21. Sarah
Sarah
Viola’s name pulsed in time with the clock, tallying my guilt tick by tick. The door banged open, and Mother swept in. I pulled the blanket to my chin.
She propped a hand on her hip. “What is this?”
Disaster. Tragedy. Horror. “I’m sick.”
She scoffed. “But Mr. Higginbotham was here.”
“Like I said—I’m sick.” My stomach clenched.
She patted her hip. “Mipsy, come.” The dog’s nails clicked against the floorboards. Mother scooped up the white puffball and perched on the edge of my bed. Mipsy’s dog breath assaulted my nose. Mother peered down, daring me to flinch. She thought I faked my illness.
Yes—fine—I’d faked illnesses before to avoid social interactions, but today I wasn’t pretending to be miserable. Viola was missing, and George had the right of it. The responsibility was mine.
Mother brushed the back of her hand lightly across my brow.
“No fever. What exactly is the problem today?” She stroked Mipsy’s back until bits of white fur floated around us in a blizzard.
“Shall I call the doctor? Hmm, Mipsy? What can we do to get this layabout downstairs so she is available when the handsome, eligible gentleman calls again?” Mipsy didn’t know.
“He will not wait forever,” she continued, voice sharp.
“And she has no other prospects.” She leaned close. “Do you want to end up alone?”
I’d give anything to be alone right now.
“You are… blotchy.” She rose, clutching her prized pooch. “Tea, toast, and broth, I think, until you have recovered.” She nodded to Mipsy, who panted in agreement. They exited my room without looking back. As if I could eat anything.
Silence, but for the ticking. Viola had disappeared. Wish I could join the search. Please, George. Find her.
Icouldn’t bear another hour of not knowing, so two days after George yelled at me in the backyard, I dragged myself out of bed and went to see Viola’s maid, Greta. When Gloria brought up my tray, she mentioned Greta had returned.
I ventured outside on unsteady legs. Down the hall, back stairs, out the back door, around the side of the house.
Copper glinted on the ground below my window.
I scooped up an Indian Head penny. Find a penny, pick it up.
I stuck it in my pocket. George had said we needed luck.
I pushed through the hedge and glanced across at the park.
Viola and I had ridden bicycles there only a week ago…
clutching each other and laughing beneath Athena’s marble gaze. And now…
I climbed the steps to Viola’s front door, and soon Greta guided me to a small seating area under the window at the end of the hall. Heavy silence pressed on my ribs. “I don’t know anything,” I said. “Please… what happened?”
Greta slumped. “Searched my mind inside and out for a clue. But nothing. She was fine. Napped all day. We left so early.”
I said, “Leaving early was part of her plan.”
Greta shook her head and stared out the window. “Ever since she was a wee girl, I’ve always gone along with her plans. Should’ve stopped her this time.”
“I tried, Greta. The only way we could’ve stopped her would have been to tell George or her father. And she’d never have forgiven us for that.”
“At least she’d be here now.”
Greta was right. “Please, tell me what happened.”
“Helped her change into her favorite nightdress with the purple V.” She traced the letter on an imaginary collar.
“That night she couldn’t sleep, but she sent me to bed.
I can’t even remember when I last saw her, whether it was light or dark.
” Greta’s fingers fretted in her skirts.
“I was asleep before my head touched the pillow. I didn’t hear anything.
Slept well past sunrise and…” Her voice broke.
“And she was gone when I woke. Thought she had gone to the dining car for breakfast. So I waited. Then looked over the train myself. And…” She waved a hand around her.
Tears brimmed in her eyes. “It’s my fault, and now she is lost.”
“No, this isn’t your fault. Whatever has happened, Viola is strong, and they will find her. They will.” My fingers found the penny in my pocket. I rubbed it for luck, clutched it so hard my hand ached, and made a wish.