Page 61 of If Looks Could Kill
“I didn’t ask for any of this,” Cora snapped. “They just showed up tonight, and—”
“None of us asked for this,” I said sharply. Freyda, I noticed, looked away.
Cora kept going. “When I told this one”—meaning me—“my name weeks ago, I was looking for help to escape Mother Rosie’s racket. I wasn’t looking to keep company with devils.”
“Miss Stella,” I said hurriedly, “I’m sorry. They—”
“Stop apologizing for them.” Miss Stella turned toward Cora and Freyda. “I assure you,” she said crisply, “that I am more than sufficient, in my wits and abilities, to keep you safe tonight. Especially if you keepyourwits about you, stay indoors, and keep still.”
“We thank you,” I said. “Ma’am.”
“Regardless of what you may think,” our hostess went on, “I am not yet in my dotage.”
“No, ma’am.”
“And you are not myprisoners.” The old woman’s papery voice lingered on “prisoners.” “If you have a home or another friend or acquaintance you’d prefer to go to, you have only to take your leave. I will in no way try to keep you here against your preferences.”
“Of course not,” I said.
“Come with me,” Miss Stella said. “I’ll show you the rooms where you’ll sleep tonight.”
She clicked her way toward the stairs, then began to climb, clutching her skirt in the same hand that held her walking stick and holding on to the banister. We followed after her.
At the top of the stairs, she moved past what must’ve been a large bedroom toward two doors nearer each other. “You may use these rooms,” Miss Stella explained. “There may be nightshirts in the bureau or in the closet. I’m not sure.”
“Thank you,” I said. “We’ll make do.”
“We passed the washroom,” continued our hostess. “There’s hot water if you want baths. Towels, too. I think.”
A bath was the furthest thing from my mind, but Cora’s face lit up at the word.
“And now I shall bid you good night,” said Miss Stella. “I am a light sleeper, so if you need me in the night, do not hesitate to knock at my door.” She gestured toward the door we’d passed that likely led to a large bedchamber. “If I am not here, I will be downstairs, keeping watch.”
And back down the stairs she went, stately and slow.
Freyda tentatively pushed open the door to one of the bedrooms, and we followed her in. Cora found a gas jet and matches above the fireplace and lit the lights. Two narrow, high-posted beds sat side by side in the room. This room, too, was dusty and cobwebby, but Freyda found a closet with a dust mop, a broom, and some ancient rags, and we got to work tidying it up. We shook out the bed-curtains and blankets, coughing at all the airborne dust. I cracked open a window to air out the staleness.
Against my better judgment, I looked down at the street. A shadowy figure moved and nearly stopped my heart cold. Then I realized it was Mike, still coatless, waving up to me. I waved back. He was still here. He was the one bright spot to this awful, awful night.
Finally, we remade the beds. Pearl sank onto one of them. I saw she’d begun to cry.
“Why?” she kept saying. “Why snakes?”
I saw then that the poor thing must be in shock.
“Who?” she asked the room. The heavens. “Who did this to me?”
Cora and Freyda, by silent agreement, left the room, cleaning supplies in hand. I soon heard them fussing about the next room over.
Free of their watching eyes, Pearl’s sobs flowed.
I went to her, thinking she might welcome comfort. I placed a gentle hand on her shoulder, but she flinched away from me as if there were poison in my touch.
All right, then.
“I’ll just go… help Freyda and Cora, then, shall I?”
She said nothing.
