Page 29 of My Darling Girls

There’s no reply.

The pull of the water intensifies. The memory is now raw and fresh. It pulsates in her veins. If she doesn’t do what she needs to, it won’t let her go.

Remember. The voice sounds like Millie but comes from the bottom of the well.

She must take another plunge. She survived it once, and she can do it again.

Jo climbs on the wall of the well and jumps.

It’s 1894, shortly before she met August. Jo’s twenty years old again, and she’s sitting on the riverbank, watching the water. The scent of sweet clover lingers in the air. The river is murky today, the levels higher than usual. It must be the storm that swept through their town two days ago, leaving uprooted trees in its wake. Her gaze follows twigs and leaves that spin and drift downstream. The sky’s clear, the sunlight already hot. She usually doesn’t mind hot summer mornings by the river. The warmth of the air against her skin. The earthy smell.

But today, everything is different.

She dreamed of death last night. In her nightmare, she was drowning, but she managed to get her head above the water. Jo shivers at the memory of the icy stream. Her skin was numb. Her teeth were chattering. She dragged herself to the shore and, her knees scraped, crawled in the direction of her father’s mill. She remembers the pain in her fingernails—torn and bleeding. Thick mud between her toes. Sharp rocks cutting her skin. The mill wasn’t there, washed away by strong currents. Her home was gone and so was her father.

A breeze brushes her face, and she hugs her knees close to her chest, trying to warm herself up. The air is hot, but she’s freezing. The river in her dream. Why was it so angry? The stench of rot was strong. The air was filled with the smell of her own death and the nauseating scent of fish. It made her sick. She laid her body on the shore, her face pressed into the sludge. She remained like this for how long, she didn’t know, until she inhaled the dirt, choked, and woke up.

Her dream frightened her so much, she forgot to prepare breakfast for her father. She will pay for it later. Of that, she’s sure. She needed to get out of the house, and so she rushed to the river in search of what, she didn’t know. Probably to make sure it wasn’t as deadly as it was in her dream. Her mouth still carries the memory of the mud. It coats her tongue, turns her stomach. She leans forward and spits, fully expecting to see a clump of dirt in her saliva, but there’s none. Of course, there’s none. What was she thinking?

“Hello,” a woman’s voice says, and Jo jolts. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to frighten you.” A young woman steps out from the trees. She smiles, a little gap toothed. “I didn’t expect to see anyone at this early hour.” She’s young, around Jo’s age, with high cheekbones and a small, elegant nose. Her hair is cut short. Shorter than what is appropriate for a lady. That’s what her father would say. But Jo . . . she likes it. It’s daring. A statement of sorts. The woman takes a few tentative steps. Her dress is smart and modest with a high collar and muted yellow colors.

Jo’s hair whips around her face in the wind. She hasn’t brushed her hair since . . . she doesn’t remember. Her brown skirt is wrinkled, and her shirt has milk spill spots on it. “Hello.” Jo’s voice cracks either from the embarrassment of being caught spitting like a man or looking like a complete vagabond. Perhaps both.

“Is it all right if I join you?” The woman holds a fake alligator-skin travel bag in her right hand and a straw hat in her left.

Jo nods, and the woman briskly walks up to the spot where Jo is sitting and sets her trunk on the grass. Throws her hat on top of the trunk. “I’m utterly exhausted. The ride here almost killed me. This town needs a railroad.” She lowers herself on the grass. A subtle scent of perfume—jasmine—floats over to Jo. As the woman smiles again, Jo’s suddenly aware of every sound: the way the birds chirp in the trees, the whisper of the river, and her own heavy breathing. “I’ve arrived this morning instead of the afternoon as I said I would. I was dropped off near the church, and no one was expecting me,” the woman says, her amber eyes inspecting Jo with almost clinical attention. “And then, instead of going to school and setting up my classroom, I went for a walk.” She turns to the river with a dreamy expression on her face. “It’s beautiful here. Peaceful.”

“You’re the new teacher,” Jo says. “Miss Lambert. From Ohio.”

“That I am. From Ohio.” Her smile is wide, all white teeth and cheerfulness, as if they’re friends already. “And you?”

“I’m the miller’s daughter. Miss Noll.”

“The miller’s daughter.” A soft giggle. “God be my witness, but you don’t know how to introduce yourself, Miss Noll.”

Blood rushes to Jo’s face. “I’m not good with introductions. No one ever comes to our town. People usually leave it.”

“It’s because you don’t have a railroad going through. As I said, you folks need one.”

“Daddy says those who come here are worthy of God’s love.”

Miss Lambert throws her head back and laughs. She laughs so hard, she doubles over with it, clutching her stomach. She’s so loud, the birds stop singing for a few seconds.

“What’s so funny?” Jo asks, her voice grumpy.

Miss Lambert wipes her eyes. “Oh god, I don’t remember when I laughed so hard.” She notices Jo’s sullen face and sighs. “I’m making everything worse, am I? I tend to do that.” Her small grin is disarming and tender. “I didn’t mean to embarrass you or anything. But your daddy’s wrong. God doesn’t love those who come to Millville. He despises them.” She raises a perfectly shaped eyebrow. “And your introduction. You’re subordinating yourself to your father. I’m sure you’re much more than just a miller’s daughter.”

Is she, really? Jo’s never considered herself to be anything but the miller’s daughter. “I . . . I’m not sure I understand.” She doesn’t know what to do with all the thoughts and emotions building inside her.

Miss Lambert shrugs. “Never mind now. One day, I might be able to see the real Miss Noll. What are you doing here at such an early hour?”

“I come here every morning. To be alone.”

“It’s a nice place.” The teacher pulls out a crumpled piece of a newspaper and drops it on Jo’s lap. “I came to Millville because of this. My mother passed away, and I needed to move. To make my own way in this world.”

Jo looks down at the piece of paper and hands it back to Miss Lambert.

“Do you know where I can find him?”