I turned a few more pages, observing crude drawings of a man without a shirt, his chest covered with what I was sure was meant to look like curled hairs. In the middle of the torso was a light drawing of a face with the mouth stretched in what looked like a scream.

Curious and now intrigued, I flipped past the drawings of birds, trees, and a horse to find the picture that made me gasp. It had been drawn with a shaky hand. The lines wobbled, but it was clearly meant to be the body of a man, waist down, naked, his manliness drawn quite vividly. I closed the notebook quickly, put it back in the closet, and stood up, slapping my hands together to shake off the dust. What strange things for a little girl to draw, I thought. I was afraid to permit myself to wonder what it all meant.

I went to my door and opened it slowly, listening keenly for the sound of footsteps. Surely she would be bringing me something to eat soon, I thought. I was very hungry and my stomach was growling with anger. Frustrated, but aware that if I didn't occupy myself, my hunger would only bellow louder, I turned to the shelf of dolls.

I found some cloth to use for dusting and took the first doll down to carefully wipe its arms, legs, and face. All these dolls looked like they had been expensive ones. Some had features so perfect, I was positive they were handmade. Observing the line of them on the shelf, I realized that there were only two male dolls, and they had been placed a little behind the others.

As I put the first doll down on the table, I noticed something odd when the doll's dress was raised. I peeled back the skirt and gazed with horror at what had been done. A blotch of black ink had been painted between the doll's legs where its female genitals would be. I inspected the other dolls and found either that or a chipping away of the area that had been done with some crude implement. The worst damage, however, was inflicted on the two boy dolls. They had been smashed so that their torsos ended just under their belly buttons.

I hated to think what this all possibly meant. Suddenly I heard the distinct sound of footsteps on the short stairway. I hurriedly returned the dolls to the shelf and sat on the bed just as Gladys Tate opened my door, my tray of food in her hands.

"Well," she snapped. "Don't just sit there waiting to be served. Come take it."

I hopped off the bed, took the tray, and placed it on the table.

"Thank you," I said. I pulled the chair close and sat. "Why is that lantern on?" she asked.

"It's so dark in here with the shade drawn."

"You're just wasting the kerosene. I can't be bringing up kerosene every day too. Use it sparingly," she ordered, and turned it out, draping us in shadows. Nevertheless, I began to eat and drink the coffee while it was still warm.

"I see you've been looking at things already," she said, noticing the things on the floor by the closet.

"Yes, madame. That's a very nice dollhouse, a replica of this house, isn't it?"

"My father made that for me. He was artistic," she said, "but he did those things only as a hobby."

"It is a work of art. You should have it on display, downstairs."

"I don't think I need you to tell me how to decorate my house," she snapped. "It belongs up here and here is where it will remain."

"I'm sorry. I just thought you would be proud to have other people see it."

"If you must know, it's personal. He gave it to me for my fifth birthday." She closed her eyes as if it had been painful to explain.

"You must have loved it. I looked at the books. They're all for very small children."

"Umm. I'll see about bringing up something more equal to your maturity. My father used to make me read Charles Dickens. He had me stand before him and read passages aloud."

"I have read some of Charles Dickens's novels in school, yes."

"Well, any one of them will keep you busy awhile," she said. "You were sufficiently quiet this morning," she offered in a tone as close to a compliment as she could manage. "No one noticed anything or mentioned anything to me. That's good. Keep it that way," she commanded.

"One thing you must do, however. Rise before dawn and close the shade. It has never been up during the day, and someone will surely notice."

"Why has it never been up?" I asked.

"It just hasn't," she shot back. "This room has been abandoned up until now."

"Why?" I persisted. "I would think your old playroom would have some nice memories for you, and you would want to keep it nice."

"You would, would you? Who do you think you are continually offering your opinion as to what I should and shouldn't do in my house?" She flicked her stony eyes over me.

"I'm sorry," I said. "I didn't mean to . . ."

"Just worry about yourself. There's plenty to do there," she said. "I'll be right back," she added, and left the room.

While she was gone, I finished eating. When she returned, she had a pail of water and a handful of rags in her hand.

"I brought you this so you could start cleaning this room. Do it as quietly as possible."

"I'll need more than one pail of water, madame," I said. She snapped her head back and lifted her shoulders as if I had slapped her.

"I know that, you fool. You'll start with this. You don't expect me to cart pail after pail of water up here, do you? Tonight you can dump this out with your chamber pot and bring up another pail of water along with your drinking water. I was just being nice giving you the first pail."

"I'm sorry. I don't mean to sound ungrateful," I said, which took the steel out of her spine. She didn't smile, but her eyes warmed.

"If you're finished eating, we have some very important matters to go over," she said.

"Certainly, madame." I turned, waiting.

She folded her arms over her chest and took a few steps toward the window. "I, as you know, have never been pregnant. I know as much about it as any woman my age should," she added quickly, "but there is nothing like the actual experience. That's true about everything, I suppose, but especially true when it comes to pregnancy."

I nodded, not sure what it was she was trying to say.

"If we are to make this work, have people believe me when I say I am pregnant, I had better behave as if I am. I know you're just about two months pregnant, right?"

"That's right, madame."

"Well," she said, and waited. When I didn't say anything, she snapped, "Tell me about it."

"Tell you? Where should I begin, madame?"

"At the beginning, where else? How did you find out you were pregnant?"

"Mama told me. I woke up nauseous and had to vomit. After it happened again, she asked me if I had missed my period."

"Yes?"

"I had and then she asked me if I was sensitive here," I said, indicating my breasts.

"Sensitive?" She stepped closer. "Exactly what does that feel like?"

"It feels like my breasts are fuller. Sometimes they are tender and sore."

"Really?" she said, raising her eyebrows.

I felt odd describing these things to her. For the moment it seemed as though I were the adult and she were the younger woman. How could she appear so sophisticated in other ways but be so ignorant of womanly things? I wondered.

"Yes," I said. "Sometimes they actually hurt." Her eyes widened. "I'm also tired more often and find myself dozing off."

"Yes?"

"And I have to go to the bathroom more. . . urinate," I said.

"Did you throw up this morning?" she asked.

"No. Mama gave me some herbs that help me."

"Good. For her first visit, I'll have her bring me the herb, too," she said. "If it works, why not?" she added, which I thought was a strange thing to say. Why would she actually want it? "Now, what about your stomach? I can't tell because of that skirt, but you don't seem to be showing much."

"No. Mama told me she didn't show until she was nearly five months, but I do see a small difference," I said.

She stared at me a moment and then nodded. "I want to see for myself," she said.

"Pardon, madame?"

"I want to see. I have to know exactly what you look like now and as time goes by to do this right, don't I? Take off your clothing."

I hesitated.

"What's wrong? You go parading about in the swamp nude, don't you?"

"I don't go parading about," I said, tears coming to my eyes.

"It's the same thing, whatever you want to call it. Now, just get undressed. I told you, warned you, you would have to be cooperative," she said in a threatening tone. "Either you do what I ask or march right out of here now. Make up your mind."

I swallowed back a throat lump and sucked in my breath. Then, first turning away from those glaring eyes of stone, I lifted my dress over my head. I unfastened my bra and slipped out of my panties. Before I could turn around, her arms came over my head, a tape measure in her hands. She had brought it up with her, planning all along to do this. She wrapped it roughly around my stomach and pulled to take a measurement.

"Turn around," she ordered. I did so and she gazed at my breasts. "You're not normally this big?"

"No, madame," I said. "And the color has changed here," I said, pointing to my nipples. "Darkened."

"Oh?" She studied me with interest. "I'll have to stuff my bra a bit," she mused, and nodded. "Once a week I'll take the measurement of your stomach and adjust my own dimensions accordingly. You can get dressed now," she said.

She waited as I dressed myself and then in a kinder tone of voice she said, "I'll bring you some Charles Dickens with some dinner tonight. The maids are about to begin upstairs and will be working right beneath you, so keep as quiet as possible when you clean. I hope," she added, "that if you do vomit, you do it as silently as possible." She took my tray. At the doorway she turned back to me. "I'll be sending for your mother very soon, perhaps later today."