Spider Web Heart
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“It was a dark and stormy night…” So begins so many mystery stories. A murder is discovered, and the reader follows along as a detective solves it before anyone else can put two and two together.
In most mystery stories, the murderer turns out to be someone who’s long been suspected of killing someone, but in this case, it isn’t even an unsolved crime. We know exactly who killed him: me. But he wasn’t my first victim or even second…
We were walking back to town when I heard gunshots. At first, I thought it was part of our show; we often used that trick when performing for children. We’d pretend to shoot each other with invisible guns then turn out the lights and act like we shot them in the heart. It worked well on kids who had already seen us perform once.
But when I realized we were the ones being shot at, I pulled Danica down behind a wagon and covered her with my body as bullets whizzed past my ears.
The shots continued and finally stopped altogether, so I risked a peek around the side of the wagon and saw nothing more than darkness ahead of us and what appeared to be a large house farther up the hill where the shots came from. It didn’t look familiar, so I turned away and waited there while Danica cried quietly. She said she was afraid and hoped no one would find us.
A few minutes passed without another sound when I dared to poke my head over the side of the wagon and see if it was safe to walk toward the house. No movement greeted my eyes except that of a dog sleeping under a table near the front door.
There was only one way to get to the front door, through the open kitchen door. It was unlocked, and as soon as I stepped inside the room, I found a man sitting at a desk reading by candlelight.
I froze for a moment. “Hello,” I called softly so as not to startle him, knowing that the gunshot probably woke everyone else in the house. It certainly startled the man who stood suddenly and grabbed his gun belt from the corner where he hung it.
He looked me over with such coldness and disdain that my heart sank for some reason. His face was pale, but I could tell it wasn’t because of the fear of what happened just outside.
The man’s name was John Halsey, and he lived alone in this mansion. My guess was that he hadn’t slept much since that night. Every time he closed his eyes, he expected a bullet through his temple any minute now.
If he ever managed to drift off, he had nightmares about the day when a masked gunman shot him down. He must have known that every single person who knew him—or rather, who thought they knew him—had turned their backs on him after he murdered his wife and son. That was why I did too.
“What do you want?” Halsey growled when I didn’t come out of hiding fast enough for him. He moved closer to where I crouched behind the kitchen door and held his revolver pointed at my chest.
“You’re not going to hurt her,” I said calmly. “She doesn’t even know you.”
Halsey glanced at Danica and frowned. Then he raised his gun toward me again. I couldn’t let him shoot me in front of Danica; so I quickly moved around the side of the table and ran for the front door, leaving Danica behind.
The moment I escaped into the night, Halsey started shooting. I ducked behind a large elm tree and heard three loud bangs followed by screams coming from all directions.
Danica screamed my name and kept saying, “Mama!”
When I reached the house, I found Danica sitting next to Mrs. Halsey in the dining room where Danica had been playing earlier with little Tommy. I went straight to them, took Danica by the hand, and led her through the house. When we got to the front door, I opened it and saw that the rain had finally stopped falling, and the sky was starting to lighten.
I helped Danica out of the carriage and walked with her and Mrs. Halsey up to the road. As we neared town, Danica began to cry, sobbing, “No, Mama! Don’t leave me here!” She clung tightly to my arm.
Mrs. Halsey put a comforting arm around Danica and tried to comfort her as best she could.
We left town shortly after sunrise and headed for St. Louis. We spent the rest of that day and the following night there. Danica never spoke to me about what happened the night before or anything about the man who shot at us. Nor did I press the matter. In fact, I hardly talked to her at all.
By late afternoon on our third day after leaving town, Danica seemed to have forgotten about the incident. But the memories haunted me as I sat alone in the carriage looking out the window at passing farms and villages that seemed so quiet and peaceful.
On the fourth morning of our journey, Danica said suddenly, “I’ve made a new doll to take along with us.” She handed the doll to me. “Can you make her talk?”
“I don’t think so,” I replied doubtfully, wondering how she could have thought up such a question in the first place.
“Why not? You can do just about anything,” Danica said proudly. “I’ll show you.” Danica pulled aside my shawl and showed me where she had sewn the mouth and eyes shut with cotton thread.
“But that means she has no voice. That will be very hard for people to believe if you try to tell your story.”
“It won’t matter,” Danica said. “They’ll figure out something is wrong with her. People are good at figuring things out.”
I stared at her and asked, “How did you find out that someone would figure it out?”
“Just look at this doll.”
I shook my head and smiled. “Yes, it does seem like it would be difficult for anyone to understand.” So much for my ability to do everything, I thought.
Danica giggled and patted the doll’s backside. “Now, I’m ready to go home, and I hope Papa isn’t too mad at me for being gone all this time.”
***
As we rode along, Danica continued to chatter happily about everything that interested her. It was as if she never remembered that terrible night or that awful man, and I had to remind myself that it wasn’t really possible. I wondered what her life would have been like if she’d never met John Halsey, but then I wouldn’t have her either.
After four days of traveling, we finally reached the town of New Albany, Missouri. This was the first town south of St. Louis, so we were almost back in civilization—if you could call a settlement surrounded by nothing but forested hills and fields civilized.
The moment Danica saw the house where we were staying, she jumped down from the buggy and ran up to the porch, dragging the doll by her feet. Mrs. Halsey came running up to us and hugged Danica as soon as she reached the porch.
She also hugged me gently and whispered in my ear, “You’ll need some money of your own, dear. I know Mr. Halsey will be generous in allowing you to work for him, but you need to have some of your own so that you can buy food.”
That seemed strange since neither Danica nor I needed to buy any more food than what the Halsey’s provided. I had always known that I’d get paid for doing odd jobs around the house, and I knew I would have to pay the doctor when he examined Danica. But why should I need my own money?
Before I had a chance to ask Mrs. Halsey about this, Danica turned around and waved her hands frantically, trying to point inside the house. Mrs. Halsey grabbed Danica by the shoulders and said firmly, “Don’t bother me now.”
I followed Danica into the house and heard Mrs. Halsey say, “She seems so excited to see you again, Mr. Halsey. Perhaps we should allow them some time alone.”
When we reached the bedroom, Danica said, “Look Mama, look at my room!” Then she pointed to the bed where her toys and dolls lay scattered around the floor. She picked up a doll and placed it carefully in her rocking chair. “This doll has a lot of stories to tell,” she said. “I want her to talk because she doesn’t seem very smart. And besides, it would be so much fun.”
“That sounds interesting,” I said, watching her.
Danica held her fingers together and began to count out loud as she moved her fingers across the doll’s face. The doll opened its eyes and said, “Where am I? Where did I come from?”
I stared at the doll incredulously and couldn’t help saying, “How did you manage that?”
“What do you mean?” Danica asked innocently. “Didn’t you hear what happened? This doll talks!”
I shook my head slowly. “No one can do this except me. Not even you.”
“Really?”
“Yes,” I insisted, shaking my head as if there might be something wrong with me after all. “It must be your imagination, sweetheart.”
“But it really works. Look.” Danica turned the doll over on the bed.
The doll’s eyes opened, revealing bright blue irises that were mesmerizing to watch. “My name is Dolly,” the doll told Danica in a deep, raspy voice. “And I live in this house. What’s yours?”
Danica looked surprised. “Oh, how did you know my name?”
“Why don’t you show me?” I said, feeling more intrigued than ever before.
“Of course.” Danica stood up from the bed, took the doll by the hand, and led her into the hallway. They walked down the hall, past rooms filled with other dolls and toy animals, and entered a large parlor where several children sat playing cards and talking in small groups.
The dolls didn’t seem to mind Danica and her new friend. In fact, they ignored us completely and played as though we weren’t even there.
Danica led me back through the front door, down the steps, and out onto the porch where she turned and asked me curiously, “Was that fun?”
“Yes,” I said. “Very interesting.”
“Then why don’t you make the next card move too?” Danica pleaded, still holding her hand out to me.
“Come on,” she said. “Let’s play.”
We stayed outside for another hour or two until Mrs. Halsey shooed us inside for dinner. I was so intrigued that I asked Danica to show me more of her tricks during our evening meal. I watched as Danica made the cards move, then I asked her to turn the cards over while she held them between her palms.
“You’re not real smart, are you?” Danica asked as soon as the cards stopped moving. She held a stack of cards in her hands and looked expectantly at me. “Well?” she said, sounding disappointed when the cards didn’t start to move again. “Can you do that trick again?”
I shook my head and said, “I can’t do anything but turn them over like this.”
“So you admit that I’m better than you?”
“Not really.” I shrugged casually, although inside I was proud of Danica, just the same. There could be no doubt now about whether I liked little girls or not. Danica was special. She was smart, curious, and beautiful. I had never been around anyone so full of life before.
I felt as though I was finally beginning to understand Danica, maybe even myself, as well. I found her presence comforting somehow and realized that I missed Danica as soon as we walked into the house and the sound of the clock ticking off the minutes grew louder and louder.
I knew that I couldn’t go home yet, not without having learned whatever I could from Danica, and it wasn’t long before Danica seemed eager to begin her lessons.
She pulled the doll from her pocket and said, “Now show me what you can do.”
We spent an hour sitting at the table as Danica instructed me to repeat everything she did, including making the doll talk and performing other magic tricks.
At last, I said, “I think you’ve shown me enough.”
Danica nodded as she gathered up the cards and stuffed them back in her pocket. “I know,” she said softly. “I have so many things left to teach you.”
As soon as we stepped through the front door I felt as though someone had hit me with a club. I was exhausted, drained—exhausted! It was only then that I realized that Danica had taught me much more than just card tricks and sleight of hand. Danica had also taught me patience; she’d forced me to sit quietly while she worked.
I hadn’t thought about this earlier because I was too busy watching her, fascinated by what she did with her hands. But Danica wasn’t trying to impress me; she simply enjoyed teaching. I was the one who wanted to learn. It suddenly became very clear why Danica didn’t feel comfortable in any school setting, nor at church either.
She was a natural teacher and a born performer. No wonder she preferred being outdoors instead of inside among other children. She would probably do well in some sort of outdoor environment. Maybe farming? She certainly loved working with plants.
Or could she become a park ranger? I was already wondering what Danica’s future might look like if not for the curse. Would she be happy living as I had imagined all these years, alone on a farm? Was that why she hated school so much?
And why had she taken such care to avoid becoming part of a family of any sort? I was almost certain that Danica would have liked having a big family someday. If nothing else, I hoped that I could find a way to free Danica from her curse so that she could live the life she deserved, away from men and their evil plans.
Mrs. Halsey took Danica to her room after supper. They spoke briefly in hushed tones before Mrs. Halsey went downstairs. Then Danica turned to me and smiled before saying, “Do you want to read a book together?”
“Yes,” I said, “but first let’s see how you like my latest reading material.”
Danica followed me down the hall toward my study. Her eyes lit up when she saw the books on my shelves. “Are those your books?” she asked excitedly.
“They’re yours now too,” I told her.
Danica’s smile widened. “Oh, but they belong here,” she exclaimed as she ran her fingers along the spines of my old books.
“No,” I said sternly. “My collection belongs wherever you wish to take it.”
Danica stared at the books as I opened the desk drawer and withdrew a few sheets of paper, pens, and ink. “Write something down,” I ordered, holding out the pen for her to use.
She scribbled a note on the blank sheet. Then, as she held the folded piece of paper close to my face, she handed it to me and said, “I wrote my name on the bottom.”
“Your real name?” I asked, surprised.
“Of course!”
Danica’s parents had known exactly what they were doing by giving her a false name. Now, I wondered what Danica’s true identity was. What kind of girl would dare to call herself by a man’s name? And yet, I knew instinctively that Danica would never reveal who she truly was. She had been trained to keep her identity hidden from anyone. That included me.
After I’d tucked the note in my pocket, Danica picked up a book off the shelf next to my desk and said, “I’ll start here.”
I looked over at the desk and saw that her notes were scattered around the place where she’d written her name. The papers had fallen from the edge of the desk onto the floor. I picked up the papers and returned them to the desk. At least now Danica wouldn’t have to hunt for her notes every time she came to my study.
“You know,” I said as I walked back into the main room and sat down at the dining table, “you might have to practice more before you can make the writing stay on the desk top.”
“Maybe,” Danica replied as she opened one of my old books and began paging through it, “but at least I’m learning how to read.”
***
The next morning as I watched Danica eat breakfast, I felt a sense of guilt for thinking ill of Danica’s parents. After all, they had done everything they could to help Danica, even though she wasn’t their own daughter.
They had raised her with love and kindness, fed her well, clothed her warm, and given her opportunities that I hadn’t thought existed outside of the big cities. Danica was lucky to be part of a loving family who cared for her.
The End