She was sitting at her desk, a pile of books dominating the space, and scribbling in a notebook. Her basket with her knitting supplies, her needles and scissors and yarn, was atop her reading chair.
“You’ll be fine, I trust? I’ll be back before curfew.”
“Don’t worry.”
“What time is Edgar picking you up on Friday?”
“Two o’clock,” she said.
“Why don’t you go to Carolyn’s room and read there?”
“I’m fine.”
“The girls are probably up to some fun, I bet—”
“I’m safe from any curses in this room.”
I had been tying a scarf around my neck but I stopped when I heard that, and before I could think better of it, I spoke in exasperation. “Good God, Ginny, do you even listen to yourself anymore? You really do talk like you’ve gone insane!”
She raised her head and set her pencil down, resting her hands in her lap. Then she looked at me but didn’t speak. I felt wretched. I knew how much my words pained her, how she feared people perceived her. She was going to spend the break with Edgar’s family, but the thought of it made her terribly nervous. The idea of the sanatorium, of confinement, lingered in her mind, and she suspected the man she loved would one day label her a madwoman.
I knelt next to her side and clutched her hand. How soft it was, how thin and fragile.
“Ginny, forgive me.”
“I’m not angry.”
I didn’t know how to help her, how to soothe her, but it was Ginny who soothed me, running a hand down my hair. I rested my head on her lap. The grandfather clock struck the hour downstairs and I stood up, weary.
“I’ll leave you the number of Mrs. Audrain’s house, in case you need me,” I said, and scribbled it on a scrap of paper. “Promise you’ll call if anything’s wrong.”
She tucked the piece of paper under her notebook. “I’ll be fine.”
“Well, then call if you’re bored.”
“I’ll finish knitting that hat that I promised you. Don’t you worry,” she said, and she gave me the most dazzling of smiles.
I hurried out of the dorm and met Mrs. Audrain. Her house was in Temperance Landing. She was an awful hostess who would burn soup if left to her own devices, but she had a cook and eachseason she’d avail herself of a student or two who would walk around a room with a tray of canapés, place coats in the closet for guests, or set the table for her. I was used to paying for my room and board one way or another, and I ventured into the kitchen to assist with the preparations with a smile.
It was almost seven o’clock and the guests were streaming into the house when the phone rang. Mrs. Audrain turned to me.
“Won’t you take a message for me, dear?” she asked.
I lifted the receiver and expected to hear a professor offering an excuse about why they wouldn’t be able to make it that evening.
“Hello, Audrain residence,” I said.
“Betty, it’s me. I know who’s bewitched me.”
Ginny’s voice sounded low and strained. I could hardly make out the words and adjusted the receiver.
“Ginny? What happened?”
“I know their names, but I can’t speak them. They’ve tied my tongue. If something goes wrong, find bell, book, and candle.”
“What?”
She hung up and when I dialed back the line was busy. A second felt like a week as I clutched the telephone receiver against my ear, and I feared I would not get through to her.
