In the Land of the Long White Cloud

her domestic skills. Gwyneira, who had read the word “lust” at least once before, caught the hungry expression in Morrison’s eyes.
    “Show me your hands now, Dorothy.”
    The man opened Dorothy’s tightly closed fingers and gently ran his fingers over her right hand. It was more of a caress than an examination of her calluses. He held the hand tightly, definitely for longer than was socially acceptable. At some point Dorothy broke out of her frozen state. She withdrew her hand abruptly and took a step backward.
    “No!” she said. “No, I…I won’t go with you…I don’t like you!” Terrified by her own audacity, she lowered her gaze.
    “Now, now, Dorothy. You don’t even know me.” Mr. Morrison moved closer to the girl, who shrank under his penetrating gaze—or rather at Mrs. Baldwin’s subsequent admonition:
    “What sort of way to behave is that, Dorothy? You will apologize immediately!”
    Dorothy shook her head forcefully. She would rather die than go with this man; she could not express in words the images that sprang to mind when his lustful eyes looked at her. Images from the poorhouse, of her mother in the arms of a man she was supposed to call “uncle.” She vaguely recalled the hard, sinewy hands that reached for her oneday, sliding under her skirt…Dorothy had cried and tried to defend herself. But the man had continued, stroking her and feeling his way to that unspeakable part of her body that you didn’t even completely uncover when you washed. Dorothy had thought she would die of shame—but her mother had returned just in time, before the pain and fear became unbearable. She pushed the man away and came to her daughter’s defense. Later she had held Dorothy in her arms, rocking, comforting, and warning her.
    “You can never let that happen, Dottie! Don’t let anyone touch you, whatever they promise beforehand. Don’t even let them look at you like they’d do that. But that was my fault. I should have seen how he was looking at you. Never let the men here catch you alone, Dottie. Never! Will you promise me?”
    Dorothy had promised and stayed true to her promise until her mother died shortly thereafter. Afterward she had been taken to the orphanage where she was safe. But now this man was staring at her—even more lustfully than her “uncle” had before. And she couldn’t say no. She wasn’t allowed. She belonged to him; the reverend himself would beat her if she refused. In a moment she would have to leave with this Morrison. On his horse, to his house…
    Dorothy swallowed. “No! No, I’m not going. Miss Davenport! Please, Miss Davenport, you have to help me! Don’t send me with him. Mrs. Baldwin, please…please!”
    The girl sought refuge, leaning on Helen, then fled to Mrs. Baldwin when Mr. Morrison approached her, laughing.
    “What’s wrong with her?” he asked, appearing genuinely astonished when the pastor’s wife rudely rebuffed him. “Is she perhaps sick? We’ll put her straight to bed.”
    Dorothy looked with an almost mad gaze around the circle.
    “He’s the devil! Doesn’t anyone else see it? Miss Silkham, please, Miss Silkham! Take me with you. You need a chambermaid. Please, I’ll do anything! I don’t want any money, I…”
    In her desperation the girl fell to her knees in front of Gwyneira.
    “Dorothy, calm yourself,” Gwyneira said uncertainly. “Of course I’ll ask Mr. Warden…”
    Morrison seemed annoyed. “Can we put an end to this now?” he asked brusquely. Helen and Gwyneira ignored him, so he turned instead to Mrs. Baldwin. “The girl is out of her mind! But my wife needs the help, so I’ll take her anyway. Don’t try and pawn a different one off on me. I rode here well out of my way from the plains.”
    “You rode here?” Helen asked. “Then how did you expect to take the girl with you?”
    “Behind me on my horse, of course. It’ll be fun for her. You just have to hold on tight, little one.”
    “I…I won’t do it,” Dorothy stammered. “Please, please, don’t ask me to.” She knelt down before Mrs. Baldwin while Helen and Gwyneira looked on appalled and Mr. and Mrs. Candler looked disgusted.
    “That’s horrible,” Mr. Candler said finally. “Say something, Mrs. Baldwin! If the girl won’t go, you must find her a different placement. We’d be happy to take her along. In Haldon there are two or three families who could certainly use the help.”
    His wife nodded energetically.
    Mr. Morrison inhaled