one as she heard voices. Emma scooted back against the wall and sat
frozen, staring at the shards of china from the vase she'd broken.
They would beat her. Send her away. Shut her up in a dark room to be
eaten.
"Emma?" Still dazed with sleep, floating a bit on the joint he'd smoked
before he and Bev had made love, Brian walked toward her.
She curled into herself, bracing for the blow. "Are you all right?"
"They broke it," she told him, hoping to save herself.
"They?"
"The dark things. Mam sent them to get me."
"Oh, Emma." He dropped his cheek to the top of her head.
"Brian, what--" Still belting her robe, Bev rushed out. She saw
what was left of her Dresden vase, gave a little sigh, then crossed to
them, avoiding the shards. "Is she hurt?"
"I don't think so. She's terrified."
"Let's have a look." She took Emma's hand. It was fisted, her arm taut
as a wire. "Emma." Her voice had firmed, but there was no meanness in
it. Cautious, Emma lifted her head. "Did you hurt yourself ?"
Still wary, Emma pointed to her knee. There were a few drops of blood
on the white T-shirt. Bev lifted the hem. It was a long scratch, but
shallow. Still, she imagined most children would have wailed over it.
Perhaps Emma didn't because it was nothing compared to the bruises Brian
had found on the girl when he'd bathed her. In a gesture more automatic
than maternal, Bev lowered her head to kiss the hurt. When she saw
Emma's mouth drop open in shock, her heart was lost.
"All right, sweetie, we'll take care of it." She picked Emma up and
nuzzled her neck.
"There are things in the dark," Emma whispered.
"Your daddy will chase them away. Won't you, Bri?"
The Irish in him, or perhaps the drug, made him weepy when he looked at
the woman he loved holding his child. "Sure. I'll chop them up and
toss them out."
"After you do, you'd better sweep this up," Bev told him.
Emma spent the night, the first of her new life, snuggled with her
family in a big brass bed.
AS SHE Had every day for nine days, Emma sat on the big window seat in
the front parlor and looked through the mullioned glass. She stared
beyond the edges of the garden with its nodding foxglove and bushy
columbine to the long graveled drive. And waited.
Her bruises were fading, but she hadn't noticed. No one in the big new
house had hit her. Yet. She'd been given tea every day, and presents
of sugar plums and china dolls from the friends who came and went so
casually in her father's house.
It was all very confusing for Emma. She was given a bath every day,
even if she hadn't been playing in the dirt, and clean-smelling clothes
to wear. No one called her a stupid baby because she was frightened of
the dark. The lamp with the pink shade was turned on in her room every
night, and there were little rosebuds on the walls. The monsters hardly
ever came into her new room.
She was afraid to like it, because she was sure her mam would be coming