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  I smashed against the wall and flipped around and around, my hair whipping at my face.

  I tried to catch myself as the space grew and changed. I tried to hold on to something, anything, as the floor skated away.

  Flying objects hit my head.

  I felt my ribs crack.

  Darkness opened its jaws and swallowed me.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Emma

  1895

  Emma heard her mother calling—what in heaven’s name was it now? She gave herself a few more minutes of sweet Monte Cristo solitude before facing the onslaught.

  Shutting out the shrilling, Emma savored the gift of warmth on this sunny August morning. A blackberry-scented breeze played against her skin and rattled pine-needle-glazed branches in the trees beyond where she lay. An eagle must have heard the incessant noise, too. With a sudden, strong flap, it lifted from the top of the tallest tree and flew in a lazy circle above her head before it left its forest lair on a winged journey to another, quieter part of the wooded mountainside.

  Emma would have given anything to be that bird. And for a moment she pretended she was.

  She closed her eyes and let an imaginary spiral of air catch her dress and blow her far away from her mother’s relentlessness. She coasted above the house and the trees toward dark clouds gathering in the distance over Foggy Peak. She heard rumbling. Was that thunder? Perhaps a storm was approaching.

  She tilted her body and extended her dark, feathered arms, entranced by the view back to earth. How small and insignificant everything seemed. Her mother had disappeared, and their house was nothing more than a colorful speck, the world beyond the mountains an open jewel box, waiting for her, wishing for her. . . .

  And then again she heard that voice.

  She plummeted from the sky and was back firmly on earth, mired, as always, in her mother’s disapproval.

  With a sigh, Emma stood and closed her book, shaking away bits of grass that clung to the back of her dress. She scanned the horizon for a last glimpse of eagle wings as she meandered through the meadow to where her mother stood on the porch, the immense, elegant mansion dwarfing her, an angry shadow crossing her face.

  She was in her usual tizzy. “You disappear exactly when you are needed, Emma. I thought I told you yesterday I would require help with the tea.”

  “I thought that meant later today. I assumed I had the morning free.”

  “Well, you assumed wrong.”

  Before their tête-à-tête spiraled her mother from tizzy to fury, Emma smiled her learned smile and changed the subject. “How may I be of help?”

  “Go find your brothers. Kerry took them for a nature walk over an hour ago, and she should have returned them by now.”

  “Which way did they go?”

  “Toward the new barn construction. I want you all in the parlor in twenty minutes for further instruction. You know I am expecting the finest ladies of Monte Cristo society today. Has everyone forgotten the need for proper dress? Does everyone imagine they can just throw on any old apparel over an unclean body without thought or regard to the occasion?” With that, she whirled away in her pink frock and propelled herself through the front door.

  The only words of significance Emma heard out of her mother’s mouth were new barn construction. She turned back toward the meadow and the hiding spot she had just come from. Their secret meeting place.

  He would be back any day now.

  A smile spread like molten gold across her face, and a quiver of joy cleaved straight through her heart.

  SHE found their nanny, with Jacob and Miles, near the riverbank. They had been piling rocks around on the grass to form what looked like a town ringed with a fence.

  “Mother wants you to bring the boys back to the house, Kerry.”

  Kerry grimaced at the sky with a wobble of her head and a roll of her eyes. “Indeed? She had given me a full two hours to spend outside with the boys, miss. I imagine not even an hour has yet passed.”

  This slight, freckled nanny, sixteen, and only a year older than Emma, had a bold streak she often admired, though admittedly from afar and in silence. “She has changed her mind, and requests our presence in the parlor. Immediately.”

  “I would prefer to stay here, Emma. Right, Jacob?” said Miles, prodding at his brother.

  “You can come back to your city, later,” Emma cajoled, with the promise of another day.

  “This is a fort. Not a city.” Her younger brother looked at her with his pretty, pleading eyes. She stifled a smile. Miles could swindle a tough robber out of his booty with just such a look.

  “No, dear, you must get up now. It’s starting to rain”

  Jacob glanced at Emma’s face and got off the ground, picking grass off his knees. “Come, Miles. Better to mind Mother.”

  Already at five years old, Jacob had good instincts and would do what he had to do to keep their mother on an even keel. He leaned up against Emma, waiting for his year-younger brother, who was taking his time, hating to be parted from any sort of fun.

  They walked in silence back to the house, all knowing they could be heading into a hurricane. Her mother, as promised, waited in the parlor.

  “Well, you have returned them at last, Kerry. Now, after their midday meal, the boys must be sponged and powdered and dressed in their new white sailor suits and best black shoes. And make sure their hair is combed and curled properly around their faces and collars.”

  “Yes, madam,” said Kerry.

  Emma’s mother beamed at her sons. “You will make me proud. And Jacob, your piano recital for the ladies will be ever so pleasing. Are you ready to be watched by female admirers?”

  “Yes, Mother.”

  “And you . . .” She turned to Emma and frowned. “Not the blue linen today. It clashes badly with your hair. Although, everything clashes with your unseemly red hair. It is an unlovely color.” She shook her head. “Wear the apricot silk. I suppose it will do.”

  Jacob took Emma’s hand and squeezed. His small act of kindness brought a lump to her throat. Except for the occasional strike against her legs with a pine bough, her mother rarely brought her to tears anymore. But the constant love of her brothers, especially this one, often did.

  Her mother dismissed her, keeping Jacob and Miles behind. Alone, Emma climbed the elaborate staircase and walked the long length of corridor to her room, all the while listening to her brothers’ laughter and the ivory and ebony tinkling under Jacob’s little fingers as he practiced his piece. She heard her mother’s loving encouragement. For her brothers. It had always been this way.

  Emma closed her door and removed her clothing and the bow from her hair. She put on her lace dressing gown and sat on her brass bed, breathing a sigh of relief, stilling her heart. She was safe in her private refuge now, an oasis of peace in this troubled home.

  Her mother was wrong. Someone thought her hair was a lovely color. Someone even loved her. Desire ran up from her legs to her stomach, melting her insides, and the thought of his kisses and his hands on her made her gasp. A thrilling new life was opening in front of her, filled with a passion so great that the very thought of him nearly swept her off the bed and onto the floor.

  This was her secret, his promise, something of her very own, and no one could take it away. She would disappear from this lonely house. Escape her mother. She had exactly two years and ten months to find the courage to leave.

  Thunder rumbled again and brought her out of her reverie. It was never too soon to prepare. She was fifteen now, certainly too big for toys. She would store away her childish playthings.

  She shrugged out of the dressing gown, not wanting to take a chance on tearing it. In her cotton knickers and chemise, she dragged a stool inside her closet and stacked her wooden horses, spinning tops, and picture puzzles high on the top shelf.

  She piled six dolls on the next shelf. They had been her companions for as long as she could remember. Emma ran her fingers across fine china limbs, and smoothed the
ir elegant gowns and lustrous manes. She turned their painted faces away from her and tucked a yellow baby blanket around their bodies as if she were putting them to bed. Next, she hung her hoops and ice skates on clothes hooks hammered into the pink painted beadboard.

  The light in the closet dimmed. Emma watched dark clouds paint gray streaks across the sun outside the little window. She shuddered at a violent clap of thunder. A ferocious storm had arrived. Rain pelted the windowpanes, and a flash of lightning lit up her room. Emma leapt off the stool and glanced at the clock sitting on her bedside table. There was still time to finish up before Kerry came to help her dress for the tea.

  She crossed to the open window. Black clouds had pushed away all the white ones, and the texture of the sky was churning. Just like that, the sun disappeared, as if a shade had been drawn over it. Cool raindrops hit Emma’s face, and the smell of loamy earth wafted up from the yard as she caught the knob and closed it. Thunder clapped again, followed by a flash and streak of lightning. Whispers of voices resonated in her head, a male and a female in conversation.

  A rolling boom brought her back. The clock’s hands had moved too quickly. It was now just before noon. Where had the missing measure of time gone? She shook herself and scanned the room. Emma would not let a summer rainstorm hamper her important work.

  The biggest doll of all stood by itself in the corner. The doll’s stony blue eyes, set in smooth, creamy porcelain, gazed at Emma in reproach. The extravagant Christmas gift had been from her father over three years ago. It had been a kindness from a father who was often distracted by his impressive job, but loved her in his own way. And she loved him back, mostly in silence, as was her way.

  She looked the closet over to make sure there was enough room to prop the doll in against the wall. The air inside shimmered. How peculiar! Frowning, Emma moved closer and waved her hand in front of her, running it through what seemed to be tiny, glistening bubbles. A crash of thunder, and the tempest rattled the house, and rain beat like little pebbles on the glass.

  She turned around again to the doll as a fierce gust of wind banged the window back open. With that gust, the little door slammed shut, snatching her like the devil into darkness.

  Emma struck the far wall and screamed Kerry’s name.

  She twisted around and around. Her hair whipped and pricked her face.

  The slippery walls tumbled away and a chilly wind scraped against her body.

  She felt herself falling. . . .

  CHAPTER THREE

  Sonnet

  1895

  Small hands grabbed my wrists and dragged me forward. A jumble of broken dolls and toys and ice skates tumbled with me. A wooden stool with a yellow baby blanket coiled through its rungs had fallen over on my leg. I bent my knee and it toppled away. Every inch of my body hurt. I lay against the wall and felt something wet dripping down my face and off my chin. It hurt to breathe.

  A voice standing over me whirred in almost indecipherable English, “Whatever were you doing in the closet? Sit still now. You have hurt your head. And what clothes have you donned? And these red boots?” She dabbed at my face.

  “Ouch!” I tried to focus. “What?” I raised my arm and touched my forehead. White hot pain. I heard moaning. Was that me?

  She grabbed my hand. “And what is this? A ring?” Her words floated out in a soft lilt. Worried hazel eyes skimmed across my face.

  “Do I know you?” I asked.

  “Miss Emma, it is I, Kerry!”

  “My name is Sonnet. And I have no idea who you are.” Drained, I laid my splitting head back against the wall. Even my teeth hurt. I ran my tongue around my mouth and tasted blood. I had bitten the inside of my cheek. “How did you find me? Have you seen the others?”

  “Others? You are not making any sense.”

  Footsteps charged at us from outside the room. Kerry snatched a lacy thing off the floor and tossed it over my clothes. She threw the hem of her long dress over my red tennis shoes and clobbered her hand down on my hand and held on tight. The door burst open.

  “What is this, Emma? What have you done?”

  The woman’s dress clenched her waist into a tiny circle hardly bigger around than her head, and poodle-dog bangs, falling from a loose bun, quivered in a blond mound above her eyebrows. She would have been beautiful, except for that hard face. I pushed back against the wall. She was calling me Emma, too. “I don’t understand . . .”

  “You have made a mess and broken your old playthings. The shelving has fallen. Kerry, get her out of that dressing gown and into bed. She is bleeding on the expensive lace. I will send for Doctor Withers—and no fighting me in this regard, young lady. You will see the doctor whether you want to or not. And now, between the storm and this, my tea is ruined.” She left the room in a whirling haze of pink.

  Crazy lady. Kerry lugged me to my feet and handed me a cloth to hold against my forehead. Swaying with pain, I held my sore ribs and tried to push away the confusion. Was I dreaming? Or was this a mind-altering concussion? Kerry appeared to be my age. A small, white cap perched on top of hair stretched back into a frizzy knob, a few red twists escaping from its sides around her flushed cheeks. A gray dress and white apron stained with blood hung on her tiny body. She had been using her clothes to catch the drips from my forehead.

  “Is this a hotel, Kerry?”

  “No, miss, a house, as well you know it.” She led me to a brass bed and urged me forward. I watched through half-closed eyes as she ripped off my clothes and pulled a white flannel nightgown over my head. She gathered my things up, shoving them into a pillowcase, and tossed the white bundle under the bed.

  “I must have hurt myself in that old mansion we were running around in and somehow ended up at a neighbor’s. I didn’t know people actually lived in this place. Can you please go get someone from my family? They’re . . . down the hill through the trees. You’ll see the cars parked by the river.” I was babbling.

  “You mean your mother? She is sending for the doctor. Lie still, Miss Emma.”

  “My mother isn’t here. She went home yesterday. My aunt and uncle and another man are panning for gold. At the river. Close to a big boulder. They’re probably setting up the picnic by now. And stop with the Emma. You’re mistaking me for someone else.”

  Kerry ignored me. She sat down on the side of the bed and took my hand in hers. She eyed my new ring for a moment and then yanked it off my finger, dropping it into her pocket.

  “Hey!” I leaned forward to grab at it. A searing pain in my neck knocked me back on the pillow. I glared at her. “My grandfather gave that to me for my birthday yesterday. Give it to me.”

  “Yes, yes. I will keep it for you today. You know how your mother feels about fripperies on young ladies.”

  “I don’t understand a word you’re saying.”

  “The doctor will be here soon. You lie still. You have a severe injury, and moving your head around does not help your condition.”

  I scrunched my face at her and turned away, scanning across the space. Pink-and-white wallpaper. A fireplace, stacked with books on its mantel. A row of windows covered in lace. A big doll standing in a corner. The room was girly, a kid’s bedroom. I ran my hand over the bedcover’s pastel softness and let a lemony smell and a ticking clock calm me.

  I heard horses’ hooves. Stamping. Horses in Monte Cristo?

  And where were Rapp and Evan? Where were Lia and Niki and Jules? Why had they just left me?

  A loud knock jolted me back to groggy consciousness. A man in a formal suit, followed by the woman in pink, scurried at me, sweaty and hot, as if he’d just stepped out of a sauna with all his clothes on. “Miss Emma.”

  “I’m not Emma.”

  Bringing himself and his large black bag to the side of the bed, the doctor moved the bloody cloth and bent over me. A bead of sweat rolled from his forehead down the side of his wet face and plopped on the pillow. He stood and unbuttoned his wool jacket, handing it behind him to Kerry, creating a
strong waft of tobacco and cheese across my face. My stomach turned. I wrenched my head as far away as I could. He pressed hard against me while he rolled up his sleeves and unbuttoned his collar. “Seven stitches. Bring clean towels and a bowl of hot water.”

  “You can’t just stitch up my head without getting someone’s permission,” I said.

  He aimed his words at the pink dress. “I will give her a large dose of laudanum now for the pain and the accompanying bout of hysteria. Emma is not herself. The head injury has brought on temporary amnesia. Make sure she takes large doses of the remedy over the next two days. She’ll be able to leave the bed by then if her memory returns.”

  “Hello! I’m right here! You can’t do anything without talking to my aunt first. You need her permission. Please, bring me a cell phone.”

  “I have your mother’s permission. I do not need your aunt’s.” He reached into his black bag and brought out a glass bottle. He popped the cork stopper and poured reddish-brown, dirty smelling liquid into a big metal spoon. “Open up your mouth.”

  “She’s not my mother! You’re mistaking me for someone else. All of you. What is this, a freak house? Get away from me!” I tried to slide out of the other side of the bed as he snatched my arm and dragged me back.

  “Do not argue with Doctor Withers, Emma,” said the woman. “Now, open your mouth and take the linctus. Do what you must, Doctor. We will tie her down if necessary.”

  The doctor was ready with the spoon. The woman held my arms against my sides, pinning me. Doctor Withers pushed my chin down, opening my mouth, and poured in the liquid. I kicked my legs and gagged, but I swallowed the fiery, foul-tasting medicine. He put another spoonful in my mouth. And another. I bucked and screamed and choked while he caught my face and held his hand over my mouth until I swallowed. Flames singed my throat, and hot tears fell from my eyes.