Free The Linnet Bird: A Novel by Linda Holeman

rough, jerking movements behind me, the sound of glass breaking.
    “I’m a Christian man, Gib, and a father. It don’t feel right, stripping these girls and throwing them back into the river. Don’t set right with me at all.”
    “Don’t think about yer own girls now, Willy. I bet this dress alone—” There was a low whistle. “This ain’t no girl after all. Look here.”
    Silence. Then, “You’re right, by Jesus. What’s he doin’ all trumped up like that?”
    I was pulled up again. “Who knows? And who cares? But this front one here is. I can tell, even with her hair all chopped off.”
    “She’s so small.”
    “Stop thinkin’ about it, Willy. They’s dead and in no need of their clothes, whether they’s boys or girls, young or old. A dress is a dress.”
    I’m not dead. Can’t you see? I’m not dead.
    The movements behind me continued. “Quit starin’ like you seen a spook,” the rougher voice said, and there was a rush of cold air as the body behind me was pulled away. I knew now that it was Clancy. “Lookit this throat, would you? Ear to ear. Like a big red smile, it is.”
    There was a small splash and then the thud as Clancy’s body was dropped back behind me. “Here. Give the dress a good shake, then take it to the edge and wash that blood out.”
    My arm was grabbed, and two jars that must have been caught in the folds of my skirt clanged together. “Why you just standin’ there, Willy? Do wot I says. If you haven’t the stomach for it, I’ll look after it all. But the dresses is mine, then.” I was pulled up, but in the next second dropped back. “She don’t feel like the other one,” the man called Gib said. “Not as cold. Willy? I’m not sure this one’s dead.”
    My waist was kicked with the toe of a boot, and at the sudden rough movement I involuntarily emitted a watery gasp as the stinking Mersey trickled out of my mouth.
    “Damn. She’s alive, all right,” Gib said. “But from the looks of her she’ll be gone soon. She’ll never miss her dress.” He pulled it off my shoulder.
    “Gib. No,” Willy said.
    “Wot?”
    “You heard me, Gib. Leave her be.”
    “Wot you talking about? Willy?”
    I felt hands under my arms, pulling me out of the trunk. The jars that were still on my dress crashed onto the slimy stones. Something warm and soft pressed against my breast. “Cold water likely slowed the bleeding,” the softer voice said. “Could be the water that was to kill her saved her instead. Who’d a done this?”
    I gagged suddenly and with the wretching movement brought up more watery saliva. It was as if it cleared my throat. “Pompey,” I murmured.
It must have been Pompey, following orders to throw me into the Mersey. And he thought I was already dead, so there was no reason to slit my throat, as he had Clancy’s.
    “Calling for her father,” Willy said. “She’s wanting her pappy.” And then I was roughly dragged over the stones, and the pain in my breast returned, as did the blessed darkness.

 
     
    Chapter Six

     
    I WAS ROUGHLY SHAKEN.
    “Wake up, girl. It’s time you were awake. Come on now.”
    The shaking brought on such an exquisite pain that I cried out, opening my eyes and looking into the drawn face of a middle-age woman.
    The pain was everywhere. I couldn’t move, pinned in place by the pounding in my temples and the terrible pain in my chest.
    “Rise yerself, now. You bin lyin’ here the full clock round.”
    “Please,” I whispered, trying to lick my lips. “Drink. A drink, please.”
    The woman appeared not to hear me. She wore a gray shift that made her look like one long, thin slice of gray—her hair, skin, and covering. “The surgeon’s been in and stitched you up.” She had to shout over the screams and curses and prayers that filled the air. “Get dressed; there are others wot need the bed. You’ll go through that door, there,” she said, pointing to one side of the long room. She dropped my boots onto the floor,