The Old Willis Place

bathroom. Although the water had been turned off, Miss Lilian's soaps and shampoos, her combs and brushes and towels, lay where she'd left them, dusty and cob webbed but still usable.
    As I dumped toiletries into the pillowcase, a movement caught my eye. Miss Lilian stood a few inches away, watching me. She was wilder and stranger than ever, her hair long and tangled, her clothes in rags. I gasped and stepped backward and so did she, her face twisted in fear. I thrust out my hands to keep her away and she did the same. Close to fainting, I leaned against the wall and stared at my reflection in the bathroom mirror. No wonder Lissa had been scared when I stepped out of the woods.
    Lugging the bulging pillowcase, I hurried to the steps. It didn't matter how much noise I made now. I had to get out. The next time, it might really be Miss Lilian I saw.
    At the bottom of the stairs, I stole a quick look at the parlor's closed door. Behind it, I heard barely audible movements and a low sigh.
    Clutching my bundle, I fled down the hall to the cellar, tripping over newspapers and boxes in my haste. At any moment, I expected Miss Lilian to scream, "Stop, thief! Do you hear me? Stop!"
    I shoved the pillowcase through the cellar window and scrambled out after it. Dropping small things as I ran, I fled into the woods. It was almost dawn. The trees were swathed in morning mist and the fallen leaves were damp and slippery underfoot. A rabbit leapt across my path, and I caught a glimpse of the albino deer in the field. His antlered head turned in my direction.
    Before I reached the shed, Georgie came rushing to meet me. "Where have you been, Diana? I had a bad dream. And you weren't here."
    I hid Miss Lilian's belongings behind my back and tried to edge past him. "I couldn't sleep," I said. "So I went for a walk."
    "What's that?" Georgie grabbed at the bundle. I thrust him away. "Nothing," I lied, "just some stuff from the trailer."
    "I thought we were never going there again."
    "Just this one last time."
    "But what is it?" Georgie lunged at me again. "I want to see!"
    This time he caught hold of the bundle and yanked hard. Out fell the brush, the comb, the soap, the shampoo, all rolling away in different directions.
    I scurried around, picking everything up. "I can't stand being dirty anymore, that's all."
    Georgie backed away from the soap as if it were poison. "I hope you don't expect me to use that junk!"
    "It wouldn't hurt you to take a bath."
    "Are you joking? I haven't taken a bath for ages, and neither have you."
    "Don't you remember how nice clean clothes feel?"
    "I like my clothes the way they are." He sniffed his shirt. "They smell like me."
    "Maybe you smell bad," I suggested.
    "So what if I do?"
    "Look at Nero." I pointed to the cat, sitting in a patch of sunlight, carefully licking his paws and rubbing his face. "He washes."
    Giving me a sly grin, Georgie licked the back of his hand and rubbed his face with it. "There, that's my bath."
    "I'm ashamed of you," I said. "You're absolutely filthy and you don't even care. What would Mother think?"
    Georgie's smile vanished. "Don't say that! Don't! Mother's gone, Diana. She doesn't care what happens to us anymore!"
    I glared at him, unable to think about what he'd just said. "Stay dirty, see if I care."
    Leaving Georgie to sulk, I ran across the field to the pond. Stripping off my clothes, I let them fall to the ground in a filthy heap. If I washed them, they'd fall to pieces. I waded into the pond, shivering as the cool water rose higher on my legs.
    By the time I was belly deep, my skin was a mass of goose bumps, but it didn't bother me the way it once would have. Georgie and I had gotten very tough in the years we'd lived on our own. In fact, nothing ever really hurt us. At least not for long.
    Taking a deep breath, I sank under the surface and then stood up, wet all over. I began to scrub. And scrub. And scrub.
    When my skin glowed pink and clean, I began working on my hair. At first I made no headway against its obstinate mats and tangles. I shampooed and brushed, shampooed and combed until my scalp throbbed. If I'd had a pair of scissors, I'd have cut it all off.
    At last, I managed to pull the comb through my hair from roots to ends. Satisfied I'd done all I could, I waded out of the pond and sat in the sun. As soon as my skin was dry, I pulled on a flowered skirt. It settled on my hips and trailed in the grass. Like the skirt, the blouse I'd taken was several sizes too