After Alice Fell(68)

TWO: We’re going for a row, Let’s go in the boat, Liddie. And Lydia said—I’m not feeling well. But the fresh air is good, Cathy said, and, Alice mind the babe, you can do that, can’t you, Alice? He’s napping, anyways. He wasn’t, he was on my lap and we were watching the Dragons fly on the water and the red leaves and Lydia said—I have a sore stomach. But I think she was with child. She smelled different but she got up and said she’d walk because they often did in the woods.

I run my finger over the edges of glass, until I find the last card.

SEVEN: He tied the rope around her chest and said don’t let go of that end, Alice, it’s dark.

“Auntie.”

“Not now, Toby.”

“Change the slide.”

“Not . . .”

Alice, it’s dark. We both pulled and pulled with the rope around a tree trunk to hoist her because of the grasses. Her skirts were terrible heavy with water and— The light is blank, too bright. Toby has pulled out the slide and grabs for the box in my lap.

“No. Toby, no.”

“I want the next—”

“No.”

But he has the box and holds it over his head. His mouth curves down and he glares.

“Put the box down.”

“No.” He tucks it under his arm, thin chest heaving. “I want to see the next.”

My hand sweats; I can barely hold the card. It slips away, flutters to the floor. “Give those to me.”

He steps back, knocking over the mending basket. I watch his eyes glide to the door. He tenses and bolts. I grab his arm, jerking him back hard enough he can’t keep hold of the box. It thunks to the rug, the lid springing open, the slides rolling from the case. Six slides.

His free hand claps against his pocket. He makes a high wheezing noise, and I feel the trembling all the way to his bones. I’ve petrified him.

“I don’t want to see The 7 Wonders.” My voice is rock rough. I let his arm go, caress it, then kneel to pick up the box, to gather the slides. One has cracked in two. I find the card I’d crushed and dropped. Push it into the box, then grab it up. “I want to see Old Mother Hubbard. Can we see those?”

How wary he is. He knows I’m hiding something. I set the box to the end of the bed, just long enough to push myself up with my good arm. Then I move it to the mantel. Set the box next to Benjamin’s photograph, out of reach. I pat the top. “Another time for this.”

“Why can’t I see those? Maybe Alice painted me on a slide too.”

“No. I don’t think so.”

“How would you know?”

“Because I do.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Well.” I shrug. “You should.” I hesitate at the Old Mother Hubbard box. “Have you seen these?”

He gives a sharp nod and I release a long breath. No surprises.

“Old Mother Hubbard, then.”





Chapter Twenty-Seven


How pretty the paintings. Alice has replaced the original slides with a new set of her own design. Her hand so light, the images swirling with movement and color. The faces so detailed she must have used the smallest of mink brushes.

Look at the paisleys on Cathy’s dress. She wears a pretty shawl, lemon yellow and patterned with ferns. Her smile is curved and curls around her ears. Lydia’s hand rests on her belly. It is flat; it is with child. Alice mind the babe. And Alice holds Toby in her arms. In the background, the tree leaves squint and blink and reflect on the surface of the pond.

Slide by slide, I watch. Once, then again. Seven slides, numbers plain and neat on the bottom. Number six is split in two. Six cards. 1, 2, 3, 5, 6, 7.

THREE: It was hot the sun was very high up. They went toward the Narrows and they shouldn’t have. No one should go in the Narrows, and they did.

The perspective is from on high, as if Alice were perched in a tree. I yank the desk chair over, clamber close to stare at the slide.

It’s our little rowboat. The Mariner. Alice has painted the overhang of rock that looks like a gargoyle. All along the stony banks of the Narrows, creatures point with fingers sharp as sharded glass to the little boat and the two women. One dark head. One light. Crinoline skirts as wide as the boat. Lydia’s arm hitched forward, elbow resting on the lip of the boat. Cathy seated behind. The oars have been pulled in. Rest neat on either side of the shell. Cathy’s arms are outstretched, something taut between her fists.

I replace the slide with the fourth. I don’t need the missing card. Not with this image.

No boat. One woman. Arms floating wide, facedown in the water, her head covered in a cheerful hood—lemon yellow and patterned with ferns—tied with three tight knots at the neck.

FIVE: Then Cathy came back and walked right past me and said nothing.

My breath stops. Cathy holds her skirts. They are wet, as are her sleeves. She is in motion, tramping the slope from the boathouse. But it is her eyes that make me clutch my breath. Death sits in them.

SIX: Lionel came home and ran straight down to the pond calling Liddie! Liddie! He made me give Toby to Saoirse and he got an oar from the boathouse and a rope and he said, follow me. Liddie he called! It was getting dark. We found her by the steep rock in the Narrows. Lionel pushed the oar in to see if she would grab it but she was dead.