Silhouette of a Sparrow

“I sent Charlotte to fetch you at the library when we heard on the radio that a nasty storm was blowing in. She said you weren’t there—the woman at the desk told Charlotte she hadn’t seen you today.”

“I saw you with her, Garnet. That harlot from the dance hall. I looked out and saw you in that boat with her out on the bay.”

I’d been so worried about getting to shore safely that I hadn’t even realized how visible we were out there—in the only boat on the water during the storm. So she knew where I’d been and whom I’d been with. Not good.

But then there was the deeper fear: had I done anything, anything at all, that would make Hannah guess what had happened between me and Isabella? I thought back. No. I hadn’t kissed her or held her on the dock. She’d just held my hand. The good-bye had been harmless enough. We’d been under the boat on the island, hidden from the world, when the rest had happened. My heart fluttered, remembering, and heat rose into my cheeks.

“She’s my friend, Hannah. I met her at the hat shop a few weeks ago, and we’ve spent some time together since then. Her name is Isabella. She’s a wonderful person and she’s become quite a good friend to me. Please don’t tell?”

“I don’t know . . . I can’t imagine what Mother would think if she knew you were spending time with that, that wild girl. The job is one thing, but you really shouldn’t be socializing with such a common, low-class”—her voice dropped to a whisper—“slut.”

The words stung. I could hardly believe the cruelty in them. How could she be so harsh, so unfeeling? “Oh, Hannah, please? Isn’t there anything I can do for you in return for some discretion on your part?”

The girl’s pointed face lost all its malice then, and I was taken aback by how quickly she could shift her look from mean-spirited sharpness to simple seriousness. Clearly she wanted to negotiate—this was her aim from the beginning. But what could she want from me?

“Yes. There is something you could do.” She looked up, and she allowed her face to soften further, into what almost looked like pleading. “I need help, Garnet. With schoolwork.”

“I don’t . . . read well. And my math and science are atrocious too, but that doesn’t worry me so much. It’s the reading, see.” Tears came into her eyes then, and she blotted at them with the corner of a perfectly embroidered handkerchief. She looked sincere, and yet she was clearly watching my reactions and tailoring her performance to get what she wanted from me.

“Mother doesn’t think it’s all that important. I’m good at the music and painting and needlework and all those things, and she thinks that’s enough to make a good match, but I’m afraid that no one will want to marry a . . . a . . . simpleton.” All cunning went out of her at that word. She burst into genuine tears and buried her face in the hanky.

“Oh, Hannah,” I said, reaching out to pat her back and trying to hide my bewildered expression. “I’m sure it will all work out fine.”

“That’s not all,” she said after blowing her nose. She looked at me with honest-to-God fear shading her face. “We’re not actually very rich. Not anymore.”

I blinked, no longer able to hide my astonishment. I’d guessed that they were living beyond their means, but Hannah’s expression told me the situation was more dire than that.

“It’s all credit. All of it. We still own the estate, but Mother refuses to live on what the land actually brings in, for fear of looking poor. So we’re dreadfully in debt. She’s expecting what little we still have invested to keep growing, and she’s got a plan to develop some land in Florida, but mostly she’s just hoping that I’ll marry well and save us all from ruin.”

Hannah’s shoulders hunched under this burden as she spoke of it. Mine seemed so light in comparison—I was expected to marry Teddy, and the match would bring joy and comfort to my family, but the decision ultimately changed little other than my own future. After a moment Hannah went on. “What Mother doesn’t realize is that men today want more than just a pretty doily maker. I can’t rely on my flute or my paintbrush to win a husband. I need to be smart. Interesting. I need to be able to read. My tutors have given up, and Mother told them not to bother about it.”

“I’ll help in any way I can, Hannah. I promise. We can start today if you want. All I’ve got are bird books, but they’d be as good as anything I suppose.”

“Yes. Okay, thank you. And I won’t tell about the dancing girl if you don’t tell Mother that I’ve said all this. She won’t mind that you’re trying to teach me—even though she’ll think it’s silly, she won’t stop us—but she would mind tremendously if she knew I’d blabbed about the money trouble.”

In my room, I sat on the bed a moment and tried to figure out what had just happened. Who was this girl, Hannah Harrington? I didn’t know her at all. I’d dismissed her as an irritating mama’s girl, when really she was both a conniving manipulator and a fearful child with very real troubles. I still did not like her. In fact, her wicked insults to Isabella and the revelation of the true depths of her cunning made me dislike her even more than before. But at least now there was an interesting complexity to her character and her situation. And now, like it or not, we were allies of a sort.

Then the exciting truth dawned on me: with Hannah in on the secret, I could see Isabella as often as I wished. I penned a note to her immediately: “Off from work tomorrow—can I meet you first thing in the morning? I will come to your place if you tell me where to find you. It’s safer now. Love, Garnet.”

Then I picked up the bird book with the most illustrations and rejoined my cousin in the sitting room. The book fell open to the European starling, a common little blackbird known for the way its plumage changes from black with white spots to an oily rainbow of green and purple during breeding season. I laughed. Do we all change when we try to attract a lover? Do we all try to be more beautiful, or more bold, or more intelligent, or just more brilliantly ourselves?

I had no idea how to teach reading, but I was more than willing to give it a go, both for Hannah’s sake, and for my own.