tiptoed into the bedroom. "Gussie?" she hissed.
I thrust my hand with the keys out from under the bed and jingled them. Nell snatched them away, then scrambled toward the dressing table. Over my head the box springs gave a sudden squeak. I held my breath, waiting for the worst, but Nell must have heard the noise and wheeled around in time to see Mother sitting up in bed.
"Oh, you're awake!" Nell practically shouted. She took a few steps closer so Mother could read her lips. "I was just getting the keys from your drawer for Mrs. Fernley. She's locked herself out of her room."
Mother's stocking feet appeared beside me, resting lightly on the floor. Her voice sounded woozy with sleep, even fuzzier than usual. "Locked out? Why didn't you come get me?"
I knew Nell must be signing as she explained. I could hear the keys jingling. "You were so tired. I didn't want to bother you."
"It's all right," Mother said, getting to her feet. I clenched my arms closer to my body, trying to make myself smaller. "You go take the keys to Mrs. Fernley. I just need to splash some water on my face."
Nell hurried off as Mother shuffled toward the bathroom down the hall. I waited to hear the door close behind her and the rush of water filling the sink. It was simple, almost
too
simple, to crawl out from under the bed, dust myself off, and slip from her room unnoticed. Maybe if it had been more difficult in the end, I would have dropped my far-fetched plan for getting revenge on Margaret. But we had the keys now. We even had Mother's permission to take them!
Yes, there was no doubt about it. The Birthmark Baines dummy was meant to be.
Chapter 8
I didn't have second thoughts about my plan until I saw Corporal Homewood staring up at me from the box in Miss Grace's closet. His dark eyes gazed out from the same silver-framed photograph I had caught a glimpse of the first day Miss Grace moved in. I had expected that the picture would be on display, on the dresser or the bedside table. But now, here it was, still nestled in the cardboard carton on top of his old things. No wonder she's hidden the picture away, I thought. It would make her too sad to look at her dead husband's face every day.
Even though it was warm and stuffy in Miss Grace's little room on the third floor, a cold chill prickled along the back of my neck. Still kneeling by the closet, I glanced over my shoulder into the dim corners. I hardly knew Miss Grace, but I could feel her all around me. A faint trace of the rose water she wore hung in the air. And strands of her white-blond hair trailed from the enamel brush sitting on the small table next to her neatly made bed. How perfect they must have looked together, the corporal with his dark hair and eyes, and Miss Grace so small and fair.
I felt a little better once I started trying to make sense of the objects in the room. Kneeling there, I felt like I was finding the lost parts of a jigsaw puzzle. I hadn't known that Miss Grace went to the Alabama School for the Deaf like Daddy did when he was young, but there was her ASD diploma hanging on the wall over her desk. My father paid visits to ASD often to hold chapel services for the students there. He had probably met Miss Grace on one of those trips.
Nell would be sorry she had turned chicken and refused to be my lookout. She was probably flopped on the glider on the front porch now, bored senseless and sulking over how I had snatched the third-floor keys from her hand and called her a yellow-tailed crybaby. I didn't need Nell to stand watch anyway. It was only two o'clock. Miss Grace's parents wouldn't bring her home from Sunday dinner for at least another couple of hours.
I stood up and tiptoed over to the tidy desk for a closer look. It was almost bare except for a pile of blank stationery stacked in the middle with a small wooden paperweight perched on top. I carefully picked up the paperweight and set it down again, admiring the unusual design and the smooth ridges in the wood.
I thrust my hand with the keys out from under the bed and jingled them. Nell snatched them away, then scrambled toward the dressing table. Over my head the box springs gave a sudden squeak. I held my breath, waiting for the worst, but Nell must have heard the noise and wheeled around in time to see Mother sitting up in bed.
"Oh, you're awake!" Nell practically shouted. She took a few steps closer so Mother could read her lips. "I was just getting the keys from your drawer for Mrs. Fernley. She's locked herself out of her room."
Mother's stocking feet appeared beside me, resting lightly on the floor. Her voice sounded woozy with sleep, even fuzzier than usual. "Locked out? Why didn't you come get me?"
I knew Nell must be signing as she explained. I could hear the keys jingling. "You were so tired. I didn't want to bother you."
"It's all right," Mother said, getting to her feet. I clenched my arms closer to my body, trying to make myself smaller. "You go take the keys to Mrs. Fernley. I just need to splash some water on my face."
Nell hurried off as Mother shuffled toward the bathroom down the hall. I waited to hear the door close behind her and the rush of water filling the sink. It was simple, almost
too
simple, to crawl out from under the bed, dust myself off, and slip from her room unnoticed. Maybe if it had been more difficult in the end, I would have dropped my far-fetched plan for getting revenge on Margaret. But we had the keys now. We even had Mother's permission to take them!
Yes, there was no doubt about it. The Birthmark Baines dummy was meant to be.
Chapter 8
I didn't have second thoughts about my plan until I saw Corporal Homewood staring up at me from the box in Miss Grace's closet. His dark eyes gazed out from the same silver-framed photograph I had caught a glimpse of the first day Miss Grace moved in. I had expected that the picture would be on display, on the dresser or the bedside table. But now, here it was, still nestled in the cardboard carton on top of his old things. No wonder she's hidden the picture away, I thought. It would make her too sad to look at her dead husband's face every day.
Even though it was warm and stuffy in Miss Grace's little room on the third floor, a cold chill prickled along the back of my neck. Still kneeling by the closet, I glanced over my shoulder into the dim corners. I hardly knew Miss Grace, but I could feel her all around me. A faint trace of the rose water she wore hung in the air. And strands of her white-blond hair trailed from the enamel brush sitting on the small table next to her neatly made bed. How perfect they must have looked together, the corporal with his dark hair and eyes, and Miss Grace so small and fair.
I felt a little better once I started trying to make sense of the objects in the room. Kneeling there, I felt like I was finding the lost parts of a jigsaw puzzle. I hadn't known that Miss Grace went to the Alabama School for the Deaf like Daddy did when he was young, but there was her ASD diploma hanging on the wall over her desk. My father paid visits to ASD often to hold chapel services for the students there. He had probably met Miss Grace on one of those trips.
Nell would be sorry she had turned chicken and refused to be my lookout. She was probably flopped on the glider on the front porch now, bored senseless and sulking over how I had snatched the third-floor keys from her hand and called her a yellow-tailed crybaby. I didn't need Nell to stand watch anyway. It was only two o'clock. Miss Grace's parents wouldn't bring her home from Sunday dinner for at least another couple of hours.
I stood up and tiptoed over to the tidy desk for a closer look. It was almost bare except for a pile of blank stationery stacked in the middle with a small wooden paperweight perched on top. I carefully picked up the paperweight and set it down again, admiring the unusual design and the smooth ridges in the wood.
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