Silhouette of a Sparrow (11 page)

I had to.

“What’s wrong?” Isabella asked, approaching me slowly from the edge of the woods as though I was a wild animal she didn’t want to frighten away. “Should I take you back?”

“Yes.” Teddy. The hotel. Teddy. Yes. But then I faltered, my resolve vanishing as quickly as it had come. “No . . . I don’t know.”

The tears came faster.

Isabella laid a hand on my shoulder, and without another thought I threw myself into her arms. She held me a minute in silence and then pulled back to look at me, concern etched into creases on her forehead. Tears streaked my face and the world looked bright and blurry. But her face was clear. And close.

Isabella stood for everything uncertain and unstable and risky, and yet as my mind threatened to reel back in frantic circles, I found stillness in her dark eyes. I held onto that stillness for dear life.

Just then a spatter of rain tickled my face, cooler than my tears. Isabella let go of me and held up her bare arms to feel the drops. She looked off to the west where dark clouds gathered. “Oh, no. There’s a storm coming.”

(
Sitta carolinensis)

“I wonder if we have time to get back before it starts . . .”

She didn’t wonder for long. As we turned to walk back to the boat, a downpour hit, drenching us instantly. My dress clung to my skin and my hair hung limp down my back, stringy and dripping. I didn’t care. It jolted me out of my confusion and flipped the mood like the toss of a coin, and for that I was grateful.

The storm erupted so suddenly that Isabella and I laughed as we plodded through the mud and splashed in puddles like children. Gradually, the rain washed the ache out of my chest and I almost forgot about the woodpeckers. When we reached the familiar cove, I helped Isabella turn the boat upside down and hoist one end up high onto a boulder. Once the water drained out, we climbed underneath and let the boat shelter us from the rain. We shared our picnic lunch there, even though it, along with my
shoes and stockings and hat, had gotten a little soggy. The simple meal tasted delicious after our romp in the rain. The few thick slices of dark bread, the hunk of cheese, the handful of ripe strawberries, and the tiny flask full of lemonade hit the spot.

“No gin?” I asked warily, eyeing the flask.

“No gin. All out right now.”

“Where do you get it, anyway?”

“From Jimmy, in the band.”

“Haven’t you ever heard of Prohibition?”

“Are you kidding me? I think my mother
invented
Prohibition. Which is precisely why I choose to ignore it.” She paused and then went on. “I used to be worse. I had a really bad job awhile back, and I needed the alcohol to help me get through the night.”

Rain pounded down on the boat over our heads in a loud rhythm. I looked at her with searching eyes, wanting and not wanting her to go on. She shook her head, choosing not to elaborate. She changed the subject instead.

“What happened back there, Garnet? Why didn’t you want to cut out those birds?”

I took a moment to think about it. Why was it, exactly? How could I make Isabella understand, when I didn’t even really understand? The silence stretched out while I thought about how to answer her.

“I guess I couldn’t see them for themselves—all I could see was that they were a mated pair, feeding and nesting together, raising babies and sending them off into the world. I don’t think birds feel
happiness
exactly, at least not like we do, but they seemed happy to me anyway. Settled and content.
So watching them made me think about Father and about the fact that my family isn’t really like that family of birds at all. And they made me think about Teddy, and wonder if I could have a happy family with him . . . or not.”

I looked over at Isabella—those perfect lips, that short hair starting to dry with little tufts sticking up at funny angles, those boyish clothes all rumpled and soaked. I wanted to tell her secrets I hadn’t even told myself yet.

“There’s so much waiting for me at home, Isabella. Eventually this summer will end and I’ll have to go back. August twenty-sixth is branded in my memory like judgment day. There are decisions to be made, big decisions. See, the thing is I . . . I can’t end up like my mother,” I said, surprising myself with the sudden clarity of my desires. “I can’t marry Teddy and have children and call that a life. The woodpeckers are happy with that, but I don’t think I could be. I want to learn. And work. And see things, and do things, and be somebody.”

“I know, Garnet.” The patter of rain filled the small silence between us. She pressed her small hand onto my knee, and underneath the wet and nearly transparent fabric of my skirt, my clammy skin warmed instantly at her touch.

“Can I tell you a secret, and you won’t tell anyone?” Isabella said.

“Of course.”

“My name’s not Isabella.”

I laughed. “It’s not? What is it?”

“Mary Elizabeth.”

I laughed until my stomach was sore, and she joined
me. Laughter filled the tiny space under the boat until we were wrapped in the sound, safe in our own little world.

Then our eyes caught, and held, and her lips came closer. And closer. Until they were on mine and she was kissing me and I was kissing her back.

I was a hawk on the wind.

 

After a split-second eternity, her laugh made me pull away.

But it wasn’t coming from her. No, the source of the sound was outside our boat cave. It was the birdsong I’d been trying for so long to place, the soft, single-toned, whistle-like
whi-whi-whi-whi-whi-whi-whi.
I had to know. I peeked out under the rim and peered through the rain. There, climbing head down around a tree trunk just beyond the clearing, was a simple little gray-and-white bird. It pecked at the bark of the tree, sheltered from the rain by foliage, and there was no mistaking it.

“A nuthatch?” I said when my tingling lips remembered how to speak. “I never would have thought . . . not an exotic species at all! Just a plain, common . . .”

“What?”

I looked at her—really looked—and all at once the nuthatch made sense. This girl next to me was only part Isabella, the stunning scarlet tanager. She was also part Mary Elizabeth, the simple nuthatch. So what was I, then? Part Garnet, the boring American robin, or the ordinary ring-billed gull, or the drab little chipping sparrow—but maybe part something else.

“Mary Elizabeth,” I whispered.

“Seriously, Garnet,” she said, clearing her throat. “Will
you still call me Isabella? I was never very good at being a Mary Elizabeth.”

Her face was close again. So close. The air hung thick and humid around us, in our under-the-boat world.

“I’ll call you Isabella. Whenever I’m not calling you beautiful. Or amazing. Or—”

She kissed me again and my words were lost. I was drowning, and I’d never been more grateful in my whole life.

“I have another secret,” she said, pulling away. I waited, anxious to take back her lips again. “I wrote to my brother. I sent him mail-order boxing gloves. I told him to follow his dream.” My heart swelled up and I kissed her again and again and again.

 

The rain let up some after awhile, and I reluctantly asked Isabella if we could head back. It was getting late and I was worried I’d be missed at the hotel.

“I don’t know . . . I suppose the rain isn’t all that dangerous. There hasn’t been any lightning, I don’t think. We’d get soaked again, but I think we’d make it back all right.”

“Let’s go then. It’s getting late and I really don’t want to get caught.”

I helped her flip the boat and carry it into the water. I tossed my shoes in and swung myself up into the dinghy. She climbed halfway in and pushed us off with one leg. Once she was settled, we were off. The boat wobbled in the choppy water and Isabella struggled with the oars, but luckily the wind blew at our backs, so despite the rough water we slowly moved toward the mainland.

When we were well away from the island but still
far from the docks, thunder cracked through the air like a horseman’s whip. Lightning followed, streaking from sky to land not a mile away.

Isabella’s eyes stared in panic. “Come sit beside me,” she called, her voice distorted by wind and fear. I scrambled over to her bench. She spoke straight into my ear so the wind wouldn’t whisk her words away. Her voice stayed calm, but with her side touching mine I could feel her trembling. “Take this oar and
pull
. We have to get to land, fast.”

“Is this—dangerous?”

“Metal boat, flat lake,” she said. “Yes, it’s dangerous.”

The image flashed unbidden into my mind—a newspaper clipping with a photo of my body, washed up on the shore, limbs tangled around the half-dressed corpse of the beautiful dancehall girl and a headline reading “Family Shamed by Young Woman’s Fatal Act of Indiscretion.” As if capsizing and drowning weren’t enough to fear, I was suddenly paralyzed by the risk of getting caught. My parents accepted Aunt Rachel, but she was a grown woman and not their daughter. What would they think if they knew about the things I’d done with Isabella?

“Garnet,
help!”
Isabella shouted.

I pulled my oar with both hands, splinters digging into my soft palms. Thunder rumbled all around me and lightning split through the clouds and down to earth. The oar whooshed through the waves; the hinge creaked as I hauled the oar out of the water and back toward the front of the boat; the oar splashed back into the white caps.

Isabella’s rowing was much smoother, and although she
matched her pace to mine, her strokes were more powerful and the boat listed. We were pointed far off course now, and I thought about giving up and hiding in the bottom of the boat while Isabella fought the waves alone. She’d be better off without me. When she looked over at me, I thought she’d tell me to go back to the other bench and let her do it.

“Switch sides with me,” she said instead. “I’ll get us back on course.”

I slid down the bench as she got up and resettled on my other side. I labored with that oar for a while. The thunder crashed louder and the lightning flashed closer and closer, but the dock inched closer too. The bottom of the boat disappeared in ankle-deep water—rainwater, and lake water that was splashing up as waves threw themselves into the sides of the boat.

We switched sides three more times, sloshing into our new positions, and by then my arms burned from the strain. My fingers, white and wrinkled from the water, cramped up from gripping the oars and ached with chill. Goosebumps covered my arms and I blinked away the water that ran down my face and into my eyes. Gradually, we crawled nearer to the land.

At last, we pulled up alongside the dock and scrambled out of the boat. Isabella hastily wound the rope around the post and we bolted for shore.

“We made it!” she cried as we finally felt solid ground beneath our feet.

“I have to get back, but thank you for today. Thank you.”

She squeezed my hand. Hard. I could feel her meaning.
“Good luck,” she said, turning and running for the picnic pavilion.

I knew I’d need it.

 

When I crept up to the hotel, a group of people was gathered on the north end of the veranda. Mrs. Harrington’s unmistakable shape was among them. They stood looking out at the huge maple tree—one large limb had been severed by lightning and lay on the grass just a few feet from the building. It must’ve been a close call. I couldn’t sneak around to the back door with them looking out like that, so while they gawked I slipped past them through the front doors. My heart fluttered with the knowledge that if just one of them turned I would be caught.

Avery saw me and started to say something—I must’ve been frightful looking—but I put my finger to my lips to shush him. He nodded and opened the door for me in silence, and then shut it quickly behind me. I raced for the stairs. I needed fresh clothes, a hairbrush, and a good lie,
fast
. Today, I was up to the challenge.

Unfortunately, so was Hannah.

“My, my, don’t you look a mess,” she said, looking up from the settee in the sitting room as I entered the suite.

I opened my mouth but nothing came out.

“No need to invent something. I know exactly what you’ve been up to.”