Read Online Hannah's Dream by A.L. Jambor, Lenore Butler - Free Book Online
Authors: A.L. Jambor, Lenore Butler
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with ease. They were truly amazing works of art. He had tried to discourage her from entering the school art contest without success. His only hope was Margaret Mason. She was judging the contest. Surely she would favor a member of her social class over Louise, and Hannah would win.
"Is this okay?" Louise asked.
"Yes, it's fine, Louise."
He hurried past her. Her cheeks reddened as they always did when he spoke to her. She looked at her painting, a seagull in flight over the ocean, and sighed.
He doesn't like me, she thought.
Hannah's sculpture of a seagull perched on a piece of driftwood was giving her problems. The delicate feathers were always hard to emulate. She had spent hours at the beach watching the birds. They were hard to get close to, unless you had a large bag of breadcrumbs. The contest was in one week and she wanted this bird to look real. She sat back and looked at it. She would have to smooth the bird's form and start again.
"It looks good," Louise said.
Hannah smiled. She always tried to be nice to Louise.
"Thank you," she said. "But I have to do the feathers again."
"Why? They look real."
"I think I can do better."
Louise thought the feathers looked good. She didn't understand why Hannah wanted to change them. Her picture, though, was not very good at all. She looked at the bird and wanted to blot it out with her black paint. She didn't, though. She just took her eyes off it and worked on the sea.
Hannah was still working the clay when class ended. The other students walked past her and out the door, but she stayed. Pierre came over to her, stood by her side, and clasped his hands behind his back to keep from touching her.
"It's coming along nicely," he said.
"Why did they want us to make birds?" she asked.
"Mrs. Mason likes birds."
"I don't," Hannah said. "Not after working on this for so long."
"You are too hard on yourself, Hannah. It is a fine bird."
He wanted to touch her hair.
"Oh, everyone has gone," she said. "I'll be late."
"But this is your last class."
"I must get home. I promised Mother I wouldn't be late."
Ah, the lovely Mrs. Dawes, he thought.
As she ran from the room, Pierre looked at her sculpture. It really wasn't very good. But a girl like Hannah, with her personality and breeding, would rise above a lump like Louise. He wasn't worried. Hannah would win.
He left the classroom and walked home. He was feeling a bit randy and knew it was time to visit Mrs. Porter's house in Long Branch.
The entries were lined up in the gymnasium and Margaret Mason scrutinized each entry. She had a keen eye. She recognized true talent when she saw it and the contest was her idea. She was a true patron of the arts. If she found a talented student, she would offer encouragement not only with kind words, but with her pocketbook.
She stopped in front of Hannah's piece. She studied the lines along the bird's back and noted the fine feathering and rough-hewn driftwood. It was a nice piece, but not exceptional. Margaret was disappointed. She liked Hannah.
She walked past the next two offerings and smiled. The young men smiled back. As she looked up at Louise's painting, she stopped. Her heart jumped in her chest. The colors and the lines were magnificent.
She had to appear impartial. She didn't want the parents of the other students to see her reaction. She was staring at the work of a master-to-be, and she was astounded. As she looked at Louise, she felt sad. The girl was so pathetic. It was clear she had taken time to comb her hair and wear her best dress, but she still looked like a whipped puppy.
Margaret recalled standing next to Patrice, her own beautiful blond sister, as one man after another asked Patrice to put their name on her dance card. No one asked Margaret. Patrice had chosen her own husband, with her father's permission, of course, but Margaret's had been an arranged
"Is this okay?" Louise asked.
"Yes, it's fine, Louise."
He hurried past her. Her cheeks reddened as they always did when he spoke to her. She looked at her painting, a seagull in flight over the ocean, and sighed.
He doesn't like me, she thought.
Hannah's sculpture of a seagull perched on a piece of driftwood was giving her problems. The delicate feathers were always hard to emulate. She had spent hours at the beach watching the birds. They were hard to get close to, unless you had a large bag of breadcrumbs. The contest was in one week and she wanted this bird to look real. She sat back and looked at it. She would have to smooth the bird's form and start again.
"It looks good," Louise said.
Hannah smiled. She always tried to be nice to Louise.
"Thank you," she said. "But I have to do the feathers again."
"Why? They look real."
"I think I can do better."
Louise thought the feathers looked good. She didn't understand why Hannah wanted to change them. Her picture, though, was not very good at all. She looked at the bird and wanted to blot it out with her black paint. She didn't, though. She just took her eyes off it and worked on the sea.
Hannah was still working the clay when class ended. The other students walked past her and out the door, but she stayed. Pierre came over to her, stood by her side, and clasped his hands behind his back to keep from touching her.
"It's coming along nicely," he said.
"Why did they want us to make birds?" she asked.
"Mrs. Mason likes birds."
"I don't," Hannah said. "Not after working on this for so long."
"You are too hard on yourself, Hannah. It is a fine bird."
He wanted to touch her hair.
"Oh, everyone has gone," she said. "I'll be late."
"But this is your last class."
"I must get home. I promised Mother I wouldn't be late."
Ah, the lovely Mrs. Dawes, he thought.
As she ran from the room, Pierre looked at her sculpture. It really wasn't very good. But a girl like Hannah, with her personality and breeding, would rise above a lump like Louise. He wasn't worried. Hannah would win.
He left the classroom and walked home. He was feeling a bit randy and knew it was time to visit Mrs. Porter's house in Long Branch.
The entries were lined up in the gymnasium and Margaret Mason scrutinized each entry. She had a keen eye. She recognized true talent when she saw it and the contest was her idea. She was a true patron of the arts. If she found a talented student, she would offer encouragement not only with kind words, but with her pocketbook.
She stopped in front of Hannah's piece. She studied the lines along the bird's back and noted the fine feathering and rough-hewn driftwood. It was a nice piece, but not exceptional. Margaret was disappointed. She liked Hannah.
She walked past the next two offerings and smiled. The young men smiled back. As she looked up at Louise's painting, she stopped. Her heart jumped in her chest. The colors and the lines were magnificent.
She had to appear impartial. She didn't want the parents of the other students to see her reaction. She was staring at the work of a master-to-be, and she was astounded. As she looked at Louise, she felt sad. The girl was so pathetic. It was clear she had taken time to comb her hair and wear her best dress, but she still looked like a whipped puppy.
Margaret recalled standing next to Patrice, her own beautiful blond sister, as one man after another asked Patrice to put their name on her dance card. No one asked Margaret. Patrice had chosen her own husband, with her father's permission, of course, but Margaret's had been an arranged
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