I remained there, astounded. When she climbed quietly into her bed, it was clear she was letting me go. But why? In an odd way, I suppose through my assault of her, I could have earned her respect. That or she’d come to believe that her life here would be better off without me. Whichever her motive, we’d both be facing a less preferable scenario if I didn’t get going.

I continued through the hall and down the stairs, extra leery around corners. In the dimness of the kitchen, I changed into my pink-petaled dress. The fit was now entirely snug, the length well above the knee, but it would have to do. Faded overalls in the city would read like a billboard: POOR ORPHAN ON THE LAM

After tugging on my winter stockings, I added my boots and coat. My train and watch were already in my pockets, and my stash of funds left after Papa’s burial—three dollars and some change—were still secured behind the coat’s lining. A clever trick from Papa.

Apparently he’d had some magic skills too.

Parked by the door were four laundry carts. From the one least filled, I pulled out a sack and emptied it. Then I shoved the sheets and my valise deep into the mound. With the cart reconfigured to make space, I climbed inside and stepped into the bag.

I reviewed my reasoning—how the top would stay untied and open, how the sack was just like a blanket sewn at the bottom. Yet as I raised the canvas up around me, I was struck by the reality of being enshrouded. Was there another option?

Think, think!

I could always hide under the bag instead of inside it. Absolutely, that could work.

Lowering in the cart, I pulled the sack over me and curled on my side. For more cover, I wriggled into the sheets and felt a seam of my dress give out. My fingers located the small gap along my ribs. An issue for later. Keeping a partial view of the ceiling, I waited.

What might have been an hour seemed a decade. Sweat seeped from my pores, dampening my dress. I was tempted to remove my coat, but it was too late for that much movement. I simply rolled the wheels of my train tucked in my pocket.

Forward, back. Forward, back.

Through the window, dawn lightened the room so gradually I almost didn’t notice. I fought to keep my thoughts blank, clear of the punishment I’d endure if caught, of the possibility that Ingrid could speak up and play the hero—

A noise trampled the rest. Clacking heels entered the room, muffled by the instant thumping of my heart. Keys jangled. A lock clicked and hinges squeaked, a door being opened. There was clinking and scraping. The milkman’s crate of large bottles was being dragged in. The door closed with another squeak.