The Curious Swan

by Kenzie Hart

  “Spot what?” he replies, unsure of what she is looking at. He follows her gaze to the pond but doesn’t see anything unusual.

  Klara’s eyes are still bright with recognition, “Oh, look at her,” she coos. “She is floating right in the center of the water.”

  His gaze finally lands on a lone goose in the pond.

  “That is Wendy. I’d take you over to see her now, but I’d rather not disturb her. She looks so content.”

  Eddie hears his father yell his name again, so he asks quickly, “What time should I come tomorrow?”

  “Come for breakfast. You can help me feed all the animals in the morning.” Klara is having trouble containing her excitement at the idea of having someone new to share her thoughts and stories with.

  Eddie nods at her and then takes off running down the hill, cutting through the blooming flowers until he reaches the bottom where Mr. Barnett is standing with his arms tight across his chest. Klara plops back down onto the grass and looks up at the clouds, once again trying to place their shapes.

  “Bloody hell, Eddie! I leave you alone for ten minutes, and I find you frolicking out in the field,” Mr. Barnett says a little too loudly, but his son needs to understand his frustration.

  Eddie barely registers his father’s words, his mind occupied with Klara. “I just had the strangest encounter,” is all he manages to respond, his brows furrowing slightly.

  “Yes, I see you’ve finally met Klara. And I have one piece of advice for you: stay away from her.”

  “Why?” Eddie almost shouts, earning him a wide-eyed stare from his dad.

  “A pretty young thing, but she’s a troubled girl,” his father responds.

  “Troubled? She’s not mad, Dad.” At least, he hopes she’s not.

  “I’d bet she’s at least half-mad. She’s always wandering around the grounds. Talking to herself. Or worse, talking to the animals. Something is off there,” he says, rubbing his index finger against his temple. “Just leave her be. And get back to work.”

  Eddie drops his eyes, not wanting to fight with his dad.

  Mr. Barnett turns on his heels and starts walking back toward the private garden, away from the edge of the blooming meadow.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Descending the stairs toward the dining room for breakfast, Klara feels a bubble of excitement rise in her stomach. She didn’t get much sleep last night as she lay in bed, replaying her encounter with the new boy in her head over and over. She even got up earlier than normal this morning, rising to take a warm bath with her rose-infused soap and then starting to reread one of her most favorite books.

  “Morning, Grandmother,” Klara says, resting her hand on her grandmother’s shoulder while placing a quick kiss on her cheek. She is seated in one of the twelve chairs surrounding their antique dining table, which is heavy with wood and decorated with gold-leaf stencils swirling around the edges and down the legs. It is set for two in the most formal of manners.

  Klara takes a seat across the table from her grandmother as a server brings in warm toast on a silver platter, adding to the overflowing amount of food on the table. If you came into the dining area and saw the table with all the food before it had been set, you’d think they were hosting at least two large families. Pastries, meats, and jams are piled high on the platters and look as though they could spill off onto the table at any moment. Klara lets out a small giggle, thinking about all the food in front of them, and then sees Grandmother with a single soft-boiled egg resting in a silver eggcup.

  “Good morning, my dear.” She smiles at Klara, but her eyes never leave her almost empty tea glass.

  Grandmother, or rather Cordelia Kentwood, is a very old woman. Ninety-five, to be exact. Her hair is pulled back into a twist, and spectacles are perched at the end of her pointed nose. She has piercing green eyes and an eclectic fashion sense. She never gets rid of any of her clothes, so it’s always a surprise what decade’s dress or caftan she might turn up in for the day. Today, it is a beaded purple dress that’s overly formal for a day at the house, but Klara doesn’t mind. Some of her fondest memories are having tea parties with her grandmother, both of them wearing Grandmother’s old pearls and furs. The server takes notice of Grandmother’s look of discontentment, quickly setting down his platter and grabbing the teapot on the table. He fills up Cordelia’s cup and then walks around the table to the opposite side, filling Klara’s with steaming tea.

  “Now that we have warm tea,” Grandmother says in a satisfied voice, “tell me, what are your plans for the day?”

  “I’m actually very pleased to tell you that we are having company for breakfast,” Klara says, trying to hold back some of her excitement. She has been looking forward to telling Grandmother because Cordelia has always loved company, and Klara hopes this will bring some joy to her day.

  “Oh, dear,” she replies, placing the back of her hand against her forehead. Her bracelets fall against one another as she moves, making a most beautiful noise. One that Klara has always been fond of.

  “Did I say something upsetting, Grandmother? What is it?” Klara responds.

  “We do not invite company over for breakfast, child. Brunch or tea in the garden, yes, but breakfast, absolutely not. You’d think I raised you with no social graces.”

  Cordelia Kentwood was not the type of woman to go against etiquette. The daughter of aristocrats, she was raised to be proper. And that is exactly how she raised Klara to be.

  But that doesn’t mean she isn’t fond of a little rebellion. In her youth, she caused quite the uproar, leaving her family estate in England and running away to Egypt to marry a well-known, and well-off, archaeologist who excavated in Northern Africa and sent back his findings to the British Museum. Their love was intense but short-lived. He died soon after in a cave-in at an excavation site.

  Following her time in Egypt, she paraded her way through Europe, taking up a lover in Italy and listening to jazz in Paris, and finally found herself in St. Petersburg in love again. But news came to her that her parents had both died in an automobile accident, and with no male heirs in the family, she had no choice but to return to the estate. She married a childhood friend, he took her surname, and they went on to have three children—one of whom was Charles Kentwood. His son, Charles Kentwood II, is the father of Klara.

  “Oh, Grandmother, this isn’t a formal event. It is just a boy I met yesterday. I invited him to help me feed the animals this morning, so I thought it’d be rude not to offer him breakfast as well.”

  “As you wish, but I will not meet him until the appropriate time. You may bring him to join us for our morning tea and scones.” She takes a final sip of tea from her cup and then pushes her chair back, standing up.

  Cordelia is a touch curious about who this boy might be, as it is the first time Klara has brought home a new friend. She ponders how Klara met him and if this could be a good thing for her or not. One thing is certain, only time will tell. And maybe, at tea, she will find out a little more about this boy.

  What am I doing? Eddie thinks while riding his bike to the Kentwood Estate.

  He still isn't sure why he’s going back to see Klara. It would have been easier to listen to his father. It would probably keep him out of trouble, to say the least. But, this morning, his stomach twisted with nervousness, a sensation he wasn’t sure he liked but he wanted to see her all the same.

  He’s intrigued to learn more about her. Her life seems so strange to him. Having a private tutor. Living in that huge house with only her grandmother.

  Why isn’t she with her dad in London?

  Maybe his father was right, her life is different. But she is interesting. And beautiful. So, for those two good reasons, he kissed his parents good-bye, told them he was headed to his best mate’s house for the morning, and hopped on his bike, peeling out of his driveway.

  The cool morning wind whips against his face, and the air helps clear his mind. He speeds through town, taking in the morning busywork. Shopkee
pers are sweeping their front porches, and the cafés along the cobblestone street are starting to fill with people sipping on their morning coffee, newspapers spread open.

  He follows a slight curve in the road and moves out of town, passing a small farm dotted with sheep picking at the grass. The road goes up and bends over a hill, and when Eddie gets to the top, he pulls over on the side of the road for just a moment to admire the place he gets to call home. The morning mist still clings to the ground, and with the sunlight rising, it looks as though you are in the middle of a dream. He loves the smell of dewy grass and rich dirt, and the one perk of working for his father is being surrounded by all this beauty.

  He hops back onto his bike, speeding off until he rides through the gates to the Kentwood Estate and up the tree-lined drive to the front door.

  After Klara’s grandmother leaves the breakfast table, she isn’t quite sure what to do with herself. She is hungry, and the scent of warm, fresh bread taunts her, but she feels it rude to eat before her guest arrives. She absentmindedly plays with the hem of her beautiful robin-egg blue dress.

  She decided, for this special occasion, to pin back a few pieces of her long hair, and she moves her hand onto the butterfly clip holding it into place. Klara smiles, thinking about the clip. It is one of her most precious possessions, having belonged to her mother. It was passed down from her great-grandmother to her grandmother and then to her mother. And, now, her.

  With her hand still resting on her clip, Klara hears a knock on the front door and sits straight up with anticipation. She races out of the dining room, through the large sitting room, and into the entryway. By the time she reaches the door, she has to stop to take a breath in order to slow down her heart. It is beating so fast, partially from the fact that she was running through the house and partially because she is so excited—more of a nervous kind of anticipation, to be exact. She slowly opens the large wooden door and is greeted by Eddie standing in front of her. His strawberry-blond hair has been brushed to the side, and he is wearing a hunter-green shirt with shorts. His cheeks are lightly flushed, and his bike is lying on the gravel driveway, next to some of her favorite rose bushes.

  “Good morning,” she greets happily.

  “Morning.” Eddie smiles, standing there a little awkwardly. He isn’t sure what to do with his hands, and he keeps fidgeting like a fool, so he shoves them into his pockets.

  “Come! Let’s get some breakfast, and then I can take you around to meet everyone,” Klara says, grabbing on to his arm and dragging him inside.

  As Eddie is being led by Klara, he tries not to look shocked as he takes in the size of the house. It is daunting. The entryway is paved with black-and-white-checkered marble, and a large table sits in its center with a towering fern growing out of a blue-and-white chinoiserie vase. She guides him through a sizable reception room, and he takes in its light-green walls, mustard-colored furniture, and numerous gilded framed pictures hanging. Eddie’s foot gets caught, and he nearly trips on an antique carpet that looks as though it came straight from Anatolia.

  Klara finally lets go of his arm as she walks into the dining room then takes a seat on an ornate chair. Eddie is in awe, turning around fully while admiring the wood-paneled walls. The room is just as magnificent as the rest, but the amount of food spread across the table is what quickly catches his attention.

  What on earth? All Eddie can think about is how out of place he feels. And probably looks. Especially next to Klara.

  She looks just as stunning as she did the day before.

  “Please, sit anywhere.” She smiles up at him, and he takes it as his cue that he should probably sit down.

  Off to a good start, Eddie.

  A server quickly comes in and sets him a place, motioning at his empty teacup.

  “Yes, please,” he says quietly, still momentarily in shock.

  “This morning, we have a little bit of everything,” Klara says cheerfully.

  Eddie sat directly across from her, and he watches as she grabs a biscuit and carefully cuts it in half.

  “And, if you want something else, Mrs. B can make anything.”

  “Mrs. B?” Eddie asks while looking over the table, deciding on toast and baked beans.

  “Mrs. B is our cook. She’s just lovely, and I can’t wait for you to meet her. She always lets me help her in the kitchen. In fact, I’m learning how to make a cherry pie,” Klara responds while delicately sliding raspberry jam onto the biscuit.

  Eddie smiles, thinking about his mum. “My mum loves to cook, too. She is known in town for her baking. She would like to open her own bakery, but she won’t admit it to anyone yet.”

  “That’s wonderful. Maybe, one day, you can take me to meet her, and I can bake with her. Oh, I would just love that.” The idea of going to someone else’s house is very exciting to Klara. She has only ever visited family or close family friends. She’s never had a friend of her own age.

  Eddie is a little taken aback by her forwardness. He isn’t sure if his father would be too happy with the idea, but if baking with his mum means Klara will come to his house, he is in complete agreement with the idea.

  “I’m sure she would love that. So, you said you live here with just your grandmother, and your father’s in London. What about your mum?” Eddie asks.

  “My father, Charles, lives in London. He’s a doctor and has a practice in the city. My mother passed when I was just a child, but I do have some wonderful memories of her. And Grandmother, well, she is actually my great-grandmother, but she raised both my father and me. Father’s parents both died when he was younger, so we have losing our mothers in common.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that,” Eddie says, feeling deflated for bringing up the subject.

  “It’s all right. I love living here. Just me, Grandmother, and Nana, of course.”

  “Nana?”

  “Our dog. Why, I’m sure you’ve seen her around. She’s always out, exploring the grounds. She likes to keep a watchful eye on everyone.” Both of their plates are empty, so Klara stands. “Come on, I’ll introduce you.”

  “You’re talking about the animals, right?” Eddie asks with a slight smile, trying to keep up.

  “Of course!” she says, already halfway out of the dining room. “During breakfast, I can always find Nana down in the kitchen with Mrs. B.”

  Eddie rises quickly, dropping his cloth napkin on the seat and following Klara through a different door than the one they came in through. It leads to a long stone hallway, and Eddie can hear the rustling of pots coming from the end of it.

  The pots are being tended to by a round woman with a rosy complexion and warm brown eyes.

  “Mrs. B, I’d like to introduce you to my new friend Eddie,” Klara says upon entering the large kitchen. A wooden island stands in the middle, littered with vegetables fresh from the garden. There is a small table in the corner, which a lone server is seated at, contently drinking a cup of coffee. Eddie’s eyes wander across the wall above the stove. It is packed full of varying-sized copper pots. On the wall opposite is a large, open fireplace whose mantel is close to Klara’s height.

  Mrs. B wipes her hands on her apron and walks toward Eddie, her hand extended. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.” She smiles at Eddie, but her brows are raised with questioning interest.

  “For me as well—” Eddie starts to say, but Klara interjects, “Here Nana is!”

  Eddie turns back toward the table and spots Klara rubbing a Goldendoodle lying at the foot of the server. Eddie walks over and lets the dog smell his hand. When Nana seems content, he starts to stroke her soft, curling fur.

  “I’m going to go feed the animals and show Eddie around,” Klara says, heading toward a wall that has hooks with numerous wicker baskets hanging from it. She grabs one and then opens up a bag of feed below it, throwing handfuls in until she’s satisfied.

  Mrs. B nods in acceptance and turns back around, addressing a pot bubbling on the stove. Klara opens a set of blue Fren
ch doors, which creak slightly, having been worn down in the best of ways with love and time.

  “I can’t wait for you to meet everyone,” she says excitedly, taking in the fresh air. Streaks of color engulf the morning sky.

  “You talk about them like they’re people,” Eddie says with a laugh.

  He’s not quite sure what to think. Klara is eccentric, to say the least.

  “They might as well be. They have their own personalities. And characteristics. That’s why I love each of them, in their own way. They’re good listeners. I can sit for hours and hours, telling Nana stories while lying in the grass, and she never gets bored of listening.” Klara smiles, thinking about her dearest friends.

  Eddie can’t help but smile, too. He likes the way she views life. It leaves no room for doubt or sadness. She doesn’t seem to have the weight of family expectations upon her.

  They step off of the stone patio and into thick grass, and they walk through a private garden, set with tables and chairs. Flowers surround them. Eddie tries to name all the varieties he can spot. Primrose, foxglove, poppy. Numerous pots and plots are bursting with flowers with hedges trimmed into topiaries of particular shapes and sizes.

  Klara leaves the private garden, turning toward the right where Eddie sees a large fenced-in vegetable garden. It is set off to the side, on its own, and a lovely wooden arboretum hangs over a corner of it, thick with vines full of berries. The soil is rich and moist from the morning dew, and cabbages and lettuce sprout up in tailored rows.

  As they approach, Klara grabs on to Eddie’s arm, stopping him, as she puts her finger up to her lips, telling him to be quiet. He follows her instructions, but his eyes linger on her lips for a little longer than appropriate. He has to force his eyes up from them, looking back into her’s.

  “They can get into such mischief,” she whispers. “Beatrix is always digging in the garden and munching on carrots and cabbage. Grandmother insisted we put up a fence, but I made sure it was big enough for her to still sneak through. I just couldn’t do that to poor Beatrix. She’s getting a little older, and she can’t search as far for food. And we can always spare some. See?” she says, pointing to the far corner, where Eddie spots a little rabbit. “But, to be quite honest, I can’t bring myself to tell that to Grandmother, so I either have to distract her with cards or promise to ring the gardener the next chance I get,” she says with a giggle.