Free Ophelia and the Marvelous Boy by Karen Foxlee Page B

soon. She made a small squeaking sound.
    She tried to think of what she should do.
    Think, Ophelia, she thought. Think.
    She thought of her mother’s horror books and how there were always things creeping up behind the heroes or heroines. What if my mother were writing this scene right now? she thought. What if I were the heroine? What would she have me do?
    She decided very quickly what it would be. She decided to shout very loud.
    Ophelia shouted, “I am not afraid of you!”
    She shouted it as loud as she could. Her voice reverberated in the still room.
    “I am not afraid of you,” Ophelia whispered this time. She turned in a full circle, pointing at all the displays. “So you canstop it. Stop it right now. Anything you might do is all in my imagination.”
    She marched up to the Spanish conquistadors and lifted up the plastic. They were nothing but mannequins holding on to swords. As soon as her back was turned, she heard the rustling of plastic again.
    She had one more mannequin to look at, and she would be finished. She lifted the last piece of plastic. A Spanish conquistador was holding a very shiny silver cutlass. She looked up at his face just to make sure. The conquistador had a long, flowing black mustache but the same doll eyes as the rest. She was looking at his eyes when he grabbed her arm.
    “Oh,” said Ophelia, and she tried to wrench herself free.
    The conquistador gripped her arm so tightly that she could not break away.
    “Ouch,” said Ophelia.
    All around her was the terrible sound of plastic rustling.
    “Please let me go!” she shouted as loud as she could.
    The conquistador did not listen to her. She tried to prize his fingers from her arm.
    “Please,” she whispered as he began to lift her from the ground. “Daddy,” she screamed. “Daddy!”
    She heard the door to the exhibition hall being opened, and with that sound, she was released. She fell to the ground with a thump. Footsteps rushed toward her—high heels, the sharp sound of Miss Kaminski’s high heels.
    “Adelia,” said Miss Kaminski. “What has happened?”
    She knelt down beside Ophelia. Ophelia was enveloped in a soothing cloud of warm, sweet perfume.
    “There, there,” said Miss Kaminski. “Have you had a fright?”
    “I …,” Ophelia began, pointing at the Spanish conquistador. “He …”
    The conquistador had gone back to being just a mannequin covered in plastic.
    “Now, now,” said Miss Kaminski, with very kind eyes. “Don’t speak.”
    Ophelia heard more feet, then saw her father’s concerned face looking down at her. “I heard shouting,” he said. “What happened?”
    “There was …,” started Ophelia.
    “Hush,” said Miss Kaminski, and she put her finger to her perfectly painted lips. “She has a very big imagination. She should not be left alone in such a room.” The museum curator helped Ophelia to her feet. “I will take her to the cafeteria, and she will have hot chocolate, Mr. Whittard. And I will show her the collection of dollhouses. There are too many swords in this room for a young girl.”
    When they were outside the sword exhibition hall, a little of the kindness drained out of Miss Kaminski’s voice. “That is no place for a little girl,” she said. “You won’t go there again, will you?”
    Miss Kaminski’s hand, on Ophelia’s cheek, was very cold.
    “N-n-never again,” stammered Ophelia.

    The hot chocolate was good. Miss Kaminski watched Ophelia drink it, and her bright blue eyes sparkled. Ophelia didn’t know which way to look or what to say; Miss Kaminski frightened her so. One minute kind, the next pinching her through her blue velvet coat. When Ophelia was finished, she took the museum curator’s hand reluctantly and followed her into an elevator. She was duly deposited in the
Gallery of Dollhouses
.
    “I am going to see your charming sister now,” said Miss Kaminski. “Today I will have her portrait painted. What do you think of that, then,