently. “No, we’ve just come to see Frances. Are you well?”
Velma didn’t answer the question. “You’re not gonna take away Mrs. Frances?”
“No,” Annis said. “She’s best here, with Aunt Harriet. With you, I should say.”
The creases of anxiety in Velma’s forehead eased. “She wants me here.”
“Do you think so? Then I’m so glad you’re willing to stay.”
“Velma,” Harriet said, “why don’t you go have a cup of tea? I think Grace is baking scones, and you can have one while it’s hot.”
When Velma hesitated, casting an anxious look at Frances, Annis spoke again. “She’ll be fine for a little while. We won’t leave her until you come back.”
When she was gone, Harriet said, “She’s devoted to Frances.”
“She always worries about everything under the sun. Now I’m afraid she’ll worry about Frances.”
“Did you notice what she said, Annis?”
“What?”
“She said Frances wants her here. Now, how do you think she knows that?”
Annis caught a breath, and her clear blue eyes sparkled with sudden understanding. “She senses her, as I do.”
“I think she must. It’s a sign of her good heart, Annis. You may miss her more than you think.”
Annis smiled and crossed the room to pick up something from the bureau Velma had been dusting.
“What’s that?”
“This,” Annis said, “is Velma’s treasure.” She held up the cut-glass swan.
“It’s very pretty.”
“It is, isn’t it?” Annis set it down again, taking care to position it just as it had been. “I was so surprised when I found how much she liked it. Now I’m surprised again.”
“Has George noticed Velma is gone?”
“No. He hardly ever saw her. We’ll just let him go on paying her wages until… well, until we see what’s going to happen.”
“You have ways of managing your father, I see.”
Annis smiled. “I think our little bit of magic has not completely faded.”
Frances had not moved at all since they came in. She had gained a bit of weight since coming to the Dakota. She was freshly washed, her hair brushed and pinned up, but her pretty face was as blank as a statue’s. Her lips drooped open, and with Velma not there, a drop of saliva rolled from the corner of her mouth.
Harriet had become accustomed to the stab of remorse in her breast when she saw her cousin like this. It was all too easy to leave her in the care of Velma, to avoid confronting the result of their battle, but she sometimes felt guilty about that, too.
She took the wrapped bundle from Annis and knelt beside the armchair. “Frances, I hope you can hear me. These are the manikins you made. They need to be destroyed, and you’re the only one who can do it.” She laid the bundle in Frances’s lap and folded back the linen.
She had no expectation of a response, but she waited a moment just the same, in case one might come. Annis came to stand behind her, first bending to dab at Frances’s chin with a towel.
Harriet was about to pick up Frances’s hand, to move her fingers for her, when Frances blinked and took a quick, gasping breath, as if someone had pinched her. A strange sound emerged from her throat, a moan, or a whimper.
Harriet whispered, “Frances?”
The cool sunlight illuminated Frances’s still-white cheeks, her drooping eyelids, her slack mouth. It didn’t seem possible she might actually speak. It didn’t seem likely she was conscious of what was happening, but her hands moved in her lap, lifting and falling like injured birds. The fingers flexed, as if they were searching for something. Annis, standing behind the chair, pressed a hand to her breast as if her heart hurt.
Harriet lifted the manikin that represented Annis and placed it under Frances’s hand. “Undo it, Frances,” she murmured. “No magic today. No cantrip. Just undo it.”
The moan came again, a pitiful, helpless sound. Frances’s fingers touched the little simulacrum, grazing the tuft of hair, feeling the makeshift dress.