The first time that Jenny had seen a carriage, at five years old, it had brought strangers who should have been family.  She had been in town with her father, delighted to have him all to herself, away from the competition of her siblings.  She’d been anxious, greedy to monopolize that brief time.  Then she had seen the carriage, and all other thoughts were gone.

It was a strange sight.  Carriages like that, varnished things led by shining chestnut mares, never came to Liscannor.  Jenny tugged on her father’s arm, asking what that great ceilinged wagon was.  Samuel O’Brien did his best to ignore her.  He was busy bartering with a red-faced merchant, trying to get more than a few measly coins for a week’s worth of potatoes.  It was only after Jenny had scrunched up her face and screeched, “Papa!” that he finally turned around, ready to box her ears.

“Look!” Jenny exclaimed, pointing enthusiastically at that grand glittery carriage, as it came to a halting stop.  And as two figures gracefully descended from it, it was with even more excitement that she repeated, “Look!”

There was a tall, beautiful woman with dark auburn hair, clad in a delicate white muslin.  She walked with a light gait, and her expression was vaguely distant and dark.  Holding her hand, looking anxious, was a little girl not that much older than Jenny, perhaps seven or eight.  She was angelic in pale pink, with the same reddish hair as the woman who had to be her mother.

Samuel stared at them.  Jenny watched as her father tried to swallow, once, twice, to no avail.  She was confused by the look on his face.  He looked confused, and Jenny had never seen her father look like that before.  Then, quite suddenly, he sprang to life.  Dragging little Jenny behind him, Samuel maneuvered his way through the crowd gathering around the elegant pair.  He ignored the enraged cries of the merchant, demanding that he deliver the potatoes he’d just paid for.  They swung back and forth in their burlap sack, as Samuel pushed through the throng with even greater urgency.

Jenny didn’t mind being pulled and jostled; she was too eager to get a closer look at the fairy-like woman and girl.  She got her wish, thanks to her father’s strong arms and stubbornness.

“Hannah!” her father cried.  “Hannah!”  The beautiful woman started at his wild, desperate, impatient tone.  The little girl looked up at her, confused.

“Hannah!” Samuel said again, this time with unbelieving joy.  The woman turned to face him.  Surprise and panic flickered in her eyes, settling into hesitancy.  Her mouth curved into an unwilling smile, riddled with guilt.  But the whole world looked at her when she smiled, no matter how sad she looked.  She had one of those faces.

“Hello, brother,” she said, with just a trace of Ireland left in her lilt.  “Did you miss me?”  She said it playfully, as if she didn’t really know how much a person could be missed.  How much she could be missed.

“What are you doing here?” Samuel had asked. 

Jenny looked around, feeling the crowd’s intense gaze upon them.  She rubbed her nose and turned away again, feeling shy, even though she knew each of the faces staring at her.  The beautiful woman looked down, and her smile vanished.

“I wanted to come home,” she whispered.  “I wanted Elsie to see my home.”

“Why didn’t you send word?  We could have—”

“I couldn’t,” she hissed.  Though her voice was soft, Samuel took a step back. 

The beautiful woman looked down, her eyes big.  “I’m not even supposed to be here,” she said.

Samuel frowned.  “Why’s that?”

The woman looked over her brother’s shoulder at the crowd, hungering for freshly caught gossip.  “Can we please go somewhere more private?” she asked.  Samuel obliged her.  The four of them rode back home in his cart in silence.

Jenny hadn’t understood enough then to be very interested in anything beyond the peculiarity of the event, but now, back from the beach, the memory was rather important to her.  Though she was hours late, her mother had left breakfast for her, and slowly chewing her gruel, cold and neglected since that morning, Jenny tried to remember how Elizabeth had looked.  But she couldn’t conjure much more than a pink smudge. 

She could remember the ride back well enough.  Elizabeth the pink smudge clearly uncomfortable in the straw-scattered back of their wagon.  Both Samuel and Aunt Hannah staring wordlessly ahead.  Even then, Jenny had known better than to break the cold silence.

Once home, Jenny and her sisters had played with Elizabeth while the grown-ups talked about probably dull things.  Jenny wished that she had spent less time fawning over Elizabeth’s dress and more time listening in on that conversation.  She might have gathered some information about her strange, rich relatives. 

As things were, she had very little to go off of.  Aunt Hannah and Elizabeth had only stayed for that one afternoon.  After only a few hours, Aunt Hannah had stormed away with her daughter in tow, calling back angrily that she didn’t need a carriage, that she could still walk just as well as anyone else.  Jenny and her siblings hadn’t understood her point—she did have feet, didn’t she? —but they were sad to see Elizabeth, the living doll, leave.  Jenny had been left wishing that her aunt and cousin had, in fact, needed a carriage.  She had been very anxious to see one again. 

She supposed that now, ten years later, would be her chance.  Pity her siblings were all grown up and gone; they would miss the golden opportunity.

Samuel had wanted Elizabeth’s arrival to be a joyful occasion, but judging by the gloomy clouds still circling above, and the fact that the welcoming party would be but three, it was not shaping up to be exuberant.  Her parents were already outside.  Samuel had insisted they be there to welcome Elizabeth after such a long journey.  Caroline, Jenny’s mother, was not as keen on this, but had done it nonetheless.

“Jenny!  Get out here, they’re here!”

Jenny’s thoughts—and meal—were interrupted by her mother’s voice.  Sighing, she pushed herself from the table.  As she did so, her hand slid against her cup and sent her milk crashing onto the floor.  Jenny cursed under her breath, decided she would clean it up later, and strode outside, hoping the sour smell wasn’t on her.

The sun was still bleary and faded.  No, this was not shaping up to be a good day at all. 

“Where were you?” Caroline hissed.

“Breakfast?” Jenny replied hesitantly.

“This late?”

“Yes,” said Jenny, pretending to be nonplussed.

Caroline groaned in aggravation.  Jenny knew that she normally would not have gotten away with such cheek, but special circumstances made for special exceptions.  All Caroline said was, “Wipe off your face, it’s filthy.”

Jenny scrunched up her nose, but obliged.  As she rubbed her palm against her cheek, she watched the little carriage approaching from the hill.  She thought it might look a little more familiar this time, but it didn’t.

It felt incongruent, among the low braying moos and the sweet scent of cow dung, the tight clucks of chickens and the coal-dusted skies.  The large grand carriage shuddered to a stop and Jenny held her breath.  She reminded herself that she had seen mad people before, begging in the village, loads of times.  Her mother had warned her against staring at them, but Jenny looked anyway.  Desperation demands attention.  But she had never seen a rich mad person.  Were they very different?  Jenny guessed that they had to be, since everything was different between the rich and the poor as far as she was concerned.  At least in this regard, it turned out that she was correct.  As Elizabeth Pineghast stepped out of her horse-drawn carriage, she didn’t look mad at all. 

She looked perfect—dewy as a bluebird in a high-waisted travelling cloak, with a bonnet to match, tied with a pale-yellow ribbon.  Jenny forced herself to match her parents’ expressions, to smile through her envy and insecurity, as she worked to not look down at her dull woolen skirt.

Elizabeth dismounted gracefully, helped by the coachman, who held her delicately gloved hand.  After her came a tall, lanky man who Jenny assumed was Elizabeth’s physician.  With a practical suit and practical spectacles, he looked utterly unremarkable.  Even more unremarkable was the clear assurance on his slightly smug face that he was special.  Jenny supposed that was one of the costs of being educated.  She quietly disregarded him. 

As the coachman began unloading their bags with a dull expression on his face, Samuel was the first to move forward to greet the pair.  He grinned broadly under his thick black beard.

“Elsie,” he exclaimed, “lovely to see you again!  My, you’ve grown so much!  You’re the spitting image of your mother.”  He lifted her into a tight hug.  Jenny couldn’t help but cringe when she saw the shocked, even perturbed look on her cousin’s lovely face.

Elizabeth gently pried herself from him, giving a frozen smile back.  “Thank you; that’s very kind,” she said politely.  “It’s been some time since anyone has called me Elsie.”

Jenny heard her mother “hmmm” in a tone that longed to be disdain.  Samuel, however, was undeterred.

“Well, I suppose you’re a bit older than you were the last time we saw you—too old for nicknames now.”  He gave a quick smile.  “It’s been too long, Els—Elizabeth.  Ten years.  And—lord—seven since Hannah passed.”

Dr. Larson tensed at the mention of Aunt Hannah, but Elizabeth barely reacted.  She only frowned a little, her eyebrows knit together just enough to be noticed.  Jenny saw it, and she was certain that her mother would too. 

“Yes, I was very sorry that you couldn’t attend the funeral,” Elizabeth said, biting her perfect pink lip.  “My mother would have wanted you there.”  She didn’t seem to realize that money was the reason they couldn’t attend, a problem which her family could have easily remedied.

There was a lull, interrupted only by the coachman hauling out a heavy suitcase, and throwing it to the ground with a thud.  “Well!” said Dr. Larson, clapping his hands as if tearing through the tension.  “I’m afraid I haven’t been properly introduced to my hosts yet.  Miss Pineghast, if you wouldn’t mind?”  He smiled and Elizabeth smiled back.  Their gaze held for a few seconds too long, and Jenny felt more than a little confused, and a tad uncomfortable. 

Elizabeth, however, recovered smoothly.  “Not at all.  This is my Uncle Samuel—Mr. O’Brien.”  He and Dr. Larson shook hands, her father heartily, Dr. Larson civilly. 

“And this is my aunt, Mrs. O’Brien.” 

Dr. Larson bowed and Caroline gave a short-lived smile. 

“And my cousin, Miss O’Brien.”

“Jenny,” she said, correcting her.  Miss O’Brien sounded like one of her sisters, before they’d gotten married.  Jenny thrust out her freckled hand for Dr. Larson to shake, though he didn’t.  Instead, he laughed awkwardly, then bowed as an afterthought.  Jenny didn’t see what was so funny.

“How do you do?” he asked her.

“Fine,” Jenny replied.  She knew she had been slighted, but she wasn’t quite sure how.

“Good—that’s wonderful.”  There was an awkward pause, now that the safety of niceties was gone.  Behind them, the cow snorted; a fly had likely entered its nose.

The coachman cleared his throat.  “You want me to load these in the house?” he asked Dr. Larson in a thick Irish brogue.

“Oh!  I’m sure we can manage,” he replied, not bothering to ask the O’Brien’s their opinion.  “Now, what will it be, a shilling?”

“Better make it two.”

Jenny, her family, and Elizabeth walked away as Dr. Larson paid the man.  Jenny was certain that he was charging more than he was owed, but in such hard times, she could hardly begrudge him.  She noticed that neither of her parents said anything either.

“Do you have a private room?” Elizabeth asked suddenly.

Samuel seemed perplexed by her question, but nodded nonetheless.  “Well, yes—if your and Jenny’s room is private enough.”

“That would be excellent.”  Elizabeth fiddled with one of the fingers on her glove as she spoke; Jenny noticed that it was quite worn.  “Could I find it on my own?”

 “Jenny can show you once your luggage is unloaded,” said Caroline icily.

“Oh!  Well, I had really hoped to write now.”  Elizabeth turned towards Dr. Larson, who was walking back.  “It’s just been such a long journey, and I have a great many ideas that I’m anxious to get down—all the landscapes we saw—”

Jenny guessed that what she really wanted was privacy.  At least, that’s what she would have wanted after being cooped up in a carriage for hours.  “I can show it to you.” 

Elizabeth beamed and Caroline blew out air from her nostrils.

Jenny ignored her mother and motioned for her cousin to follow her as they traveled from the front yard and in through the door. 

Elizabeth blathered nervously as they made their way through the kitchen.  “I don’t at all intend to be rude, I’m afraid it’s just my disposition, I’m positively dreadful when it comes to meeting new people.”

“We’re not new; we’ve met before.”  Jenny felt slightly guilty when she saw that her breakfast had ruined her mother’s attempts at a clean home.

“Oh!  Yes, well—but that was so long ago.  We were just children.”

“I suppose.”  Jenny didn’t mention that she still felt like a child.  It gave her a new, keen sort of embarrassment.

That embarrassment only grew as she opened the creaking door to her bedroom, and viewed it with new eyes.  Elizabeth didn’t say a word as she gazed upon the two small beds, each with only a grubby, motheaten blanket; the bare, cracking walls; the floorboards warped by years of children’s wet or muddy shoes.  Jenny was sure that there were a hundred more things to be ashamed of that she just hadn’t noticed yet.

But Elizabeth didn’t seem put off by the meager appearance.  To Jenny’s surprise, all of Elizabeth’s nervous energy seemed to have dissipated, as she turned around to face her with a look of unguarded joy.

“I remember this room,” Elizabeth said.  “I played in here with you and your sisters.”

“Oh.”  Jenny had been too young to remember the specifics of that day.  “What did we play?”

“Cat’s cradle.  And we told stories too; I always loved doing that.”

“Me too.  Hated cat’s cradle though.  It always ended in the same way.”

Elizabeth laughed.  “I think that’s why I liked it.”  A wave of nostalgia seemed to guide her through the rest of the room, as she investigated Jenny’s pressed flowers in one corner, chalk drawings in another.  “Do you collect seashells?”  Elizabeth pointed her white hand at the ever-growing pile.  Bigger lately, as the day of Elizabeth’s arrival had crept ever closer.  Bigger still, as of this morning.

Jenny nodded.  “Sometimes.”

Elizabeth bent down.  “I think you may have an imposter in your midst.”  She lifted up the bone, twirling it in her gloved hand just as Jenny had earlier.  Unexpectedly, Jenny felt a small stab of possessiveness, with an equally felt surprise that Elizabeth’s sensibilities hadn’t been offended. 

“I thought it was interesting,” Jenny said, embarrassed.

“Well, you’re quite right; it is.”  Elizabeth stared at the little anomaly, then placed it back among its seashell companions.  “I feel like that quite often,” she said to herself.  “Like a bone among seashells.”

“Oh.” 

Either Elizabeth was a little mad, or Jenny was a little thick.  She had absolutely no idea what that statement was supposed to mean.  The way that Elizabeth said things, even little things like that, with an air of finality and wisdom, made her uncomfortable.

“I guess you’d like to write?  I can go.”

Elizabeth blinked, still looking about wistfully.  “If you wouldn’t mind terribly.”

“I don’t.  Mind terribly.”

“Thank you.”  Elizabeth untied her bonnet and laid it on the bed beside her.  Her hair was that gorgeous shade of dark red that Jenny had always longed for.  Elizabeth opened her reticule, which held a surprising amount, and pulled out a quill, a bottle of ink, and leaves of parchment, folded into squares.  Without a desk, she sat upon the floor, hunched over, and set to scribbling.  Jenny had never seen anyone write so quickly.  Despite her fascination, she left dutifully, and closed the door behind her, letting the warm, musty scent of home follow her until she was outside.  She spent the next half hour helping load in Elizabeth’s things.