and turn away and grab my hair and pull until it hurts. I want to pull all of it out. Every single piece. I want a pain I understand instead of the one I don’t. I want a pain that has a beginning and an end, not one that goes on forever and cuts all the way to the bone.
This pain is changing me into a girl I don’t even know.
It’s changing me into them. I see it in my sister’s face. That hurts worst of all.
I fall on the cot that Miss Dodd got all washed and cleaned for us. It smells like Clorox now. Three peppermints roll out from under the dirty pillow, and I throw them at the slop pot.
Fern comes and sits beside me and pats me on the back the way a mama would do to quiet a baby. The day, and this place, and everything that’s happened here goes through my mind. I see it like a motion-picture show, the kind we watch for five cents when the carnivals come through the river towns and shine their projectors on the side of a building or a barn. But the show in my mind is wavy, and blurry, and running too fast.
Finally I sink farther, and everything goes dark and quiet.
In the middle of the night, I wake up, and Fern’s snuggled in beside me. There’s a blanket over both of us. It’s twisted and wadded funny, so I know that Fern must’ve put it there.
I clutch her and dream about the Arcadia then, and it’s a good dream. We’re all together again, and the day is so sweet, it’s like the drops of syrup from a honeysuckle vine. I stick out my tongue and taste and taste.
I lose myself in the smell of woodsmoke and morning fog so thick it cloaks the opposite bank and turns the river into a sea. I run along the sandbars with my sisters, and hide in the grass, and wait for them to come find me. Their voices weave soft through the mist, so that I can’t tell how close or far they are.
On the Arcadia, Queenie sings a song. I sit stone still in the grass and listen to my mama’s voice.
When the blackbird in the spring,
On the willow tree,
Sat and rocked, I heard him sing,
Singing, Aura Lee,
Aura Lee, Aura Lee,
Maid with golden hair,
Sunshine came along with thee….
I’m so lost in her song, I don’t even hear the basement door unlocking until the knob’s turning. I jump up and see it’s morning already. Little strings of sun squeeze through the azaleas and slant across the room.
In the corner, Fern’s getting off the slop pot and pulling up her drawers. After last night, maybe she’s too scared to wet the bed again.
“Good girl,” I whisper, and hurry to straighten the cot.
“No need in that. You’re not going anywhere today.” The voice from the doorway isn’t Miss Dodd’s. It’s Mrs. Murphy’s. It hits me like a whip, crackling all through my body. She’s never come down here before.
“How dare you!” Her mouth tightens so that her cheekbones poke out. Air hisses through her crooked front teeth. In three quick steps, she’s got me by the hair. “How dare you use my hospitality, my kindness, to tell tales against me! Did you think that little hillbilly, that little know-nothing, would really be of help to you? Oh, of course she was foolish enough to believe your lies. But all you’ve done is cost her a job, and Miss Tann will be picking up the little Dodd brothers and sisters soon enough. They’ve been reported to the Shelby County Welfare, and their paperwork is being processed even now. Is that what you wanted? Is that what you had in mind when you filled her ear with lurid tales about poor Mr. Riggs? My own cousin, no less! My cousin, who cleans the mess you bloodsucking nits leave in the yard, and fixes your toys, and sees to the boiler so the little precious ones won’t catch sniffles on cold nights!” She turns a hateful smirk toward Fern, who’s pushed herself as far as she can into the corner.
“I…I…I didn’t…” What can I do? Where can I go? I could try to get away and run out the door, but she’s got Fern trapped.
“Don’t bother denying it. Shame. Shame on you. Shame on you for your lies. I’ve provided you with so much more than river lice like you deserve. Well, let’s