I thought on it. “You were trying to make him less angry,” I said.

“Yes.”

September 1896

I thought I’d wet the bed, but when I pulled back the covers, my nightdress and sheets were stained red. I screamed. My hands were sticky with blood. The ache I’d been feeling in my back and belly was suddenly terrifying.

Da burst into my room and looked around in a panic, then he came to my bedside, worry all over his face. When he saw my bloodied nightdress, he was relieved. Then he was awkward.

The mattress gave in to the weight of him as he sat on the edge. He pulled the covers back over me and stroked my cheek. I knew, then, what it was, and was suddenly conscious of myself. I pulled the covers higher and avoided looking at him.

“I’m sorry,” I said.

“Don’t be silly.”

We sat there for an uncomfortable minute, and I knew how much he wished Lily was there.

“Has Lizzie…?” Da began.

I nodded.

“Have you got what you need?”

I nodded again.

“Can I…?”

I shook my head.

Da kissed my cheek and stood. “French toast this morning,” he said, closing the door as if I were an invalid, or a sleeping baby. But I was fourteen.

I waited to hear his footsteps on the stairs before letting go of the covers and sitting on the edge of the bed. I felt more blood leak from me. In the drawer of my bedside table was a monthlies box that Lizzie had made up especially, with belts and padded napkins she’d sewn from rags. I bunched up the length of my nightdress and held it between my legs.

Da was making a racket in the kitchen, letting me know the coast was clear. With the box under my arm, I crossed the landing to the bathroom and held tighter to the wad of fabric that stopped me from dripping.

No school, Da said. I would spend the day with Lizzie. My eyes welled with the relief of it.

We left the house and began the familiar walk to Sunnyside. As if nothing was different, Da told me a word he was working on and asked me to guess what it meant. I barely knew how to think, and for once I didn’t care. The streets stretched long, and everyone we passed looked at me as if they knew. I walked as though nothing I wore was a good fit.

There was a dampness between my thighs, then the trace of a single drop, like a tear running across a cheek. By the time we were on the Banbury Road, blood was running down the inside of my leg. I felt it seeping into my stockings. I stopped walking, squeezed my legs together, held my hand to the place that was bleeding.

I whimpered. “Da?”