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.
The storm. They must have repairs to do. I’ll have to go another day.
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.
Ruby-Throated Hummingbird
(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:I’m sure you are anxious to know my decision on the topic of your letter, so I won’t delay further. I have considered your suggestion of employment and I’ve decided I will allow it. It is important for a young woman with your amount of energy to remain occupied. I have written to Mrs. Harrington to ask her to find you some small job that suits your position and education. She has connections in the town there, and I trust she can set you up with something you will find enjoyable—perhaps you could be a companion to a child of a wealthy family. Any wages you earn can help with your room and board at the hotel, less a little bit of spending money if you wish.
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.
Maybe I would be different too.
I scrawled the Latin name on the back of the cutout and stashed it in my pocket along with the scissors and chalk. The sky had settled into twilight blue and it was time to go inside. I took the stairs two at a time and headed off to bed, eager for morning to come.
Snowy Egret
(Egretta thula)
Light poured onto my bed the next morning like warm honey. I lay there, feeling the heat on my closed eyelids, clinging to the last shreds of a dream.
A sharp knock jolted me awake, and Mrs. Harrington’s voice came muffled through the door. “Wake up, Garnet. We should get there at opening time.”
I mumbled something that meant, “Let me sleep,” but then I realized what she’d said, where we were going, what today had in store. It was the thirtieth of June, and I, Garnet Grace Richardson, was about to become a career girl. I leapt out of bed.
Mrs. Harrington set a bowl of porridge on the table in the sitting room with a plunk. She must’ve asked the kitchen to send it up so we wouldn’t have to wait for breakfast in the dining room. She was already dressed in her albino peacock outfit—her favorite togs—and a look of impatience had already settled onto her face. Clearly she was finished with her momentary lapse into generosity and indulgence. I hadn’t expected it to last.
I made quick work of my breakfast and then hurried to dress, pulling on clean underclothes and stockings and a cornflower blue linen summer suit that looked nice with my eyes. I twisted my hair back under a smart blue hat that almost matched my dress and slid my feet into white shoes with low heels.
I checked my appearance in the washroom mirror. Mousy hair, freckled skin, lanky body. Just a girl trying to look like a woman. I sighed. At least I shared no family resemblance with the Harringtons. I had no round build or multiple chins. I had no pointy face or sharp-angled limbs. Even dressed in their finery, the pair of them made me feel positively beautiful. I’d actually never been so content with my plain looks and my simple clothing, girlishness aside.
But what would my new employer think?
“Come, Garnet. It’s nearly eight,” Mrs. Harrington grumbled from the sitting room.
I nodded to my reflection. “You’ll have to do,” I said in my mother’s voice, and then I turned to leave.
“Is there a library in Excelsior?” I asked Mrs. Harrington as we bustled out the door and down to the lobby. I wasn’t sure I’d spelled the hummingbird’s Latin name correctly and I needed a bird book to check. In fact, I needed several bird books, I promptly decided. As many as a library might have. I kept one reference book at my window seat at home, but it had been years since I’d indulged in a stack of bird books from the library. Without Mother around to redirect me, I could linger over forestry records and biology journals to my heart’s delight—but I needed a library.
“In the Sampson House, I believe. I’ll point it out and you can stop on your way home this afternoon if you like.” She was used to getting exactly what she wanted, and she was so confident in our plan that she assumed I’d be working today. My heart raced at the thought and my hands trembled a bit. My fingers slipped into my pocket and found my scissors, stopping to caress the familiar metal.
“Personally I never bother with books,” Mrs. Harrington was saying. “I prefer the magazines and the newspapers, and that’s enough reading for me. Hannah doesn’t even care for those.” She whipped her fan out as the bellboy opened the front door, her gesture ending the conversation, and then descended the stairs with an air of royalty.
Main Street smelled like baking bread. The town was warmer than the lakefront, but not hot yet, and everything looked fresh in the morning light. We passed the drugstore, the grocer’s, the beauty shop, and the shoe store on our way to Miss Maple’s hat shop. Finally, we arrived at a brick storefront with a pink, flowery, painted sign and a cascade of frilly hats in the window. It was such a tiny place that I’d overlooked it completely on my first excursion into town.
The chimes on the door jingled cheerfully to announce our presence, and a tired but genteel-looking woman called hello over her shoulder as she arranged hats with netting veils on a tall rack near the counter.
The shop was in chaotic disarray, as Mrs. Harrington had said, but the hats were beautiful, like
flocks of tropical birds roosting on wire trees. I set off down a row of wide-brimmed, flowery hats while Mrs. Harrington approached the petite woman and struck up a conversation. I peered at them through the hat jungle.
“Oh, a lifesaver you are,” the woman was saying a moment later. Relief erased the creases around her eyes for a minute. “My last girl quit on me two weeks ago. Husband said she shouldn’t have a job, said it made him look bad. Silliness.” She shook her head, clucking, not catching the stern look on Mrs. Harrington’s face or the fact that all three of her chins had dropped half an inch. “I’ve been trying to do it all on my own, but I’m afraid it’s just too much during the summer months. I really could use the help. Just mornings, maybe. Come here, dear,” Miss Maple called to me. I wove through the racks and approached the kind-faced woman.
“Garnet Richardson, ma’am,” I said. She reached out and shook my hand warmly. I looked down, a blush creeping into my cheeks, while she sized me up. Did she see a confused girl who was trying too hard, or a composed and competent young woman? Maybe both. She nodded and reached for a pile of hats on the counter.
“When can you start?” she said. I looked up, shocked and relieved by her quick decision. She grinned at me. A pink hat fell from the pile in her hands.
I laughed. “How about now?” I bent to pick up the pink hat and straightened its veil. I placed it on the rack and turned it until it was just so.
“A lifesaver, a lifesaver,” the woman sighed, hustling off toward the back room. “I’ll be with you in a moment and we can start your training today,” she called over her shoulder.
“Well, that worked out nicely, yes?” Mrs. Harrington said. “I’ll see you this afternoon, dear, back at the hotel. Have a lovely day.” She gave a little amused chuckle and then waddled out the door. The chimes jingled, and I let out a long breath that deflated a whole lot of tension.
Silhouette of a Sparrow Page 3