Holding her breath,

she remains crouched down inside the old wardrobe, staring blankly at the corner of her light blue plaid dress as it lays against the dark wood grain. Continuing her silent mental count, she listens to hear small socked footfalls on berber. The creak of the old wood panels beneath her feet sounds as a gunshot, until her nervous heartbeat drowns out any other sound. Silence, silence, she waits without motion, gradually allowing restrained breath. A faint hint of camphor tinges the spicy scent of mahogany, dust filling in the cracks of space and smell. She feels her nose tickling, and bites her lip hard, trying to turn her attention to the sharp pain and away from the sneeze that would betray her location. Slowly it recedes, and she allows a soft sigh of relief -only to hurriedly draw breath back in again. A moan from aged floorboards, and soft scuffling on carpet, husky uneven breath, obscured by a stuffed nose - she is found if she moves. A pain swells in her right foot, cramped from lack of motion, she swallows hard to keep back a whimper. Her small hand reaches down to hold the white-stockinged foot, her limbs yet retaining the soft pudginess of infancy, her young frame having far still to go before reaching its potential boundaries. Listening more intensely than ever after the brief distraction, she hears the footsteps and constricted breathing alternately growing louder and softer. Scrunching round blue eyes closed, her mind tries to find her pursuer’s location, placing the sound in the semi-familiar room, blindly picturing the carefully placed knick-knacks, the musty but elegant old end tables and cabinets, the floral sofa and presentable carpet. She tries to visualize the small, sniffling boy creeping across the room, his floppy brown hair in need of a trim (a seven-year old's petulance keeping it perpetually unkempt), suspenders holding in place rolled-up slacks, once-neat shirt rumpled by constant motion. Her mind's eye tries to keep him searching every place but the one she hides in, peering beneath the sofa and desk, behind red-checked drapes or the heavy oak door, around the richly toned shelves of books and large reclining chair. But now the breathing grows louder, her heartbeat following suit, he sneezes and she clenches her hand tightly around her foot in startled fright - he is just outside the wardrobe door. Imagination paints her over with invisible ink, her short light brown curls disappearing first, the pretended paint sliding quickly down over her dress, arms, stockings, until she cannot be seen.
       "David? David, you left your shoes in the hall again, please put them where they belong?"
       "But Mo---"
       "David..." Their mother's voice drops into unarguable sternness, and both children know their game must wait in light of such command.
       She listens as his feet pad rapidly over the carpet onto the linoleum of the next room, socks skidding slightly on the smooth surface. And the moment she is certain he is out of viewing range, she jumps up, flinging her hands against the sides of the wardrobe to brace herself, feet unsteady from lack of circulation. Moving her hands to press palms firmly against the door, she pushes hard, swaying a little as it swings open. Scrambling haphazardly out, not bothering to close the door behind her, she sprints across the room and out the door, skidding far more dangerously than her brother had just a moment before on the linoleum. Grabbing at walls, corners, and furniture for purchase, she darts through rooms until she reaches the refrigerator in the kitchen.
       "Olly olly oxen free!" she yells, voice bright with youthful energy, eyes lighting and cheeks flushing, her face rosy and sparkling with innocent triumph as she clings to a corner of the refrigerator. Her fingers brush against the rough paper of her own drawing held to the smooth cool surface by a small round magnet, and she shivers slightly as a chill seeps through her light cotton dress to her skin.
       A moment later, her brother bounds into the room, jumping eagerly through the doorway. "My turn to hide! Kate, you stand there and count to a hundred and don't peek because that's cheating."
       She nods solemnly, putting her hands securely over her eyes.
       "Okay count!" he cries, then instantly takes off through the halls. Without looking, she knows he is running toward the deserted front room. Most days, Mother would not let them play in the room, as she tried to keep it neat and tidy for any guests who might stop by. But today she was busy doing laundry, and had plans to clean the room tomorrow, so to a jubilant reception she had announced they could play there if they wished, and promised to be quite careful doing so. The happy news coming in midst of a game of hide-and-go-seek, David had told Kate they would use the room for hiding. She cheerfully consented, her hands tingling at the thought of having reason to look at, touch, and inspect every fascinating bit of the carefully-kept room. The air there smelled of old fabric and rose potpourri, and though Mother kept it dusted piously, she could do nothing to remove the slightly musty scent of old age which clung to the heavy antique furniture. Kate had once overheard a scrap of conversation between Mother and Father one evening, and Mother had asked Father if couldn't they maybe have things a bit more modern? That wardrobe was simply enormous, and what was she to do with it? But Father had had his heart set on an old-fashioned front room, he liked the noble air of well-made furniture and solid, warm things. Besides, the piano would not match more "modern" furnishings, and didn't she want her children to learn piano once they could afford lessons? She could hear the smile in Mother's voice as she agreed, and Kate felt the electric tingle in her fingertips that signaled the thrilling anticipation of some long desired pleasure.
       "...ninety-eight, ninety-nine, a hundred!" she calls out loudly, uncovering her eyes and turning away from the refrigerator. Walking slowly and cautiously, she steals as silently as ever she can across the kitchen floor, into the hall and around a few corners, until she stands at the threshold of the front room. Despite the eagerness which tugs at her young feet and inquisitive mind, she holds back a moment, simply soaking in the ethereal combination of pleasure and pain of the room's pull on her. Perfectly still, even her breathing hushed, she hears her heavily beating heart, the creak of floorboards as her mother carries clean laundry from room to room, and there, from under the coffee table hidden by a lace coverlet, the husky breathing of her cold-beleaguered brother.
       Yet through she knows just where he hides, she takes her time in approaching the table, enjoying to the fullest the opportunity her chance to investigate whatever might intrigue her in the room. Singing softly to herself, she moves across the room in a mimicry of her mother's grace, her fingers lightly brushing across the polished surfaces of the wooden furnishings - an arm of the sofa, the intricate ornamental carvings on an end table. Reaching the wardrobe, she tugs firmly at the door which always sticks just a little, and breathes in the dust and old wood she was enwrapped in a few minutes before. "Nope, he's not here!" she softly announces, feigning innocence in the naïvely obvious manner of a child. Her eyes fall on the heavy drawer beneath the main compartment which she had been hidden within, seeing it ever so slightly ajar. She folds her legs beneath her, kneeling in front of the wardrobe, her small hands gripping the brass handle of the drawer and pulling hard. A low rumble sounds as it moves an inch or so, but is abruptly cut short by a strained squeak as the warped wood is trapped by its own swelling. Her thin brows furrow slightly, as she leans forward to peer into the dark interior, straining to see the contents which had rattled dully. Squeezing a hand into the small opening she has created, she fumbles a moment, then gently draws into the light the first things her fist closed around - a folded square of embroidered fabric, cream-colored by age and covered in a faded rainbow of delicate flowers. A faint scent of old lavender wafts up to her nose as she carefully replaces the cloth, attempting to cover her disturbance of the drawer's contents.
       A sudden cough erupts from beneath the coffee table, causing giggles to burst from Kate's mouth. "I hear David!" she teases, toddling across the room - but still not to the coffee table itself. Instead she continues right past it, putting out her arms to brake herself by running into the piano bench, still giggling. She slips her fingers beneath the lid, prying it up and carefully extending her arms to push it back as far as she is able to reach, revealing the songbooks and sheet music stored in the small cubby inside the bench. Slowly she lets go of the lid, exhaling in exaggerated relief as it remains open. "Is he in here?" she asks loudly, sifting through the lesson books and aging sheet music from decades past. A giggle trickles out from the table, and she responds in kind, spinning about in a clumsy circle, raising her hands in the air. "Where could he be? I guess I lost my brother for good this time."
       "No you didn't!" counters the coffee table. "Keep looking, keep looking!"
       "But where?" she asks, again putting her hands in the air, tugging at a caramel-colored curl.
       "Over here!" answers the table with another bubbly gurgle, a bit of the lace covered it billowing outward.
       "Hmmm," she replies, tapping her baby-dimpled chin in playful pondering. "Maybe I'll look over---" She remembers the open bench, and turns to close it, before scrambling up to sit atop it. For a moment, she faces the piano, holding her fingers over the covered keys in a manner which they will become quite accustomed to in years to come, but for now only lends to such an excited tingle that a fresh smile covers her round face. "Someday," she whispers quietly, with a premonition she does not yet understand. Then she squirms around rapidly and slips form the bench, making a quick circle around the room, eyes skipping from one object to the next, seeing if there is anything more of interest---
       She jumps to a halt in front of a glass-fronted case, maybe a foot or so taller than herself. Wide-eyed, she gingerly lays her hands against the smooth transparent panels, staring at the unreachable contents. Four slim wooden shelves, with mirrors behind them, are covered with various small statues, antique photographs in old frames, a few pieces of colored glass, miniature china plates of a size just perfect for a tea party, and other sundry fragile things. Transfixed, her eager eyes alight on a small figurine, a young girl with arms outstretched, wings arching gracefully back from between her slim shoulders---
       "Olly olly!" shrieks a voice behind her, accompanied by hurried footfalls, heavy breathing and shrieks of laughter quickly receding as he runs to the kitchen. "Olly olly you can't catch me, olly olly oxen free!"
       Startled so suddenly from reverie, there is a moment of stillness before the direness of her situation sets in. "No wait! I knew where you were! David! That's not fair, David!" she squeals, scrambling after him as quickly as she is able, laughing breathlessly, the solemn fantasy of old things forgotten in the giddiness of children's play.