Wallace noticed the curious looks directed at Mary Anne, as well as her discomfort with the scrutiny. Putting Betty down so that she could run after her brothers, Clarinda stepped into the gap. “Yes, this is a family friend. Mary Anne Laurents...” She had given them the opportunity they needed to get away quietly.
Wallace wished he could whisk Mary Anne to the front of the line to avoid casual chitchat, but that privilege was reserved for the older members of the congregation. Families with small children went next. Howard corralled the boys while Clarinda went ahead with Betty, deflecting questions about their mystery guest.
Without speaking his intent, Wallace delayed leaving the sanctuary until it had largely emptied. They came at the end of the line greeting the pastor.
He shook Wallace’s hand while he smiled at Mary Anne. “How lovely to have you visiting with us today, Miss...?”
“Laurents. Mary Anne Laurents.”
The pastor turned his attention to Wallace, as if seeking additional information. What to say? Even though the other members of the congregation had already left the room, he lowered his voice. “I’m afraid I ran into Miss Laurents’s car earlier this month. Taking her in was the least we could do, but she’s a trifle shy.” Where the desire to protect her from curiosity came from, Wallace didn’t know, but it was there. “Anything you can do to silence the gossip mill will be appreciated.”
Mary Anne’s smile held the dawn’s brilliance in it. Even her hair looked beautiful beneath the tasteful cap Clarinda had fashioned for her. In her no-nonsense way, she had handed it to their guest. “I thought you might like to have a new hat for Easter.” Mary Anne had taken hold of it like grass soaking up rain after a drought.
An hour later, after they finished their meal, Wallace wondered why he had worried so about Mary Anne. She talked easily with his nephews. When people stopped by to meet her, she showed them Arthur’s picture. Since the picture included her as a member of the family, people took it at face value. To those few who ventured further questions, she said, “I’m visiting from out of state.” She didn’t mention New York, Wallace noticed, although people aware of regional accents would pick up on her Brooklyn roots easily enough.
Someone mentioned Boston, and the speculation spread from one person to another. He caught her smiling as she heard the rumor start. She nodded, as if pleased. Some day he hoped she would trust him enough to tell him about her past.
Worshipping the Lord with her sufficed for today. And she truly had worshipped, singing and quoting scripture and listening to the pastor’s sermon when she hadn’t been peeking at his drawings. At the beginning of Passion Week, he rejoiced that she had chosen to join them at church.
Even after tramping through the woods yesterday to the point of exhaustion, Wallace couldn’t keep Mary Anne out of his mind. Her attendance at church pleased him more than he cared to admit.
After the meal ended, the family took the road from town and over the bridge. Mary Anne shuddered as they passed the point where the accident had occurred. On impulse, he asked, “Do you want to come to the cabin for the rest of the afternoon? We could grab some sandwiches and go to the river to watch the animals.”
He didn’t miss the gleam in Clarinda’s eyes, or the pleased smirk on Winnie’s face. Even Howard shook his head. Wallace wished he had chosen a less public forum for inviting Mary Anne to join him.
She blinked and looked down at her clothes. Stupid, Wallace. The lady had dressed for church, and he was asking her to wade along the muddy banks of the river?
“I have overshoes in the back.” Clarinda addressed his concern. “You won’t want to ruin those lovely shoes.” She looked over Mary Anne’s head at Wallace. “And I’m sure my brother has an extra sweater or coat at the cabin in case you get cold.”
“And dresses will wash.” Mary Anne smiled. “Very well. That sounds like fun.”
A few feet later, Howard brought the car to a halt at the footpath leading to the cabin.
“Don’t worry. I’ll bring her safely home before dark.”
Wallace added a silent promise, one made only to himself. He’d keep her safe, wherever and whatever that involved.
Chapter 9
Wallace wasn’t sure who was having the most fun today, him or Mary Anne. The two women had spent Friday preparing the Easter eggs for the hunt, and Mary Anne appeared as excited as any of the children. The new skirt Clarinda had sewn for her hung to a modest calf-length and protected her skin from the brambles they encountered in the fields.
They crossed the designated field in parallel lines, hiding the prepared eggs in promising spots.
“You do know we’ll be eating egg salad and deviled eggs for the next week, don’t you?” Wallace asked.
Mary Anne’s laughter was as bright as the red egg he held in his hand. “And the egg whites may be red or green or blue. It’s fun. And to have a place like this to hide eggs...” She parted the dry stalks of last year’s grass and tucked an egg in the empty space. “This is wonderful.”
“I can see that one from over here.” Not only was the egg bright yellow, Mary Anne had laid it on top of the grasses.
“That’s so the littlest ones can find it all by themselves. In fact, I was wondering...What do you think about making part of the field just for the children who are under four?”
“They hunt in pairs.”
She looked disappointed that he had dismissed her suggestion so easily. “We tried it that way a few times, but they wander away. The parents insist on the pairs. But I like your idea of hiding a few where the little ones can find them without help.” He gestured with his next egg, a light purple color, and nestled it in the dirt behind him.
Wallace and Mary Anne were superintending the Easter egg hunt while the mothers put together a meal for all the families involved. The children arrived ahead of time. “Where did all these children come from?” she asked.
“They live west of the river. At times people have voted about making this side of the river a separate town, West Maple Notch. But we have ties to town too close to want to change it.”
Children clustered around them, eager for the baskets. Decorations consisted of soft grass at the bottom and colorful bows Mary Anne had added.
Mary Anne’s merry blue eyes darted in his direction, her body swirling in a dance-like move as she lined the children in pairs, older with the younger. “Now, be sure you share your eggs with the little ones.”
Howie rolled his eyes but took Betty’s hand. The children—Reids and Tuttles as well as the three Finches among them—formed a ragged line. Starting at opposite ends of the line, Wallace and Mary Anne passed out baskets.
Wallace kept the children in check. “There are some rules to the hunt. All the eggs are hidden in this field, so if we see any of you going over the fence, you won’t find any eggs, and you’re also out of the hunt. Stay with your partner. All eggs found by either one of you counts in your total, and you’ll each get a prize.”
Mary Ann held high a red egg. “Who knows what day tomorrow is?”
“Easter!” A dozen voices called.
“And what are we celebrating on Easter?” Mary Anne continued with her questions as if she was teaching a class. Had she been a Sunday school teacher?
Again voices rose in response. “Jesus rose from the dead!”
“And why did Jesus die?” She turned around slowly, so that every child could see the red egg.
One of the younger children, not even old enough for kindergarten, piped up. “’Cause He had to die for our sins. Don’t you know that, Miss Laurents?”
“Of course I do. My daddy used to say—”
Wallace was sure he was the only one who noticed the tears behind the words.
“—that we dye eggs red at Easter time to remind us that Jesus shed His blood on the cross
.” She tapped the outside of the egg. “Do you hear anything?”
Faces around her scrunched in concentration. They had been too busy talking to hear the light tap.
“Listen again.” This time the group was quiet enough to hear her nails hitting the hard shell. “The shell on the egg is hard, like the big rock that was rolled in front of the grave where Jesus lay. And nobody, not the priests, not the Roman soldiers, thought He could ever get out. But then, on Sunday morning...”
With her hardest tap yet, at the top of the egg, the shell cracked, and she peeled it off in two easy strips. “God raised Jesus out of the grave! He rolled that stone away as easily as I peeled this egg.”
She was a natural-born storyteller, the children her entranced audience.
“So when you eat your eggs this week, think about how God cracked the grave open so Jesus could come out.”
Wallace was impressed. He had learned about Easter traditions at school, but he hadn’t heard many people connect the decorated eggs with the gospel story so simply or so easily. Sparkling with joy as she was today, she was so pretty he could hardly stand it.
“Are you ready?” she asked.
The line of children tensed for the start of the hunt.
“Go!” Wallace used his thunderous voice and the children scattered across the field.
Mary Anne clapped her hands with joy at the sight. Wallace laughed with her. He wouldn’t mind a lifetime of that kind of laughter.
* * *
Mary Anne couldn’t believe she had been in Maple Notch only a month and a day. After taking part in the Easter egg hunt a week ago, she had decided this community held nothing for her to fear. Only her bleached and bobbed hair stood out as different from the residents, and time would take care of that.
Today promised to be a good day. Wallace had invited her to go with him in search of more wildlife this morning. They left the house at dawn, unlike their previous two trips. Her loud noises, magnified in the stillness of the morning air, had scared away half of the usual visitors to the pond. He had apologized multiple times for the paucity of wildlife. Except for her disappointment in missing the raccoons at play, she hadn’t cared. Watching the silvery fish wiggle through the water brought her a great deal of joy. Oh, to have Wallace’s skill with a paper and pencil.
Silence didn’t matter as much when they went in search of animals and birds at other times of the day. When he found signs of an animal’s passage, he put a finger to his lips and froze. Even his breathing slowed down at those times, and she imitated him. What would they see today?
He fixed breakfast when they returned to the cabin. His offering of biscuits and gravy brought laughter to her lips.
“I had to try it. I think it tastes okay, but I hope you like it.” He looked on anxiously while she dug her fork into the biscuit.
Mary Anne steeled herself to hide her disgust if she found it distasteful. But as in so many other things about this man, he proved her wrong. “Mmm, that’s good.”
“You don’t have to sound so surprised.” A smile lit his face. “And here is the bacon to go with it. No eggs, you’ll see.”
She laughed at that. “Good. At this point of the year I always feel like I’ll be happy never to see an egg except baked in a cake. Give me a few weeks, and I’ll be happy to eat some of your special fried eggs again.”
They ate together in peace and headed out again. “I thought I spotted a bald eagle the other day. It was at a distance, so I brought my binoculars today,” Wallace said.
“Our national bird? The one we see on the top of flag poles and stuff like that? White head, with a brown body?” Mary Anne had only seen one live eagle in her lifetime, when Daddy had taken her to the Bronx Zoo. The feathers on that eagle’s head were the color of goldenrod.
“That’s the one.”
“And you’re saying the bald eagle is—” What was the word Wallace used to describe it? “—endangered?”
“It is. That’s why it’s so important that I report the sighting to the Audubon Society, if I confirm it today.”
Imagine the idea of saying a bird could be in danger of disappearing from the planet. Wallace said they were dying out, fewer and fewer of nesting pairs. The day might come when there wouldn’t be any bald eagles anywhere in the entire country.
The difficulties Mary Anne faced paled by comparison to extinction. To think she dreamed of flying away to safety like a bird. That didn’t always solve problems. “What are some of the other birds that are endangered?”
Wallace cocked his head at her. “So you’re interested in our birds? There’s the spruce grouse, the grasshopper sparrow...”
He lost her after about the third name. Some of the birds sounded vaguely familiar, especially the sparrow. How could the birds that littered the ground in Central Park and even here in Vermont be in danger?
Wallace wasn’t done with his list. “...Henslow sparrow...”
“Hen’s what?”
“The Henslow sparrow.”
“But you already said the sparrow was endangered. I have a hard time believing that. I see them everywhere.”
“There are several kinds of sparrows, but the two species that are dying out are the Grasshopper and the Henslow.”
“Grasshopper?” What a strange name.
“His song sounds like an insect. I guess that’s why they named it that. They’re hard to distinguish from other sparrows. They’re brown, with an unmarked, buff-colored breast. The male’s head is darker, with a pale middle stripe. The problem is, the Henslow looks a lot like it.”
Mary Anne didn’t know how to tell them all apart.
“Here, let me show you.” Even though he only had a pencil, no colors, his drawing suggested the differences between the birds. The pictures he drew were larger than life, the two species side by side in his sketchbook.
Holding the sketchbook close to her face, she memorized the details. “How can you tell the difference between them if you’re far away? I see a bird like either one of these and think ‘sparrow,’ and that’s the end of it.”
He shrugged. “Being close does help. Binoculars, too. The more you study them, the easier it is to tell the difference. For instance—” He paused, holding a finger to his lips. “Listen.” The word came out on the merest whisper of sound.
Crickets thrummed the air. A slow wind stirred a few leaves on the trees. “I hear leaves in the wind, and grass rustling, a dog barking in the distance, crickets.”
Wallace lifted a finger. “Ah, but you see. Those aren’t crickets. They’re not even grasshoppers. It’s the grasshopper sparrow.” He held the binoculars to his face and scanned the horizon. “I see them now, over there close to that fence post.” He pointed before handing Mary Anne the binoculars.
After fiddling with the glasses to adjust the lenses, she zeroed in on the pair of birds. “I see the head and the light breast. I even see the stripe on their breasts.” Her excitement increased. Turning the glasses further afield, she nearly shouted. “And then there’s a Henslow! At least I think that’s what it is.”
“Where?”
She handed him the binoculars. “A little bit to the left. Farther away from the field.”
He turned his head, fiddled with the magnification, while a smile formed around his mouth. “Why, Mary Anne, you’re right. You’re a natural-born birder. You should join the Audubon Society and come to the next meeting.”
The Audubon Society? The audacity—and possibilities—of such a suggestion thrilled Mary Anne down to her toes.
* * *
Wallace didn’t repeat his suggestion that Mary Anne come to the Audubon Society with him. Even if she were interested, she might leave before the next meeting.
The plan for today was a better idea. In addition to the private skating lessons Preston Nas
h offered at the converted grist mill, he opened the rink to the public several times a week. All day Saturday was one of those times.
Today the church was sponsoring the annual ice skating party, scheduled in mid-spring as usual. Winnie had invited Mary Anne to go skating with her, and she had agreed. They both had tiny feet, and Mary Anne could fit into an old pair of Winnie’s skates. The two of them left for the ice rink earlier than the rest of the family.
“I don’t know what we’ll do with that girl.” Clarinda shook her head, expressing her concern for their sister. “She always says she’s done her homework, but it hasn’t been all that long since I was at the seminary. I always had plenty to do, without spending hours and hours every day on the ice.”
Clarinda and Wallace both dedicated themselves to study, a passion they inherited from their grandmother. “Face it, sis. Both of us liked school. Winnie is satisfied with getting by. Her heart’s on the ice.”
“What Grandmother Clara would have to say about that, I don’t know.” Clara Farley Tuttle had founded the Maple Notch Female Seminary more than sixty years ago.
“She’d probably be glad that Winnie can go out and skate and compete. She wanted women to have the same opportunities as men, after all. Remember the first time she voted?”
Watching Grandmother Tuttle cast the first ballot in the 1920 election—she voted for Warren Harding, of course—had helped Wallace understand women’s suffrage in a way lectures never managed to do.
Clarinda nodded, but her mind had wandered from the subject. “I’m surprised you let Mary Anne slip out of here without you tagging along.”
Howie raced in, in time to hear his mother’s remark. “Wallace and Mary Anne sitting in a tree...” He said the familiar words in a high, singsong voice.
“Howard Aaron Finch, Jr., stop that right now.” Clarinda’s warning came too late.
Wallace turned as hot as a sauna while the rest of the family laughed.
Chapter 10
Wallace recovered his voice. “The social will start without us if we don’t get going.” Without waiting for any further comments from the peanut gallery, he slung his skates over his shoulder and opened the door.
Hidden Dreams Page 6