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She rolled onto her stomach, burying her ugly face in the soft quilting.
A quiet rat-ta-ta-tat roused her.
Blinking, bleary-eyed, she crawled to a sit and looked around, trying to find the source of the noise. "Ian?" She said his name and felt a surge of hope.
The doorknob turned, the door opened.
The fat woman?Edith?stood in the doorway, holding a silver tray filled with steaming bowls. There were a few of the strangers behind her. The fragile-looking woman with rust-colored hair and the thin girl who sucked her finger. Thumb. The girl who sucked her thumb.
Edith made a qu
iet tsking sound. "Poor thing. 'Tisn't your fault you're feebleminded."
Selena sniffed and wiped her runny nose on her sleeve. She got to her feet and moved toward Edith. Words floated through her dazed mind, formed themselves into blurry sentences, questions. "Why?" was the only word that made it past her lips.
The rosy color seeped out of Edith's fleshy cheeks. She paused, her kind eyes fixed on Selena. "I can't answer that for ye, lassie. 'Tis God's way to make some people sick."
The red-haired woman walked toward her. "Selena?" Her voice was lovely and lyrical, more song than spoken.
Selena tried to ask the woman's name. "Bottle .. . answer." She groaned in frustration. She couldn't do it, couldn't find the right words to express her thoughts.
"Maeve." The woman answered the question Selena had meant to ask. When Maeve reached Selena, she slipped her small, cold hand into hers and gave a reassuring squeeze. The touch was soothing. "I understand."
Selena looked down into Maeve's sad hazel eyes and believed her. Somehow, this woman did understand Selena's pain and fear. The realization was so powerful that Selena's knees buckled. For the first time since Ian
left, she felt less alone. Thank you. The words blossomed in her mind, full-blown and understood. "Sea ..." She squeezed her eyes shut, ashamed that she couldn't even express the simple acknowledgment.
"Don't worry, child. You'll get better. And if you don't?" Maeve shrugged her slim shoulders. "You don't. Believe me, you can get used to anything."
"Come on now, Maeve," Edith scolded. "Don't depress the lassie. She might not know she's ... you know ..." Her voice fell to a stage whisper. "Braindamaged."
Maeve gave the housekeeper an arch look. "She does now."
Edith blanched, then bustled forward and set the tray down on the bedside table. A foreign aroma wafted to Selena's nostrils, and she had a vague recollection.
"Food," she said suddenly, remembering what it was, but not what to do with it.
"Aye, lassie. Food. We have a lovely fish stew for you."
Selena didn't understand the words, but the scent brought back a deep-seated instinctual need. A strange rumbling moved through her stomach. She moved toward the tray, dragging Maeve along behind her.
Selena hiked up her nightdress and sat down on the straw-seated chair, scooting in close to the table. Maeve sat down beside her, and the thumb-sucking child stood behind Selena, hovering and silent.
Edith dished a bowl full of the steaming red and white stew and set it down in front of Selena. "There ye go, lassie. Dig in."
Selena frowned. Dig? She pictured a shovel and mound of dirt, a headstone.
"Eat," Maeve whispered.
Selena wasn't sure what eat meant, but her stomach rumbled again and she reached for a floating chunk of whitefish. The broth scalded her fingertips. With a yelp of pain, she drew back and plunged her burnt fingers
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