Mariel by Jo Ann Ferguson Page B

seen in the first moments of discovering this luxury of having a massive room for her own use. Awed, she approached a doll dressed in a creamy white nightdress. Her fingers reached out to touch the china curls, but hesitated.
    â€œGo ahead,” urged Mariel when the child looked over her shoulder for permission. “She endured my kisses when I was your age. I think she will enjoy being played with again.”
    Dropping to the floor, the little girl pulled the doll into her lap. Gently she examined every inch of the eyelet gown and the tiny leather shoes. Her face beamed with happiness as she asked, “Can she sleep with me? Can I name her?”
    â€œOf course. I called her Alice, but you may name her whatever you please.”
    â€œI like Alice.”
    â€œI did too.” Mariel sat on the small chair, savoring the joy of having a child in the house again. She pointed to the chest. “She has more clothes in there. Uncle Wilford always had a dress made for her each time he had one made for me.”
    â€œSo you and Alice could be twins?”
    Mariel’s smile vanished. Rosie looked from her suddenly shattered features to the shocked expression on Miss Phipps’s face. Something she had said was horribly wrong, but she could not guess what it was. A wave of homesickness washed over her. At the orphanage, she knew everyone well. She did not have to worry about every word she spoke.
    Struggling to escape the horror such innocent words allowed to run free in her mind, Mariel forced a fake smile on her too-tight lips. “Yes, so we could always look alike.” She took a deep breath. “Phipps will unpack for you. I have some work to do. Why don’t you play here? I will be back in a few minutes.”
    Rosie watched, disconcerted, as the woman walked out of the room without further explanation. Needing to know the truth, she turned to Miss Phipps and asked bluntly, “What did I say wrong?”
    With a sigh, the older woman looked back at the unhappy little girl. She had thought Lady Mariel had put that sorrow behind her, but it appeared the lady simply had fooled everyone into believing she had accepted her past. The truth was not for this youngster on her first day at the Cloister.
    â€œYou said nothing wrong, child,” Phipps assured Rosie quickly. “It is Lady Mariel. Sometimes she is very sad. When she is like that, I think you can help best by giving her a big hug and by not asking any questions.” She absently patted the curls escaping from the uneven braids. Again she sighed and shook herself to break free from the tentacles of the past. “Now, shall we see what you have to wear to supper tonight?”
    With the door to her own rooms closed, Mariel groped for a chair and dropped into it. She hid her face in her hands, and she began to cry as she had not been able to do in many years. Such open words laid bare the wounds which would not heal. She had thought having Rosie here might help, but already it seemed the child would only make things worse.
    Although she had tried to tell herself there was nothing she could have done to change what happened the night Lorraine died, guilt continued to plague her. She should have guessed what would occur and worked to alter it. In retrospect, all the signs of the disaster had been firmly in place weeks before that night.
    Her hands pressed against her ears as she heard the childish screams in her own younger voice. Other sounds of destruction and death ricocheted through her head. She could not close them out, for they came from within the treasury of her memories.
    â€œOh, Lorraine, why did you have to say that to him?” she moaned. “Why did you have to teach that rhyme to me?”
    As in the past, there was no answer for any of her heartfelt questions. Only when the last burning tear coursed along her cheek did she raise her head. The shadows crossing the room told her it was nearly time for the evening