The stage was tiny beneath them. “Take up the sword again, or take up me.” Her father was kneeling before a beautiful woman, his voice like music.

The woman answered him. “No! Though I wish thy death, I will not be thy executioner.”

Her father stood. “Then bid me kill myself, and I will do it.”

“Isn’t he wonderful?” Pearl whispered. “He will make your hair stand on end before he’s done.” She reached out for Asia’s hand.

Asia, wearing her cloak, was horribly hot. Her hand, in Pearl’s, began to sweat. But she didn’t care. Below her, past the forest of men’s heads and ladies’ hats, there on the stage, all wrapped in light, was her father not being her father. Asia felt so many things—pride, wonderment, the sorrow of the characters, the majesty of the language in her father’s mouth, her anxiety over not having gone home and the punishment that would surely follow. And more. Her body was too small to contain it all. Pearl stayed with her right through Richard’s death.

But the minute the applause began, Pearl sprang away. “I’m supposed to be sleeping in my bed,” she said. “I’ll catch jesse if they find out I opened the trap. I’ll be whipped for sure.” She turned to exit back the way they’d come. But she wouldn’t let Asia follow. “No, no,” she said. “My mother mustn’t see you! You go downstairs with the crowd. Your father will come out eventually through the big doors to the street. Wait for him there. It couldn’t be simpler.” And she left just that quickly, fastening the little door behind her.

Asia had never in her life been out alone, not even in daylight. She was always with family or else with a man hired to see her safely on. She was small enough to be stepped on in the crowd as she made her way down from the gallery. She was so buffeted about by the women’s hoops and skirts that she could hardly keep on her feet. So she stood, hugging the wall, until the crowd was past.

But as soon as the upper floors emptied, a workman appeared, moving quickly through, extinguishing the lights on the middle floors as fast as he could. Asia had to run to follow him, and she wasn’t fast enough. Even the sound of his footsteps vanished and only the faintest light remained.

“Don’t be an infant,” she imagined Pearl saying, but Pearl’s words without Pearl had no effect. Asia was in the museum proper now, the stage still three floors down. She had to move from the staircase on one side of the building to the staircase on the other, right through the exhibits, in order to keep descending. This was a place every schoolchild in Baltimore knew well. She’d seen the collections many times with schoolmates and teachers. She’d stood and gazed in wonder on the fossilized jaw of the North American mastodon. But never alone and never at night.