Free A Drowned Maiden's Hair by Laura Amy Schlitz

WINDOW. CURTAIN. COMB. BOOK.
    Muffet copied each word. When there were a dozen words on the sheet of paper, she folded it and slipped it under the bib of her apron. Then she tapped her fingers against Maud’s supper tray. Maud understood the gesture. She was being told to eat her supper while it was still hot.

O n the day when Hyacinth was due to return, Maud waited on the third floor, eyes glued to the hole in the shutter.
    She saw the hired carriage approach. Hyacinth descended, and the cabby lifted her trunks from the back of the carriage. Hyacinth’s face was hidden by the brim of her hat. Maud wanted to rush headlong down the stairs and fling herself into Hyacinth’s arms. Instead she waited, listening in vain for voices two floors below.
    A bell jangled. The bells in the Hawthorne house, once used to summon the servants, had fallen into disuse when Muffet became the hired girl. Now the sisters rang to summon Maud.
    Maud dashed from the room and clattered down the back steps. She flew to the parlor and hurled herself at Hyacinth, who put out her hands to catch her, holding her at arm’s length.
    “Maudy!” Hyacinth’s face was so radiant that Maud scarcely felt the sting of the lost embrace. “My darling girl! Let me look at you!”
    Maud lifted her chin, holding herself so straight that she quivered.
    “I’ve brought you presents!” Hyacinth gestured toward the trunk and valises on the floor. “A string of green beads — Venetian glass, such trumpery, but so pretty! And a box of White Rose soap and a whole pound of saltwater taffy — there’s another box for Judith and Victoria, so you don’t have to share.”
    Maud beamed. Once again, Hyacinth had understood. At the Asylum, every treat that fell to an orphan’s lot had to be shared. A box of peppermints or a bucket of ice cream was divided into microscopic parts and served with a reminder to be grateful. Maud always felt that her portion was particularly small. She was sick of sharing.
    Victoria warned her sister, “You’re encouraging her to be selfish,” but Hyacinth only laughed.
    “Oh hush, Victoria, you don’t want Maud’s saltwater taffy. Last time I brought it home, you complained it made your jaw sore.” Hyacinth cupped her fingers around Maud’s chin. “Your hair is much better cropped, do you know that? Not so ramshackle. Really, you are quite respectable.” She turned to her sisters. “Shall we tell her?” she asked gaily. “Shall we tell her?”
    Maud felt her fears dissolve. All at once, she knew that the secret that Hyacinth was going to tell was a delightful thing. She had been foolish to feel anxious about it, and still more foolish to try to puzzle it out for herself.
    “Perhaps later,” Judith answered. “Let the child settle. She’s off her head with excitement.”
    “She missed you.” Victoria’s voice was reproachful. Maud understood that Victoria was speaking on her behalf, but she disapproved. She felt that she would have died before reproaching Hyacinth. “Let her get used to you being home —”
    “Burckhardt is coming next week,” Hyacinth pointed out.
    “Very well,” conceded Judith. “Tonight. After supper.”
    It was a glorious day. Maud helped Hyacinth unpack her trunk, putting away clean garments and relaying soiled ones downstairs to Muffet. To Maud’s dismay, Muffet tried to waylay her whenever she appeared in the kitchen, brandishing a pencil and paper. Maud knew what she wanted; Muffet had developed a passion for nouns. Since the day of Maud’s punishment, she had learned over a hundred, committing to memory the exact shape and order of Maud’s letters. Maud was impressed by her quickness, but she had no time to waste. Hyacinth needed her. She dodged the hired woman, dropped Hyacinth’s laundry in the basket beside the sink, and galloped upstairs to Hyacinth’s bedroom.
    In her absence, Hyacinth had unearthed more presents: a child-sized fan painted with poppies, a handful of hair