A Maidens Grave

joined the other men. They looked cautiously out one of the front windows.
    This can’t be happening, Melanie said to herself. It’s impossible. People were expecting her. Her parents. Danny, going into surgery tomorrow. She’d been in her brother’s recovery rooms after every one of his half-dozen operations in the past year. She felt the absurd urge to tell these men that they had to let them go; she couldn’t disappoint her brother.
    Then there was her performance in Topeka.
    And of course her plans afterwards.
    Go say something to him. Now. Plead with him to release the little girls. The twins, at least. Or Kielle and Shannon. Emily.
    Beverly, racked with asthma.
    Go. Do it.
    Melanie started forward then looked back. The othersin the killing room—all nine of them—were staring at her.
    Susan held her eyes for a moment then gestured for her to return. She did.
    “Don’t worry,” Susan signed to the girls, then pulled the tiny, chestnut-haired twins to her. Smiling. “They’re going to leave soon, let us out. We’ll be in Topeka late, that’s all. What do you want to do after Melanie’s recital? Everybody tell me. Come on!”
    Is she crazy? Melanie thought. We’re not going to . . . Then realized that Susan was saying this to put them at ease. The girl was right. The truth didn’t matter. Keeping the younger girls comforted did. Making sure there was no excuse for the men to get close to them; the memory of Bear gripping Susan’s breasts, holding Shannon tight to his fat body came starkly to mind.
    But no one wanted to play the game. Until Melanie signed, “Go out for dinner?”
    “Arcade!” Shannon signed suddenly. “Mortal Kombat!”
    Kielle sat up. “I want to go to real restaurant. I want steak medium rare and potatoes and pie—”
    “Whole pie?” Susan asked, mock astonishment on her face.
    Choking back tears, Melanie couldn’t think of anything to say. Feebly she signed, “Yes. Whole pies for everyone!”
    The girls glanced at her but their eyes returned immediately to Susan.
    “Might get bellyaches.” Mrs. Harstrawn gave an exaggerated frown.
    “No,” Kielle responded. “Whole pie would be crass. ” She gave an indignant glance to Susan. “Only Philistines eat whole pies. We’ll order one piece each. And I’m going to have coffee.”
    “They don’t let us drink coffee,” Jocylyn stopped rubbing her tearful eyes long enough to sign.
    “ I’m having coffee. Black coffee,” Shannon the knee-kicker signed.
    “With cream,” Kielle continued. “When my mother makes coffee she puts it in glass cup and pours cream in.It swirls like cloud. I’m going to have coffee in real restaurant.”
    “Coffee ice cream maybe.” Beverly struggled to suck air into her lungs.
    “With sprinkles,” Suzie offered.
    “With sprinkles and Reese’s Pieces,” echoed Anna, her junior by thirty-some seconds. “Like at Friendly’s!”
    And, once again, Melanie could think of nothing to say.
    “Not that kind of restaurant. I mean fancy restaurant.” Kielle didn’t understand why nobody else was excited at the prospect.
    A huge smile on Susan’s face. “We’re all decided. Fancy restaurant. Steak, pie, and coffee for everybody. No Philistines allowed!”
    Suddenly twelve-year-old Jocylyn broke into hysterical tears and leapt to her feet. Mrs. Harstrawn was up in an instant, cradling the rotund girl, pulling her close. Slowly she calmed down. Melanie lifted her hands to say something comforting and witty. Finally she signed, “Whipped cream on everyone’s pie.”
    Susan turned to Melanie. “You still ready to go on stage?”
    The young teacher stared back at her student for a moment then smiled, nodding.
    Mrs. Harstrawn, eyes flitting nervously to the main room of the slaughterhouse, where the men stood talking, their heads down, signed, “Maybe Melanie can recite her poems again.”
    Melanie nodded and her mind went blank. She had a repertoire of two dozen poems she’d been planning on performing. Now she could remember nothing but the first stanza of her “Birds on a Wire.” Melanie lifted her hands, signed:
    “ Eight gray birds, sitting in dark.
Cold wind blows, it isn’t kind.
Sitting on wire, they lift their wings
and sail off into billowy clouds.”
    “Pretty, isn’t it?” Susan asked, looking directly at Jocylyn. The girl wiped her face on the sleeve of her bulky blouse and nodded.
    “ I wrote some poems,” Kielle signed emphatically.“Fifty of them. No,