Darker Still by Leanna Renee Hieber Page A

what the marks might be.
    As we arrived, Father took the painting in hand and we ascended the stairs to the grand redbrick, arched edifice.
    Mrs. Northe stood beneath one of the foyer’s great archways, Maggie at her side. Maggie waved at me once before turning to evaluate staff and patrons, whoever was best dressed or most attractive. Mrs. Northe seemed as glad to see me as I was to see her, and Father’s cheeks were heightened in color when he laid eyes on her. I’d say we’re all getting to be a regular little family.
    Upon catching my eye, Mrs. Northe cocked her head, seeming to understand that there was a new development. It was uncanny how, in such a short time, she could read me, my face, my eyes, my expression, and my body movements as language in and of themselves, her knowledge of sign language notwithstanding.
    “There are markings on the frame,” I signed to Mrs. Northe, keeping my face expressionless so the matter would stay between us rather than being public. She nodded and smiled, as if we’d just exchanged a small pleasantry instead of the clue to a mystery.
    Museum workers took the burlap-covered canvas. Maggie moved to my side so we could eye them with the fastidiousness of jealous girls, but they proved careful with the piece. Mrs. Northe suggested a downstairs exhibition room as Lord Denbury’s temporary home, a room not yet for public use, and the workers set to securing him. Father seemed in no hurry to rush Mrs. Northe off, so we lingered to watch.
    “You cannot put a man like this in the basement!” Maggie exclaimed, once she saw the workers preparing to mount the piece.
    “It’s only for the time being,” Mrs. Northe stated in that tone that went without question. “Just think how much more exciting the unveiling will be when I put together a proper reception. A few of my dearest friends are abroad, and I simply cannot host an event without them.”
    “The space is flexible, and we can move him at your leisure,” Father replied. “There is talk already, you know, of an expansion to the museum.”
    “I do know.” She smiled. “My friends and I shall be most interested in helping with the funding.”
    At this, Father beamed.
    “More parties!” Maggie clapped, and we shared a girlish grin.
    Once a drape was mounted and hung, the workers left it open. I couldn’t keep from staring at Denbury. I had to make fists in my skirts to keep from reaching out, to keep from touching him and inadvertently falling against him. What a potent lure he was. I wanted to tell him of the dream. But what if he hadn’t shared it? To me, it had felt so real. But to confess I’d continued dreaming of (and nearly kissing) Denbury wasn’t necessarily something I wanted to share directly with the subject. The potential for mortification was too high. Perhaps I could tell Maggie.
    I turned to her, but she too seemed far away. Without my having the faculty of speech, we were still strangers. I thought of how easy talking to Denbury had been, how my speech had flowed aloud the way it always did in my mind, full of long, rich sentences that never quite translated into the efficiency of sign. But that had been another world.
    “Natalie, as you are our new acquisitions apprentice, we’ll have to discuss and schedule your hours here,” my father said with a smile.
    I plucked my small notebook from my drawstring purse and scribbled immediately: “As many hours as you’ll let me.”
    I turned to Maggie and scribbled for her to see: “As often as I can steal into this room.”
    She giggled and we shared a smile that made my heart warm, the distance between us bridged just a little. Amazing what just a few common words, and the sight of an attractive man, could do. A terrified anxiety may have kept me from speaking, but it did not mean that I did not want friends. And if I spoke in Denbury’s world, perhaps this was my turning point, with my new friends here in this room. I could feel Mrs. Northe watching