At the bottom of the staircase, she followed Momma across an open area with a fireplace, bookshelves that went up to the ceiling, and chairs that looked soft as pillows. The air smelled like soap and wood and metal and dead flowers. Pictures of mountains, people, and horses filled the walls, and a sparkly light made of shiny beads hung from the ceiling. The rug beneath Lilly’s feet felt as thick as the mattress on her bed.
She could hardly believe what she was feeling and seeing and smelling. How could the ceilings be so high, the walls so far apart? What kept such a giant house from falling in on itself? And what did her parents do with all this space? This one room alone could house twenty people. She felt weak and wobbly, like she did when Momma forgot to feed her. More than anything, she wanted to go back upstairs. The world was almost too much.
Then she pictured Momma reading a book next to the fancy windows while Daddy smoked by the fireplace, his feet on the footstool. She pictured Momma and Daddy comfortable and warm, drinking hot tea and enjoying each other’s company. And for the first time ever, anger at Daddy knotted in her stomach. How could he leave me upstairs? Why didn’t he let me come down here when no one else was around? Maybe then I wouldn’t be so scared right now. Didn’t he care that I was all alone?
Tears blurred her vision, but she kept going. There was no other choice. After the fireplace room, she followed Momma down another shadowy walkway with doors on both sides. The light from Momma’s lantern filled each open doorway, and Lilly craned her neck to see inside the rooms. High shelves and books filled one room, and a long table surrounded by cloth-covered chairs filled another. At the end of the hall, they entered what looked like a kitchen, their footsteps clacking on the black and white tile floor. Copper pots and pans hung over a center counter, and a black stove sat beneath a stone archway. White cupboards with glass doors lined the blue walls. Above the double sink, a flowered curtain hung over a window made of little squares, with potted plants lining the sill. What Lilly imagined were the leftover aromas of cooking and cleaning filled the kitchen—fried onions and baking bread, water boiling in a kettle and strong soap. For reasons she didn’t understand, she wanted to stay there, to open the cupboards and see what was inside, to soak in the warmth from the stove and eat a meal. It reminded her of the kitchens she had read about in books, where mothers and daughters peeled potatoes and frosted cakes, where entire families sat at tables eating and talking. What was it like to stand at a sink and wash dishes in soapy water, to bake cookies in the oven and make soup on the stove? What was it like to eat with other people?
Momma said Lilly couldn’t eat with her and Daddy because seeing her across the dinner table would make them lose their appetites.
Remembering what Momma said made Lilly’s lungs squeeze shut. All of a sudden, she couldn’t breathe. She stopped and gripped the edge of the counter, air squeaking in her chest.
Momma glanced back at her. “What are you doing?”
“I don’t want to . . .” Lilly said between struggling breaths. “Everyone will think . . . I’m a monster! They’re going to . . . to . . .”
Momma scowled. “I told you, circus performers are used to people like you. Now stop being bad and do what I say. Your father went to a lot of time and expense to surprise you, and I won’t have you ruining it.”
Before Lilly could say another word, Momma grabbed her wrist and dragged her into a small room off the kitchen. Coats hung from hooks on the walls, shoes and boots lined the floor, and a door looked like it led outside. Lilly counted the boots and shoes, trying to calm down. One, two, three, four, five, six. Little by little, her chest loosened and she could breathe better. Momma set the lantern on the floor and took a sweater from a hook. She put it on, picked up the lantern, and grabbed the door handle. Then she paused, lifted a jacket from a hook, and handed it to Lilly.
“Put this on. You might need it later.”
“Later?” Lilly said.
Momma shook her head. “I mean, when we come back.”
Lilly took the jacket and put it on. It felt heavy on her shoulders and the sleeves hung past her hands.
“Roll them up,” Momma said. “And hurry. We’ve got to get over there before it’s too late.”
Lilly did as she was told, shivering and sweating at the same time. She wanted to ask what they might be too late for, but couldn’t find the right words.
Momma pulled open the door and slipped out into the night.
Lilly stood in the open doorway, holding the jacket tight around herself. This was the moment she had imagined a thousand times, the moment she had dreamed about nearly every night, the moment she thought would be the happiest of her life. But now, the idea that she was about to walk out of the house shocked her so badly she felt like she was about to float out of her body into the dark outside. It seemed, for an instant, that she did, and she could look back and see herself standing in the doorway.
“Come on,” Momma called over her shoulder. “Hurry up.” She kept walking, unaware that Lilly had stopped on the threshold.
Lilly thought about turning around and running back up to her room, but Momma would just come after her. And she would hit her again. That would be worse than going to the circus. Besides, what if she never had this chance again? She took a deep breath, ignored the rattle in her chest, and stepped out of Blackwood Manor. The outdoors felt enormous, bigger than she ever could have imagined, vaster than she ever could have dreamed. She stood shaking, surprised and scared and happy all at the same time.
She was outside.
A half-moon slid down the side of a cloudless sky filled with a million stars, casting a wintery glow over the summer night. And the smells, oh, the smells! She wasn’t sure what wonderful aromas filled the air, but she imagined grass and dirt and trees and water and mud and insects and leaves. She imagined horses and hay and flowers and rain. The thousands of pictures she had pored over in books flashed in her mind, and now she was about to see them in real life. A warm breeze caressed her face. Night felt warm and soft, like breathing under a blanket. She pushed up her sleeves to feel the air on her skin, and moonlight reflected off her white hands and arms. They looked like they belonged to a ghost.
Momma kept going, walking fast, and the yellow circle of lantern light moved farther and farther away, bouncing across the grass. On one hand, Lilly wanted to know what it felt like to be surrounded by night. On the other, she was terrified by the massive, empty space. Who knew what lay beyond the darkness, just feet from where she stood? Who knew if she would be swallowed by blackness, or snatched up by a wild animal?