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permitted in my father’s study alone. None of us are.”
    With a nonchalance that seemed forced to Emily’s ear, the other man said, “No matter. To your room, then.”
    Emily scrambled out of bed and rushed to her door. As cautious as a cat, she lifted the latch and peered down the hall. But she was too late. Branwell had already let his mysteriousguest precede him into the room. But some small sound must have alerted her brother, for Branwell’s head jerked sharply in her direction. He murmured something to his guest, then came marching down the hallway.
    â€œGo to bed, Emily. My business is none of your concern.” He shoved her inside the room and pulled the door closed.
    Leaning against her bedroom door, Emily murmured, “Branwell has a secret.”

But it was one of their chief amusements to
run away to the moors in the morning and
remain there all day, and the after punishment
grew a mere thing to laugh at
.

    T he household had long ago gone to bed but Emily paced around her bedroom, her long stride making the tiny room even smaller. The doctor had confined her to the house for a fortnight and her sentence was up tomorrow, but she felt as though she were overflowing with energy. She feared she might explode if she didn’t go outside. Despite her assurances that she was completely recovered, Father and Aunt B. still forbade Emily to walk on the moors. They did not understand Emily required physical exercise, not only for her body but also for her mind.
    The full moon shone directly into Emily’s room through the open window and the chilly air burned her lungs. Outsidethe window, the branches of the cherry tree made a pleasing pattern against the glowing orb.
    When Emily was a child, she had climbed that tree more than once. Years ago, Emily and Branwell had often played Pirate King, with Emily forever in the role of the hostage doomed to walk the plank by venturing out on the tree limb. The game had ended when Emily surprised Branwell by nimbly climbing down the tree to freedom. Her tongue darted across her lips. She had eluded captivity before; why not now?
    A fast-moving cloud traversing the moon seemed like a signal. Clad only in her nightdress, Emily hurriedly wrapped her shabby shawl around her shoulders. She slipped on her walking shoes without taking the time to put on her stockings and then clambered over the windowsill.
    Half climbing, half falling, she made it to the ground and ran to the garden gate. Glancing back at the parsonage, she reassured herself the house was still undisturbed. Slowly she opened the gate, wincing at the loud creak.
    Emily hurried along the gravel path between the parsonage garden’s stone wall and the row of tall trees on the other side. The cool night air caressed her skin and the north wind felt like a familiar friend’s embrace. Even in the darkness, her feet had not forgotten the way up the steep hill marking the end of the churchyard and the beginning of the moors. At the top, she reluctantly stopped, her hand pressed against a stitch in her side. It had been too long.
    Her breath recaptured, Emily gasped in delight when the moon reappeared and illuminated the vast moor unfolding itself like a carpet being rolled out for her pleasure. The wind caught the fullness of her nightdress and it billowed out around her knees like the plumage of some fantastic bird. The scent of heather and bracken, mixed with a coming storm, was better for her health than all the elixirs and medicaments they had forced down her throat.
    Holding her arms out wide, she hurtled down the path, away from Haworth. She had no purpose and no destination, like a tuft of cotton grass being tossed on the air currents. She laughed out loud from the sheer joy of being outside and unaccounted for. Finally she came to a favorite rock. It was shaped like an armchair, and Emily often stopped there with a book. She climbed onto it, ignoring the damp chill of the stone