23
Rachel
I watched Wyatt climb down the rope, his dark hair against the snow-whitened pines. For an instant, I wondered if I should call him back, ask him to take me with him. But I didn’t. I couldn’t.
Mama would be disappointed, for certain. But part of me said that it would be her own fault, for trapping me here, imprisoning me away from the world. That was what she was doing, wasn’t it? I remembered being outside with Wyatt, the sting of the cold air, the feeling of branches scraping against me. Why should this be so unusual?
No. Mama was protecting me. But could she not protect me by bringing me someplace else, someplace where I could at least go outside? I knew from books that there was a wide world out there. I hadn’t seen it. If Mary, the heroine in The Secret Garden, could travel all the way from India to England to live with her uncle, why could I not travel to hide?
Nonsense. Mama was an old woman. It would be too difficult for her.
But what if the man who had killed my mother was gone? Or even dead? What if all my hiding was for naught?
Oh, this was too much to think about. It had been a day of great excitement, easily the most exciting day of my life. I had rescued someone! I had met a boy, a real boy who liked me, who thought me pretty. I had kissed him. For some girls, this might be the stuff of an ordinary afternoon. For me, it was incredible.
My arm throbbed. I pulled up my sleeve and examined it. I found a scrape, forgotten. I remembered how it had happened, climbing up the tower wall. I touched the scrape with some satisfaction. A cold breeze blew in through the window. Wyatt was out of my sight. I pulled up the rope and coiled it round and round itself until it was small enough to store under my bed.
I yawned. It had been a tiring day, and though I knew that Mama would be here later, I decided to take a nap.
I crawled under the covers, taking my pillow into my arms. It was merely a pillow but I had, many times, imagined it was my true love. Now, he had a name. Wyatt.
Wyatt.
I felt like I could smell him in the air as I drifted off to sleep.
But I did not dream of him as I would have liked. Instead, I dreamed of people, people I had never seen, their faces pleading with me to save them, save them somehow from themselves. But I didn’t know how. Sliding down a rope and rescuing someone from the ice seemed like child’s play compared to what they wanted from me. In fact, I did not know what they wanted at all. But they seemed to think I did, and they grew closer, their hands reaching toward me, touching me.
I woke, sobbing, to someone shaking me. The room was dark.
“Who’s there?” I asked.
A laugh. Then, a gentle voice, soothing. “Who would be there, Kitten? It is only me.”
Mama. How many hours had passed since Wyatt had held me, since I’d been that different, not helpless, girl he’d held in his arms.
“Mama, you’re here.”
“Of course.” She stroked my hair. “But why is it dark?”
I wiped my teary eyes with my arm. “I was tired. Maybe still a little touch of fever.”
“Oh, I am sorry.” She reached for the light switch. “I had hoped you would be better.”
The room illuminated, and she looked around. I imagined she could see that everything had changed since she had been there last. Indeed, her eyes showed suspicion. But there was no difference.
My sleeve felt wet where I had been crying. I pushed my sleeve up, then remembered the scrape on my arm. If she saw it, she was sure to ask how I got it. I pulled my sleeve down, the better to cover it. But it did not hurt anymore, and when I looked, it wasn’t there. Had it been my imagination?
The eagle eyes traveled the room. “Is everything else . . . all right?”
I nodded. “Only I am lonely. I get so lonely, Mama, all by myself.”