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home until late in the evening. Susannah rose, her heart like a drumbeat, and walked across the greenhouse to the door. Her sleeves brushed the perfectly manicured globes of the orange trees, but she did not feel them. A spiderweb stretched taut in the doorway, its gossamer geometry a marvel, but Susannah did not see it. All she could feel, all she could see, were the years of misery and loneliness Hawkshill promised, and she moved as if they were chasing her.
    She passed through the dining room to the door across from the kitchen and dashed out into the hallway. The oak stairs seemed never-ending and she took them two at a time, yanking herself along on the railing. In the bedroom she threw open the wardrobe door and scanned her dresses, realizing that she had no idea where she was going. Would it be cold there? Susannah selected a wool dress for its extra weight and warmth, laying it across the bed, and the boots she wore on her expeditions in the woods.
    She closed the door and thought of her mother’s velvet-lined jewelry box. Susannah hadn’t opened it since her mother had died; the thought of it pierced her now and she went to the bureau. Cholera had taken her mother suddenly the previous year, but she had been ill for many years before that. Susannah’s father had lost his fortune trying to care for her. She opened the lid of the jewelry box. There were several pairs of earrings: gold filigree with enamel pansies, coral roses hanging on a chain, two ivory half-moons. Susannah touched the rings perched on velvet pillows—one with a cluster of pearls, another with gold carved into vines. The tray beneath these held a necklace, a double strand of garnets the size of peas, set in gold. This piece had been her mother’s pride and joy. Susannah had seen her wear it only once, but she let Susannah try it on many times at home when she was a girl. Her mother had explained that Noah himself had used the light from a garnet as a lantern to guide his ark.
    The necklace glinted in her hand, catching the light from the window. She didn’t know anything about where she was going or the person who had promised to take her there. How could she set out with nothing but trust? She laid the necklace back in its tray, then rose and closed the door to the room. Swiftly, she unhooked the buttons that secured her dress at the back of the neck and lifted it over her head. Standing barefoot in her chemise, she hung the dress in the wardrobe and closed the oak door. She glanced down at her legs, their outline visible through the translucent linen of her chemise. The last few months had wrung her out like a rag, and her silhouette showed it: thighs diminished, knees angular and unsoftened by flesh.
    Susannah crossed the room to her sewing basket and retrieved a needle and a length of white thread. She pulled an embroidered handkerchief from the top drawer of the bureau and wrapped the necklace tightly in the cotton. Then she stitched it with quick strokes to her chemise at her thigh.
    She broke the thread and plucked up the dress she’d selected, throwing it over her head. The dress draped well over the concealed necklace. No one would know it was there but Susannah.
Just in case
, she thought.
In case things aren’t what they seem.
    She tried to pass quietly through the kitchen, but Marjorie looked up from where she stood, chopping a head of red cabbage on the wooden block. Purple liquid trailed down her wrists and along the edge of the table. As Marjorie wiped her hands, Susannah gazed at them: fingers callused and knuckles rounded from work, a thin gold band on her ring finger.
    Marjorie held Susannah’s gaze, and something passed between them. “Going out for a walk?”
    Susannah nodded, and her voice stuck in her throat like a husk. “Could you help me fasten this?” She pointed at the laces at the back of her dress, then held up her lame hand. Marjorie stepped behind her and pulled the laces tight, then tied one of her expert