“See,” Louisa said. “There she go,” and I swatted her arm in laughter.

Dear Mama,

I have met the two most extraordinary girls, whose voices

Dear Libertie,

Today we had an interesting case: a young Hebrew serving girl

I believe can lead us to a kind of promised land. I know that sounds like a

with inflammation of the uvula and palate and an inclination to swallow

fancy and like a dream, but that’s what their singing is like to me. Together,

during the night.

they could be the greatest singers our world has yet heard.

What would you prescribe, Libertie?

Dear Mama,

Do you remember, Mama, when there was the bad fever a few years ago? And the churches took to pealing bells to count the dead? Two tolls for a man, three tolls for a woman, one for a child. And how at night you would hear each ring of the bell, and wait, wait, wait for the next ring—whose life were you hearing called out? Whose life was coming to you through the dark? The Graces’ singing is like that. Except you’re waiting to hear about life beginning, not ending. And it is marvelous.

PS. I would prescribe, I think, Cimicifuga.

Dear Libertie,

I remember that, of course, Libertie, but I’m not sure what you mean by the rest. I am glad you are finding amusement there, but please do not forget your purpose.

Yesterday, a woman came to me with a toothache, caused by the damp night air. What would you prescribe?

Mama—

Nux m., cepa, rhus. Wind: aeon., puis., rhus, sil. Draught: bell., calc, chin., sulph.

Libertie

I would go to the barrels of water Madeline Grady kept in her yard and take off the cover and try to catch my reflection in the black-silver surface there. She once found me like this, and I said, by way of explanation, “I am not a good daughter.”

“Well, that’s just pure nonsense if I ever heard it.”

“I don’t think I can be what she wishes me to be,” I said. “I feel too much, and she’s never felt like this at all.”

Madeline Grady fixed me with a hard stare. “I’ve never met a girl as hard-pressed on making life difficult for herself as you, Libertie,” she said. “Usually, it’s men get caught in that current. I always thought women had more sense. But I suppose you live long enough, you see everything.” And she sucked her teeth and looked for her wooden ladle, and I hated her, a little bit, for seeing me so well.

I’d rather have had my mother and her obliviousness. There is a greater comfort in being unseen than being understood and dismissed.

Sometimes, I thought Madeline Grady was wiser than any of us, but Experience and Louisa were not admirers of her. When they found out where I lived, they exchanged a look that I eagerly asked them to explain.

“What? What is it?”

“Well,” Louisa said, “Mr. Grady is a sad man.”