“Sorry, Sis. I’m letting George handle this one. Ow, Kat. I’m not a schoolboy to be scolded with a rap on the wrist.”
Jane heard Katherine’s voice, soft yet with definite tones of a lecture, wafting through the hedge, but she spoke so low Jane heard no specifics.
“Instructions, Jane. Please.”
George’s please about shattered her. Or perhaps that was the shivering cold shaking her teeth so.
“Mr. Dour, Mr. New Burton, Mr. Quillsby. Please do be patient while I direct my shawls to my shoulders.”
“Yes.” Three voices, one word.
“Are you listening, George?”
“Yes.”
She closed her eyes and imagined standing beside him at the East entrance. She imagined taking his hand. “Step in and—”
“How far?”
“Oh. Excellent question. Until you hit the hedge in front of you. Put your right hand on the hedge and turn to your left.”
“Done.”
“Walk with your hand never leaving that wall until you hear my voice right beside you.” She walked to the portion of the hedge where they would be closest when he arrived, but separated by the hedge. “Sorry, Mr. Dour. I should have told you this way of navigating the maze.”
A grunt. From Mr. Dour?
“Keep talking, Jane,” George ordered.
“What should I say?”
“Recite John Donne for all I care.”
“Ha. Hm. How does it go? The one with the flea?”
“You tell me.”
“Mark this flea. Is that right?”
A grunt. Definitely George that time.
“Mark this flea,” she continued, “and see how what you deny me is so small. That’s wrong, I’m certain.”
“What you deny me is not small,” George said.
Jane took two steps away from the hedge without thinking.
“I need to hear your voice, Jane,” George said, his voice getting closer, “to know when to stop.”
“Um, see how the flea sucked me and now it sucks you, no, thee, and… oh, what is it? Oh! And in this flea our two bloods mingled be!”
“Excellent, Jane.” His voice was so close now.
She stumbled toward the hedge and placed her ear and palms against the rough surface. “You’re here.”
“I’m here. What now?”
“Take your hand off the wall. Turn around and walk until—”
