but the echo of my own name. Pressing my hand to my breast, to the letter safely tucked away, I burned knowing how the letter truly ended.
Was it enough to wear the night with me just once, Amelia? I am unsatisfied.
Yours, obediently
—
Nathaniel Witherspoon
Oakhaven Broken Tooth, Maine Autumn 1889
Ten
H AS SHE BEEN at that window all day?" August asked when he came in.
He brought autumn with him, a crisp scent of dried leaves and fires burned down in the village. Once the scent of wood smoke had delighted me, but no longer. Now it brought a low, slow throbbing to my brow.
Lizzy deflected the question. "She went out and picked morels this morning."
"She's gone mad," I said, stretching my arm across the windowsill, "not deaf."
The floor shook beneath August's boots. Bending down, he came so very close that I could see nothing but the reflection of my eyes in his. Catching my chin, he refused to let me look away. "I'm quite determined to put you straight, Amelia."
Forcibly, I broke his gaze and applied myself to the study of the seasons again.
Funny how our trees usually burst out in shades of flame come fall, but this year they had nothing but endless shades of dun and dark. I wondered if some tragedy had stolen all their colors, too.
"So they're not enough for stew," Lizzy said, picking up her thought as easily as she picked up her next stitch. "But perhaps dressing, if we've got any oysters. Or maybe you could bring some home tomorrow, Gus."
"What difference does it make," August asked, the question trailing behind him down the hall, "if she refuses to eat dressing or refuses to eat stew? I should like stew myself. It's my house, isn't it?"
"Spoiled," Lizzy murmured, an indulgent tone meant to curry my agreement, but I had no answer.
Every day felt like drowning to me. I woke and took a single, useless breath, then sank into the deep again. Every shape was shadows;every flavor, dust. What did it matter if I spent my days at the window or beneath the ground? I'd still destroyed Zora. I'd still burned Baltimore to the ground.
In the end, it was all the same.
Except the wonderful detonations that came when I crossed August. He shouted from his study, and soon thereafter he carried his storm back to the kitchen.
"What is this?" he demanded, slapping papers on the table. He raised his voice when I failed to raise my head. "I will have an explanation, and I will have it now!"
Reaching for one of the sheets that had drifted to the floor, Lizzy kept silent as she read. I traced her figure in the glass, the tips of my fingers marking the pretty curve of her cheeks as they turned from blush to ash.
August tapped a finger against the page. "Now You see, Elizabeth. Now You see, don't you?"
"That's enough," Lizzy murmured. But she folded the paper in half and fed it to the old iron stove. At once, she gathered her sewing and swept from the kitchen. For all the effort it took me to look after her, I only managed to see the hem of her skirt disappear around the corner.
I slipped my fingers in my hair, twisting and twisting at the braids looped there. "Oh, Gus, for shame. Look what you've done."
"Burn them all," he told me. And then, admirably, he went after his wife.
I didn't leave the chair so much as slip from it. Unboned and weak-muscled, I melted across the floor and came to sit against the wall. When I strained, I caught a few scattered pages. Straightening them in my lap to consider, I sighed. My handwriting drifted in a slope across the page.
Today in the vespers, I hear two boys drowning when the current calls them to sea.
Today in the vespers, I see a physician with winding cloths walking to the pastor's house.
Today in the vespers, I'm blind. I taste blood in my mouth, and I know not whose it is.
The smoke smelled no sweeter when it was premonitions burned. The paper turned to white ash before collapsing into the flames. Page after page, I destroyed, and I could well imagine the
Was it enough to wear the night with me just once, Amelia? I am unsatisfied.
Yours, obediently
—
Nathaniel Witherspoon
Oakhaven Broken Tooth, Maine Autumn 1889
Ten
H AS SHE BEEN at that window all day?" August asked when he came in.
He brought autumn with him, a crisp scent of dried leaves and fires burned down in the village. Once the scent of wood smoke had delighted me, but no longer. Now it brought a low, slow throbbing to my brow.
Lizzy deflected the question. "She went out and picked morels this morning."
"She's gone mad," I said, stretching my arm across the windowsill, "not deaf."
The floor shook beneath August's boots. Bending down, he came so very close that I could see nothing but the reflection of my eyes in his. Catching my chin, he refused to let me look away. "I'm quite determined to put you straight, Amelia."
Forcibly, I broke his gaze and applied myself to the study of the seasons again.
Funny how our trees usually burst out in shades of flame come fall, but this year they had nothing but endless shades of dun and dark. I wondered if some tragedy had stolen all their colors, too.
"So they're not enough for stew," Lizzy said, picking up her thought as easily as she picked up her next stitch. "But perhaps dressing, if we've got any oysters. Or maybe you could bring some home tomorrow, Gus."
"What difference does it make," August asked, the question trailing behind him down the hall, "if she refuses to eat dressing or refuses to eat stew? I should like stew myself. It's my house, isn't it?"
"Spoiled," Lizzy murmured, an indulgent tone meant to curry my agreement, but I had no answer.
Every day felt like drowning to me. I woke and took a single, useless breath, then sank into the deep again. Every shape was shadows;every flavor, dust. What did it matter if I spent my days at the window or beneath the ground? I'd still destroyed Zora. I'd still burned Baltimore to the ground.
In the end, it was all the same.
Except the wonderful detonations that came when I crossed August. He shouted from his study, and soon thereafter he carried his storm back to the kitchen.
"What is this?" he demanded, slapping papers on the table. He raised his voice when I failed to raise my head. "I will have an explanation, and I will have it now!"
Reaching for one of the sheets that had drifted to the floor, Lizzy kept silent as she read. I traced her figure in the glass, the tips of my fingers marking the pretty curve of her cheeks as they turned from blush to ash.
August tapped a finger against the page. "Now You see, Elizabeth. Now You see, don't you?"
"That's enough," Lizzy murmured. But she folded the paper in half and fed it to the old iron stove. At once, she gathered her sewing and swept from the kitchen. For all the effort it took me to look after her, I only managed to see the hem of her skirt disappear around the corner.
I slipped my fingers in my hair, twisting and twisting at the braids looped there. "Oh, Gus, for shame. Look what you've done."
"Burn them all," he told me. And then, admirably, he went after his wife.
I didn't leave the chair so much as slip from it. Unboned and weak-muscled, I melted across the floor and came to sit against the wall. When I strained, I caught a few scattered pages. Straightening them in my lap to consider, I sighed. My handwriting drifted in a slope across the page.
Today in the vespers, I hear two boys drowning when the current calls them to sea.
Today in the vespers, I see a physician with winding cloths walking to the pastor's house.
Today in the vespers, I'm blind. I taste blood in my mouth, and I know not whose it is.
The smoke smelled no sweeter when it was premonitions burned. The paper turned to white ash before collapsing into the flames. Page after page, I destroyed, and I could well imagine the
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