The Lilac Tunnel: My Journey with Samantha

I ask Samantha quietly if it’s okay that she’s helping me. I don’t want her in trouble. She says it’s fine, and admits it’s been lonely without siblings of her own to wait for. Pinning a wet sleeve to the line, the damp cotton cool against her fingers, she asks if I have any. I think of Gracie briefly and shake my head. Then it’s perfect, Samantha says: it’ll be like we’re sisters, working and playing together, and—

Mrs. Edwards’s voice cuts through the evening air from the back door, calling Samantha in to change for dinner. Her face falls, shoulders slumping, so I joke that at least we can get into trouble together, too.

When Elsa finally calls me in for dinner, I imagine how nice it’ll be to sit at a table for a real meal, Samantha included. Instead, I eat alone in a shadowy corner of the kitchen, my plate balanced on my knees. Meanwhile, Elsa explains Mrs. Edwards is hosting the Rylands. I strain to hear voices from the dining room: Mrs. Edwards saying her brooch went missing sometime in the last day, and Eddie’s annoying voice suggesting the new servant girl took it, since she’s been stealing things. Anger flares in my chest until I can barely swallow. Someone hushes him, and Elsa bursts through the door with dishes, asking curtly if I’ve seen the dragonfly brooch.

I shake my head firmly. Elsa eyes me sourly, glances at my empty plate, and moves me on to washing dishes.

At the sink, another wave of anger hits: now I’m washing the fancy plates Eddie just insulted me over. My hands prune in the soapy water. I take a few calming breaths so I don’t break anything delicate. Then I work through what feels like an endless stack, my arms aching, until Elsa finally sends me to bed.

Tired as I am, sleep doesn’t come easily in the attic, where the ceiling slopes low. I keep replaying how Eddie treats me as untrustworthy just for being a servant, and how even Elsa eyed me suspiciously over the brooch.

I think of Samantha instead, who doesn’t seem to care whether I’m a servant or a celebrity, just a friend. When I finally drift off, I dream I’m on trial for theft, with Eddie Ryland as the prosecutor, pacing in his little bow tie.

A rap, rap, rap at the door snaps me awake in the sunlit tower room. Morning light streams warm across the quilt. Not a courtroom, not Dad’s house. Yesterday comes rushing back, and I find the locket still around my neck.

The rapping continues. It’s Samantha, sneaking in to ask if I’m awake. Grandmary’s brooch is still missing, and Elsa is pointing at me.

My stomach sinks. Why is Elsa so mean to me? We’re both servants, yet she acts superior, always reminding me to know my place, and now accusing me of theft.

Samantha squares her shoulders: my place is right here, with her, and she’s going to help me prove I’m no thief. We just need to find the brooch. She half-suspects Elsa took it herself, having overheard her ask Grandmary for a raise last week and get refused. Maybe out of revenge, or need. I hesitate. Elsa’s mean, sure, but that doesn’t make her a thief.