Read Online Hannah: Daughters of the Sea #1 by Kathryn Lasky - Free Book Online Page B

Brimmer Street, and walked a short block to the building on the corner where he lived and worked in an apartment on the top floor. The rent was reasonable and the light was good, for it faced north. But most important, he could see the river.
    It was the same wherever he went, be it Boston, London, Paris, or Florence. The only thing that changed was the name of the river—the Charles in Boston, the Thames in London, the Seine in Paris, the Arno in Florence. Always a river. A river that flowed to the sea.
    But now it was as if the sea had flowed back to him. He sank into his armchair in front of the window and took his customary posture. His elbow propped on one arm of the chair, his chin resting in his hand. He watched the river, observing the play of light on the water. Sometimes the water seemed like a gray satin ribbon unspooling toward the sea. Sometimes, like this day, the first bright, sunny one after long drizzling weeks, it flowed like a liquid rainbow. He liked itin all its moods, although he sometimes detected a tint of mockery in its shifting reflections.
    He had been stunned when he entered that music room and she had turned around. How could he have expected such a thing? It was not that she was beautiful. But he had known the moment he entered the room, before she had even turned around, that there was something…a fluid grace in the way she bent toward that coal scuttle. Does she know yet? Or maybe it is the other way around, maybe she has chosen … no … no …, he argued.
    Stannish now entered a complicated internal argument with himself. She had made that remarkable observation about the vases—how had she put it—like trying to cram a ship in a bottle? That remark alone would suggest that she had not made the choice; that she was ignorant, or rather, innocent.
    It was all too complicated. He could not refuse the commission. He had already started the portrait. The Hawleys were one of the most important families here in Boston and prominent in Paris as well. Not only that, but the portrait was to be displayed at the ParisSalon, the most important art exhibition on either side of the Atlantic. Hervé, his dealer in Paris, would kill him if he backed out. But how could he continue in the household? Perhaps he would not see her that much. She was definitely not high on the staff, a parlor maid at best.
    Finally the voices in his head ceased. He gazed out at the river and made his decision. “I am a great painter. I am on the brink of getting everything I’ve worked for. And I know all I have given up.”

9 BLOOD AND MILK
    “T HEM TARTS, YOU PUT a berry right in the center of each and mind you really get it in the center, Susie. Hannah can help you.”
    The Hawleys had arrived promptly on the 5:05, and now at almost eight they were just sitting down for dinner. Hannah had never heard of anyone eating supper, which they called dinner, so late. In the three hours since they had arrived, she had not caught a glimpse of a single Hawley. This apparently was her destiny, not belonging to that exalted order of upstairs maids, like Florrie and Daze, or Miss Horton, the head housekeeper, or Roseanne, who was Mrs. Hawley’s personal maid.
    As soon as Hannah had finished helping with the dessert tarts, Mrs. Bletchley reminded her that sheshould go kindle the stove in Lila’s room and take the pan of milk “for that creature.” Hannah carefully ascended the back stairs balancing the milk pan in one hand and the kindling scuttle in the other, wondering why Mrs. Bletchley called Jade “that creature.” The stairwell was quite dark with only very dim gaslights on the landings. Just before she approached the third-floor landing, she caught a glimpse of something pale and milky white flowing silently through the darkness. Her heart skipped a beat. Dotty! No. No ghosts . She had slept in Dotty’s bed undisturbed. Hannah swallowed and took a deep breath. “Stupid you are! Stupid, stupid, stupid,” she scolded