Maddie that you are. Shall I . . .” He turned toward the hall
and the stairs leading up to the mistress’s boudoir.
The mistress popped up and grabbed the child by her
arm.
“You shall not! Come, Girl.” She dragged the child,
twisting her arm, up the stairs.
The child didn’t care, for once. Something had changed.
Keys clinked and locks clicked on the trunks the
mistress drug out. She muttered and fussed to herself, of
course, as she examined and tossed silks and linens and
cottons onto the bed.
The child stood in the cold room, wide-eyed at the
treasures.
Finally, the mistress stopped. A pale yellow cloud
floated before the mistress’s face for a second before she
thrust it at the child and spun away.
“Hurry up! Don’t make William wait.”
The child hugged the dress against her body. It was
really for summer, she knew, because it was cotton. But it
had a sheen to it, so that as she moved in the sunlight, she
could imagine that it was silk. After she heard the mistress’s
feet on the stairs, she went back to the trunk. There was
a petticoat and there were stockings; there was a pair of
shining black boots with a beautiful pattern pierced into
the hardly worn leather.
She practically ripped off her shift; she didn’t care,
somehow. She took her time pulling on starched under-
pants and slipping the petticoat over her head. The dress
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