“Yes, William,” she murmured.
Mattie would do whatever she had to do to lull him into believing she was as broken as she’d always been.
He shouldn’t have left me out in the woods.
That’s his mistake. Now you just have to make sure he pays for it.
CHAPTER SIX
Mattie cleared the plates from the table and washed them while William collected all the things he would need for the trip. He took his key ring and went into the bedroom, closing the door firmly. A moment later she heard the click of a lock and the sound of rummaging.
He’s gone inside the secret trunk, she thought as she took out oil and rags for cleaning. I need to know what’s inside there.
She was certain that he kept his money for buying supplies in the trunk, and she would certainly need money once she escaped. She couldn’t rely on the kindness of strangers—strangers who might know William, who might not believe her, who might deliver her back to him like a naughty child gone astray.
But how could she get into the trunk in the first place? William never left the house without taking the keys. There had to be a way to break the lock, but she wouldn’t be able to try until she was ready to leave forever. If William returned home and found Mattie there and a broken lock on his trunk then . . . well, it didn’t bear thinking about.
When he emerged from the bedroom, Mattie was polishing the floor.
“Just where you belong,” he grunted.
She kept her head down, rubbing the oil into the hardwood. She sensed his sudden flare of interest, the same way a small animal senses the presence of a predator. Mattie knew he was thinking of the previous night, how she hadn’t been home for the nightly ritual to get sons on her.
Just leave. Just go.
She didn’t think she could bear it just then, didn’t think she’d be able to pretend she was pleased by his attention. After what seemed like decades but was probably only a few moments, William huffed out an impatient breath, pulled on his boots and said, “I’m leaving.”
He slammed the door behind him before she even had a chance to turn around.
Mattie spent the morning scrubbing and polishing every surface, not because she wanted to please William （as she might have before he locked her out of the cabin to die） but because it was only sensible to keep from angering him.
If he got angry, he would punish her. If he punished her, she would be weak. She wouldn’t be able to escape if she was starving or beaten half to death.
With one of the sudden bursts of insight she’d had so many times in the last day she realized this was exactly why William did punish her so often. It had nothing to do with her behavior. It was because if she was physically weak she couldn’t run away. Every beating took more of her heart away so that she wouldn’t have the guts to even try.
And every time he told her the memories of her life before were false, he narrowed her world to the mountaintop, the cabin, to him alone.
But I’m not going to stay. I’m going to find Heather. And Mom.
She wished she could remember their faces. She could see Heather if she tried hard, though the image was blurry—round cheeks, a nose covered in freckles, brown eyes with pretty flecks of gold in them, all framed by brown hair.
“Brown eyes,” Mattie murmured, her hand fluttering in the direction of her swollen eye. “Like mine.”
“Pretty little girl with pretty eyes,” she heard someone say, and it sounded like William, a younger William, a William she’d known long ago.
Mattie stopped, her heart pounding.
She’d remembered something—just a flash, not enough to grasp, to take out and examine.
William—he must have been in his late twenties, maybe thirty at most, at any rate much younger than he currently was. He sat across the table from Mattie, but it wasn’t their rough-hewn wood table in the cabin. This table was smooth and white and she was much, much smaller （though she’d never really gotten tall; she might still be mistaken for a child if you didn’t see her face）。
Over William’s shoulder was a female figure in a yellow sweater with her back to Mattie （no, Samantha, I was Samantha then）， a woman with the same dirty blonde hair as her own, except it was curly and ended in the middle of her neck.
Turn around, Mattie thought, turn around so I can see your face.
But the image slipped away, a cracked and broken thing, and she found herself on the floor weeping, unable to stop.
After a long while she made herself get up and finish her chores. By the end of it her whole body throbbed, but especially her left eye. The swelling seemed worse than the day before, and when she touched it she felt a great pouch of fluid pushing against the top of the eye socket.