Silhouette of a Sparrow (4 page)

His voice eased the fear out of me and I dozed, leaning against a cobweb-covered wall. Mrs. Harrington and Hannah stood for a long time, not wishing to soil their clothes, but after an hour they gave up and sat. I was dimly aware of Hannah’s hip touching mine—we were crowded together down there and the proximity was oddly comforting. Mrs. Harrington’s quiet complaints drifted into my sleep and mixed with the words of the hymn that floated in my mind:
Blest be the tempest, kind the storm, which drives us nearer home.

It was nearly dawn when the stately cormorant woke us with the news that the storm had ended and we could return to our rooms. Sleepily, we picked our way through the graying darkness, avoiding the glass and hailstones that littered the carpet. He, the bellboy who had watched over us all night, found us extra blankets in case a chill came into our rooms through broken windows, in case our blankets were wet with rain.

I don’t remember walking into my room, or undressing, or getting into bed. Sleep took me before I found my pillow.

 

When I awoke, the sun was high in a bright blue sky. Disoriented, I took in first the tangle of my sheets, then
the closed windows. I rose, meaning to open them—why were they shut? It was only when my toes found wet carpet that I remembered the storm. The panic. The danger. The way joy and adventure had turned to terror in an instant. I shivered.

I wrapped my dressing gown around me and tied the sash, then opened both windows wide and surveyed the damage.

The hail had melted in the sun, but the grass was strewn with tree branches and debris. Outside the north window, the maple tree looked haggard. Its leaves were tattered, torn to bits by the hail, and wounds on its bark showed that it had lost many small branches during the night. The sky had been scrubbed clean and now arched brilliantly overhead. The plants, though messy, were a lush green from all the rain, and the lake gleamed like it had never seen the sun before. The heaviness in the air had lifted and the breeze off the lake was almost cool. The morning felt new.

So did I.

The Harringtons, on the other hand, looked terrible. After lunch (which was our breakfast), they retired to their rooms to rest. The hotel was in disarray, with wet carpets and broken windows and a messy yard and no electricity, so it seemed like as good a time as any to get out of there. “I’m taking a walk,” I said as the Harringtons headed off to their rooms. “I’ll be back in time to wake you for supper.”

Mrs. Harrington simply nodded and closed her door, too tired to spout opinions about the best walking paths or to caution me about places to avoid.

I tucked my new handkerchief into my pocket, silently thanking the blue jay I’d embroidered on it just the day before for his help in bringing the sky back—no matter his method of doing it. Then I set off out the door and down the front steps.

But where to go?
The park, of course
. My heart skipped with anticipation.

I followed the curve of the shoreline south toward the amusement park, but as soon as it was in sight, I knew something was wrong. The rides weren’t running. The park was closed.

Then I remembered my letter: the job! I didn’t have permission to job hunt yet, but there was no harm in looking. I’d head off into town to have a peek at the local businesses. That way, when Mother’s letter came in a few days, I’d be ready.

But first, a stroll along the shore. My heart greeted that wide expanse of lake like an old friend. This trip to the country felt suddenly like a homecoming, even though I was far from home.

As I approached the docks, I saw it. A proud, dark profile perched on a wooden post that stuck out of the water, a piece of a sunken dock. No, I wasn’t imagining the bird, it was real: a double-crested cormorant. Just as calm and as stately as I’d remembered. My scissors flew without sense—as if
by faith alone
.

With the silhouette in my pocket and the hymn on my lips, I followed the road into town.

(
Archilochus colubris)

Mother’s letter arrived four days after my stroll through the picturesque little town, four days after I’d wandered along the row of brick storefronts dreaming of what it might be like to work in one of the shops. I’d spent the days after that trip waiting and worrying and getting my hopes up and then forcing them down again. I was sure, one minute, that she’d send an enthusiastic “yes” and let me work anywhere I pleased. The next minute, I was positive she’d laugh at my request and I’d be spending the whole summer on needlepoint and small talk—even more confined than I would’ve been at home in the city under Mother’s watchful eye.

But when the letter found me, sitting at supper in the dining room with the Harringtons, it contained both good news and bad. “I am glad to hear that the Galpin is comfortable and you are all settled in with the Harringtons,” she wrote. “They are so generous for watching over you
this summer.” Next came news of Father, who she enthusiastically claimed was “on the mend.” My heart soared at the idea that this summer experiment might actually help bring him back. Then Mother digressed into a recitation of mundane reports from home and passed along greetings from Aunt Rachel and Rachel’s companion, Sarah. Then, finally, she addressed the job question:

Companion to a child of a wealthy family? Didn’t she understand that I was already a companion to Hannah, and it was the utter boredom of her company that drove me to ask for a job in the first place? Oh, Mother! Always concerned about my pent-up “energy” driving me to unrespectable pastimes, always conjuring up tasks to keep me “occupied” and out of trouble. Well, sitting around with yet
another
stuck-up
brat was not going to help. I I slumped in my seat and pushed away my bowl of rabbit stew, tossing the letter on the table in a huff.

“Well, what kind of employment were you thinking of?” Mrs. Harrington asked after reading her own letter from Mother and seeing my less-than-veiled disappointment. “Did you have some better idea?”

I blushed, but I was determined to swallow my pride and give voice to my plan.

“I think I’d like to work in a shop.” Mrs. Harrington’s eyebrows went up, so I continued in a rush. “My friend Alice at home is working at a department store this summer and she enjoys it, so I took a stroll through town the other day and there were lots of lovely shops that seemed like nice places to work—the ladies’ clothing store, the florist, even the grocer’s—”

“Oh dear, not the grocer’s,” Mrs. Harrington cut in. Then she stopped to consider. Her face softened as she thought; first her mouth moved from its tight line, then her eyes relaxed out of their squint, then she spoke again. “Well, I would never allow Hannah to work as a shop girl, but actually it might suit you just fine.” That was clearly an insult to my family’s income and lifestyle, but if it made her sway in my favor, I didn’t care much. I ignored Hannah’s smirk and waited for Mrs. Harrington to go on. She stared over my head and thought a moment, sifting through notions in her mind. I bit my lip, drummed my fingers on the polished oak tabletop, waited.

“I know the woman who runs the hat shop in town,” she said at last. “Charming little place, and Miss Maple, the
proprietor, is a respectable enough woman. Perhaps she would benefit from your help this summer. The shop was a mess when I stopped by the other day. I will telephone your mother and persuade her and then speak to Miss Maple on your behalf.”

This was kindness I’d never seen before in Mrs. Harrington, and it made me certain that her motives had more to do with being tired of my company than with wanting to secure my happiness. And clearly it would nourish her feelings of superiority to see me behind a shop counter; the idea seemed to please her in a perverse sort of way. None of that mattered to me in the least. “Thank you, ma’am,” I said, finishing the conversation.

We ate a few bites in silence.

“Do you know if the park is still closed?” I asked, trying to sound casual.

“I heard somebody say they’re taking the whole week to repair the storm damage and test everything for safety,” Hannah said. “Could we go look, Mother, once it’s open again?” The spark of enthusiasm in her voice surprised me.

“Oh, I suppose,” Mrs. Harrington said. “There’s no harm in a little candy floss and a ride on the Ferris wheel. Perhaps we could go out on the
Minnehaha,
dear.”

The look on her face made it clear that this too was a concession. It would ensure that her charges saw the amusement park under her own supervision. Hannah would be safe from the “riffraff” while in her mother’s care, and she could steer us clear of the more “vulgar” rides. Mrs. Harrington seemed to be full of compromises this evening.

Hannah beamed and a smile found my face as well.
But as much as I wanted to see the park, I’d hoped to go without the Harringtons—to see it on my own, without the snide commentary of Mrs. Harrington in my ear and without her rules guiding my every move. I’d have to keep my eye out for the opportunity to sneak away.

Once I had a job, I’d be freer to explore. Surely a job in the hat shop would be my summer’s salvation.

 

Mother was not so easily convinced.

I heard the whole conversation because the only telephone in the hotel was in the lobby, and this meant that Mrs. Harrington was afforded no privacy for the call. Mother shouted into the receiver of our telephone at home; she was still not used to the device and much preferred to communicate via letters. But this was a matter of some urgency that required the phone, so I could hear her end of the conversation too, though faintly.

“Her heart is quite set on it, Irene,” Mrs. Harrington was saying, “and I can personally vouch for Miss Maple. Loveliest career woman I’ve ever met. Proper and upstanding. The hats she sells couldn’t be more elegant, customers so respectable . . .”

She mumbled something about “just a few flapper-types” before she could stop herself, but thankfully the comment was too quiet for Mother to hear it. I smothered a laugh in my hand.

Mother’s voice scratched through the earpiece, saying something about “shop girl” and “disgrace,” or it could have been “not her place.”

The conversation went on like that for some time
before Mother finally succumbed. I couldn’t hear her words through the earpiece, but Mrs. Harrington’s smile declared her success loud and clear.

“Wonderful!” she proclaimed. “Don’t you worry about a thing, Irene. I’ll see that she gets settled. Oh, no trouble at all.” She gestured to me, offering me the phone. I shook my head, not wanting to give Mother a chance to change her mind. “No, she can’t talk now, Irene, but I’ll give her your love. Yes, all right, good-bye.”

With the earpiece safely in its cradle, I let out a squeal of happiness. I almost hugged Mrs. Harrington. Almost.

“We’ll go to town in the morning, dear, and speak with Miss Maple. Time for me to retire now, I’m afraid. Do get to bed at a reasonable time, Garnet. You’ll want to be fresh in the morning.”

“Yes, ma’am,” I said. “I will.”

 

But before bed, I took a stroll down to the lake to collect my thoughts. The water shone pink from the just-set sun. The lights from the amusement park twinkled across the bay, but no shouts of fairgoers echoed over the lake. With the park closed, the evening air was still and quiet. It seemed that the lights were on just for me, a reminder that something waited for me there, in that park. I could feel it reach out across the bay and stir something in my gut. I’d go with the Harringtons, I decided, but I’d go by myself first. Somehow.

I turned and headed back up the hill.

In the hotel garden, a few lilies had bloomed since the storm. The unscathed blossoms matched the pink of the sunset and there, hovering above them, whirred a tiny
ruby-throated hummingbird having a bedtime snack. I reached into my pocket to retrieve my crane scissors and quickly snipped its shape out of paper: the curve of its belly, the needle of its beak, the sleek plunge of its back. Then the bird darted away, but I held its image in my hands. The silhouette couldn’t capture the brightness or the lively motion of that quick-winged jewel, but the likeness was there. This was no city-fattened chickadee. No. My summer flock would be different.