The Girl Before Read Free

look-over and smooth her hair. I always feel a little sad when I am saying good-bye to one of my daughters. But I am confident she will do well. She has not even moved to hug me good-bye, though tears glisten in her eyes. She is ever the lady, just as I taught her.
    Mr. Jamison leads Jill out, and after the door latches behind them, Glen lets out a whoop and spins me around. “We did it, Clara! Papa will have to be impressed.”
    I smile at him. “He will be.” Jill was the first girl who Glen and I handled completely on our own after taking over her training. It couldn’t have gone better, and Papa has to be able to see that.
    A crash echoes from the other room. Glen swears. “Can you do something about that tiger? Now that Jill is gone, I expect you should be able to deal with her.”
    I nod and hurry to the other room. There is an observation room outside the small bedroom where new girls are put when they first arrive. We need time to observe them and pinpoint areas for improvement. The men have managed to get the girl into the room, but cannot shut the door, as she has wedged herself into the space between the door and the latch. The adorable bedroom I decorated has been ransacked, and there is a decapitated doll strewn across the bed. The girl has wild eyes, and she screeches as I walk into the observationroom. Her dark blond hair is a nest of tangles that will take me hours to smooth out. I shake my head.
    My entrance is enough to distract the girl so the men can push her inside and close the door. The girl continues to destroy the room, but it is silent now. The room is soundproofed.
    â€œSorry about your room, Clare,” Joel says, shaking his head. “This one’s a fighter for sure.”
    I just nod and wave them off. Joel and his companion leave gratefully. My eyes are glued to the girl on the other side of the window. She appears to be at least twelve or thirteen, a bit older than the girls we usually take in. The girl cannot see me, but has tasked herself with trying to break what she sees as a giant mirror by repeatedly ramming herself into it.
    A fighter, indeed. I think I will call her Passion.
Now
    They are trying something new today. They have brought me outside to a courtyard of some sort. A picnic table, shaded by a large tree, is centered in the area, surrounded by sparse blades of brown grass. It has been a dry spring. I drag my feet as I walk toward the table. All my energy is gone. I cannot remember my last meal. Connor and Meredith sit on one side of the picnic table, plates of chicken in front of them. Another plate sits waiting across the table, and I collapse in front of it. It is a struggle, but I push the plate away from me and turn to stare at the tree. It is a sad tree. Alone. It looks dead, but small buds give evidence of dormant life.
    â€œYou are wasting away, Di—Clara,” Connor says. He sounds concerned. More of his tricks. I am worried his tricks are starting to workon me, because his kind voice makes tears prick my eyes. I will not cry, though. I will show no weakness. Not by talking. Not by eating. Not by crying.
    â€œThey have located the parents of all the girls from your house,” Meredith says. “The reunions will be on the news.”
    Parents? Those are my girls. Glen and I are their parents. I turn to say so but catch myself just in time. There is a spark in Meredith’s eyes that says she knows she almost broke me. I must be stronger. Meredith and Connor take large bites of chicken and talk about some sporting event that happened last night. They pretend I do not exist. Maybe I don’t. Not anymore.
    Meredith pauses and looks at me. “Oh yeah,” she says, as if she has just remembered something. She does this a lot. She slides a scrap of paper across the rough surface of the table and returns to her conversation and her chicken.
    I consider ignoring the note, but I am weak. I pull it closer, eyes widening. One