Morna was halfway down the hall when she heard the top step creak. The pull was too strong for her attention to waiver enough to glance behind her, but it wasn't long before she heard her name called.

"What are you doing?" Brenna hissed, the stairs squeaking as she ran down the stairs. Morna pressed toward the door, her hand outstretched and itching for the brass knob.

"Morna!" Brenna's voice wasn't any closer, though she raised the pitch. "You're not going out to the water, are you?"

When Morna didn't answer, and instead began to open the door, Brenna continued. "Mama will be so angry! You're not supposed to go out there anymore!"

Morna's hand shook on the handle of the door, the brisk night air spilling through the crack and washing over her heated face. Her stomach lurched, the call of the water insistent. From somewhere deep inside her, she pulled the strength to still her legs. Immediately, nausea swam in her gut and the hook behind her ribs sharpened. "I can't stop, Brenna," she gasped, her voice rising at the end of the sentence. "Help. I don't want to go." Tears sprang to her eyes as she imagined the water against her legs, rising to her waist... she hated it, but the pull was so strong. It yanked now, her legs stuttering forward.

"I'll get someone to help," Brenna yelled, her footsteps already stomping back up the stairs. Morna wished her sister had thought to ask a servant for help, but no doubt she was headed for Adair. Their older sister was the most reliable when it came to this sort of thing. Maybe it was because she knew what it was to keep secrets.

Unable to stop her body from rebelling any longer, Morna opened the door the entire way and let the call draw her down the lawn and toward the lake. Her bare feet stung in the cold, and the hem of her nightgown soaked up the dew and slapped against her shins. Eyes fear-bright, Morna picked her way onto the gravel path and then down the short expanse to the edge of the lake. Behind her, the sound of piano and violin drifted down from the house, along with the laughter and conversations of the party. She sucked in a shaky breath, wondering if Brenna had reached Adair yet. The black seam of the lake drew closer and closer, now only a few feet away.

It was always at this place, right before her feet hit the water, that she gained the most fight. She slammed her legs to a halt, swallowing the bile that rose in her throat at the pull that consumed her. The water seemed almost to rise from its place, swimming in her eyes, the cold wind whipping off the surface and filling her nostrils with the scent of damp. It was the strongest the pull could get, this close to the water, but it was also the place where her fear was the strongest. And fear could go a long way to pushing back the almighty call of the water.

Like a cart with a broken wheel, she stuttered painstakingly forward, her legs not bending but the momentum enough that she still shifted forward. The water licked her toes, sharply cold, and though she fought it constantly, her feet submerged inch by inch by inch.

"Brenna!" she wailed, not knowing if her sister was anywhere nearby, but knowing that even the sound of her name was a comfort. The pond stroked her shins. She bit back a sob. The hook behind her ribs yanked down sharply, and she stumbled so far that her hands brushed the surface.

"We're here," a voice said. Footsteps pounded behind her and a hand gripped her shoulder. It pulled back, her legs unsticking from the mud and sliding across the grass. She tipped her head back to see the stoic face of Adair. Her eldest sister's grip was strong and determined. Claiming her back from the call. Brenna danced nearby to keep warm, her eyes wide and shining.

"Come on," Adair said, lifting Morna up and setting her back down a few feet away from the edge of the pond. The water still whispered in her ears and in her stomach, but with her sisters standing so nearby it did not seem so urgent. "Let it pass. You know it will. Just breathe."

While Morna took in a few shaky breaths, the sound of feet dashing down the gravel drew her attention to the house. The door to the ballroom stood open, spilling guests into the orange squares of light. A few yards down the path, a handful of servants headed toward the girls. Among them, the rigid and upright form of their father and the soft form of their mother.

"What happened?" was the first question from Papa's mouth. His brown eyes scanned the scene, taking in the state of undress and the water that soaked Morna's nightgown nearly to her armpits.

"Oh," Mama gasped, recognizing it immediately. "No. Not this again, Morna. You promised." Her voice tilted, wounded. As if her youngest daughter had blabbed that a dress was made over and not new.

"We have it under control, everyone," Papa said, turning to the servants and shooing them with his ringed hands. They turned to go reluctantly, but they knew that when Papa spoke he meant it. They marched back to the house where the guests bounced on them, trying to find out what the fuss was about. Papa only kept their nurse back, who sheepishly wrapped Morna up in a fleece blanket and lifted her onto her hip. Morna blinked in surprise, unused to being held in such a manner any longer. She didn't mind though, and leaned into the sturdiness of Nurse, resting her head on the woman's broad shoulder.

"Morna." Papa's voice cut down her spine. She stiffened and buried her face deeper in Nurse's neck. "What have we told you about this sort of behavior?"

Morna sniffled but held back the tears that threatened. Her lip quivered, and Nurse tightened her grip. "I'm sorry, Papa," she mumbled.

"No, not sorry, Morna," Papa said. His hands slid around her waist, taking her from Nurse and depositing her on the ground in front of him. His fingers left her sides colder. "I don't want sorry. I want obedience. Do you know what kind of fuss you created just now? All our guests are standing about in the cold, looking down here now. We'll have to think up something to tell them, because I'm certainly not telling them that my daughter is intent on drowning herself."

"I'm not!" Morna gasped, the tears finally springing free.

"It certainly looks that way," he said.

"I can't help it. I don't want to."

"It's like she's trapped in someone else's body when it happens, Papa," Brenna offered, though this seemed to make it all the worse. Mama began to cry then, her whimpers bouncing off the pond.

"We're upsetting your mother, so I think we should end this conversation for the time being," Papa said, sighing heavily. He knelt down, his eyes level with Morna. "Darling, when you do things like this, things that don't make sense, you scare us. We don't want to find you floating in our paddling pond one morning. We're only angry because we don't want you to end up as a small gravestone behind the church."

"I try," Morna whispered. The blank feeling that came after the water's call passed now gaped inside her. The hook was replaced by a hole, a feeling that she had failed in some way. She hung her head, her breaths watery and stammering. Papa gathered her into an embrace that smelled of pipe smoke and wine. She held stiff at first, but then caved into him and wiped her eyes on his dinner jacket. Mama's silk glove petted her hair softly, lifting it away from the damp of her nightgown.

"We'll go in now," Papa said, lifting her and heading back toward the house. Morna kept her head pressed against his jacket, wishing the house was miles away. She heard the sound of Nurse and Mama and her sisters behind them, cutting to the left to avoid the guests for the moment.

They stamped up the servant's staircase and down the hall and through the nursery to their bedroom. It sat opposite the nursery's windows, so that the view was over the front pavement and winter-dead flowerbed. Three beds lay in intervals along the far wall, matched with wardrobes and vanities. Papa lay Morna in her yellow blankets, pulling the eiderdown up to her chin and wiping the tears from her cheeks with his fingers.

"Go to sleep," he said.

She rolled over to her side, facing Brenna's bed. Brenna climbed up, ducking underneath her blue blankets while Adair busied herself pulling out a nightgown and absently unpinning her hair. Mama watched Adair cautiously, but didn't say anything. She merely scooped down to kiss Morna's forehead and then repeated the process with Brenna.

Their parents walked to the door, standing backlit by the nursery fire. The bedroom lay dark and quiet, a comfort after the frantic decent to the pond. Morna snuggled into her bed, watching as Mama leaned over Papa's shoulder, smiling faintly as she viewed her children. Papa looked from each girl to the next, three in a row.

"Tomorrow," he said, as it were a promise, and then closed the door.