Page 30 of The Treasure House

“Don’t be ridiculous, Lori.” Aunt Betty scoffed. “She brought her pale blue tulle, that will serve well enough. She can’t go buying a new dress every time a boy asks her to a dance.”

“But it’s Saint-Cyr, Betty.”

“That blue tulle took me an age to make, and she’s hardly worn it.”

“Do you get to go to Saint-Cyr whenever you want now?” Marly asked, leaning over the back of Priscilla’s chair. “Can I come too?”

“Stop bothering her, Marly.” Mom gestured for Marly to give Cilla some space.

“It’s fine, Aunt Lori. And no, you can’t come. It’s terribly exclusive.”

Marly was offended. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It’s not for children,” Priscilla told her, smooth as cream.

They ended up eating a late supper because everyone was so busy squirreling every detail out of Cilla, and when Mom and Bet finally remembered to feed everyone, they only managed cold cuts and a stupid green salad. After supper, Mom and Sylvie went upstairs with Cilla to advise on accessories to match the blue tulle. Marly sat on the porch watching the fireflies wink to life, listening to Aunt Betty boss the boys around as they did the dishes.

“Does anyone want to play Monopoly?” she asked hopefully when the dishes were done.

“Nah,” Paul said, looking shifty. “We thought we’d go play cards in our tent.”

Marly glared at him. She knew they were sneaking off to Rockport.

“We’ve already said goodnight to Mom,” Marly’s youngest brother Virge said, “so she doesn’t have to tramp out in the dark.”

“And don’t wake us up in the morning, you little pipsqueak. We want to sleep in.” Bobby gave her a dead arm as he passed.

Marly swore at him, but he only laughed.

“Goodnight, Marilyn.”

“Don’t call me that!” She hated her name.

Her brothers laughed as they disappeared into the firefly-speckled night, leaving her alone on the porch.

This was going to be the most boring summer ever. She didn’t want to join in the fashion show upstairs, which Aunt Betty had now defected to, but she also didn’t want to sit around downstairs by herself. It was empty and weird. Eventually she went up to her room, closing the door on the chatter about opera shoes versus pumps and climbed into bed with a book she’d taken from the shelf in the hallway. Mom and Aunt Bet left their bodice-ripping summer reads on the shelf when they were done with them, but Marly was categorically forbidden from reading them. Mom said they weren’t for kids because there was too much intimacy. That was her stupid word for it. She said it in a prissy, giggly, blushing way that made Marly cringe. But tonight Marly had taken the fattest one she could find, making sure it had a lurid cover. The dust jacket showed a woman with her dress just about falling off, and a man with a fencing sword. It was called Forever Amber. If no one was going to pay any attention to her, she might as well do something against the rules.

Marly stretched out on her new bed and sank into the seventeenth century. It was actually a decent book. Even though there was intimacy, in the form of a romp in the hay, in one of the first chapters. She took the dust jacket off and hid it under the pillows so her mom wouldn’t know what she was reading when she came to say goodnight.

Only, Mom didn’t come say goodnight.

Marly couldn’t believe the nerve of her. She’d chattered away for hours with Cilla and Sylvie, and then the chatter migrated downstairs to the front porch. Marly was lost in her book and so didn’t really register the running of water in the bathroom and the slow quietening of the house. But then, around the time Bruce abandoned Amber in the book, pregnant and alone, Marly realized everyone had gone to sleep. And no one had said good night to her.

It was like she wasn’t even here.

The abandonment was a hot poison in her stomach. She could have been kidnapped for all they knew. She got up and dropped her book on the floor with a thud, hoping it would wake her mother up. But of course it didn’t. No one cared if she was thumping around in here. No one cared at all.

As Marly stood there, fuming, she heard rustling in the oak tree outside. It was too much rustling for a squirrel. But just the right amount for her damn brothers. Of course they had come up with some plan to terrorize her, something they did all too regularly. Her blood was up and so she snatched up the book, prepared to rip them to shreds. She stuck her head out the window.

“Quit it, you chuckleheads, or I’ll tell Mom you went to a bar!” she hissed.

The rustling stopped abruptly. And she saw it wasn’t her brothers in the tree. It was someone she’d never seen before in her life. A young guy, about Paul’s age. He was lit by the spill of light from Marly’s room but his face was mostly obscured by the leaves of the oak.

“I don’t know you,” Marly blurted. Was he a kidnapper?

“Hey, kid.” The guy in the tree sounded sheepish. “Sorry. I… uh… I might have the wrong house.”

“You might have the wrong house to break into? Why, because you got caught?” Marly wondered if she should throw the book at him—it was pretty heavy and would probably do some serious damage. But then she’d never find out what became of Amber.