Free The Peculiar Night of the Blue Heart by Lauren DeStefano Page B

of trying to maintain control. Her entire body ached at times, and she empathized now with the grunts and groans that came from Mrs. Mannerd when she stooped to pick up something she had dropped or struggled up the stairs with the final load of laundry. Marybeth felt that she also had the body of an old woman, more and more as the days went on. She was forgetting what it was like to be a young girl, and to run outside and play.
    Reginald’s breath was a cloud in the cold air. His cheeks were flush and red from the work of chopping somuch firewood. He wiped the beads of sweat from his forehead and said, “You walked all this way?”
    â€œIt wasn’t very far,” Marybeth said.
    â€œThat orphanage? It’s two miles at least.” He folded his arms. “What do they do to you there? Beat you?”
    â€œNo,” Marybeth said.
    â€œStarve you? Lock you in your bedroom?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œWhat then?”
    Reginald was tall and slender, with gray streaking some of his dark hair. He was not as old as Mrs. Mannerd, but maybe old enough to be someone’s father, Marybeth thought. And though he appeared perfectly normal, Marybeth was unsure whether she should trust him.
    â€œI just like it here.”
    The man canted his head as he looked at her, as though she were some sort of strange creature that had crawled up through the frost-covered dirt.
    The way he looked at her caused the blue creature to turn in her chest. It was trying to wriggle itself into her arms and legs—she could feel it. She balled her fists and clenched her jaw.
Be still
, she told it,
or I am taking us back home.
    Marybeth worried that he would sense the blue creature that was at that very moment fighting with her. Sheswallowed a snarl in her throat and pushed her fists into her pockets.
    â€œDid you live on a farm with your parents?” Reginald asked. “Is that it?”
    Marybeth shrugged. She would have liked to say, “I don’t know,” which was the truth. She didn’t remember where she had lived before she came to Mrs. Mannerd. But her tongue was shaking inside her mouth, because the blue creature was trying to scream.
    She clenched her jaw.
Quiet, you foolish thing. I’m trying to help you.
    â€œYou’re not much,” Reginald said. “I don’t suppose you’re any good at chopping firewood.”
    Marybeth watched him pick up the ax. They had one at the red house, kept jammed in a stump by the shed where Mr. Mannerd had kept his tools and things. The two oldest children did all the chopping. Lionel had tried once, and Mrs. Mannerd threatened that if he tried again, he could say good-bye to all his bird feeders and his bringing berries to the foxes because he wouldn’t be setting foot outside again until he was a very old man.
    â€œI’ve never tried,” Marybeth said, her voice emboldened by the force of overcoming the blue creature.
    â€œI knew a girl like you once,” he said. “Most girls are afraid of axes and sharp things, but she wasn’t. She wasn’t afraid of anything.” He looked at her, and Marybeth felt,for a moment, that she had known him all her life. Longer than that, even. She felt that she had confided her secrets in him long ago.
    She shook her head. “I’m not afraid of many things.”
    â€œWell, since you’re going to stand there gaping, might as well make yourself useful. Come on and take a shot.”
    Hesitantly, Marybeth stepped forward. Though the red house was nowhere in sight, she still felt that Mrs. Mannerd would somehow sense that one of her children was this close to a blade and would come running to stop her.
    But no one came. There was nothing but a cold breeze that bit at her skin through the holes in her gloves, and the ax being offered.
    She took it, and its unexpected heft caused her to stumble forward. Reginald laughed, though not unkindly. “Use both hands,” he