Read Online Silhouette of a Sparrow by Molly Beth Griffin - Free Book Online
Authors: Molly Beth Griffin
Ads: Link
night claiming that we’re ‘disturbing the peace.’ The managers hate that and so do I. You’ll have peace when you’re dead, that’s what I say. I bet she doesn’t care for books because ‘they give young girls all kinds of crazy ideas.’ How many times have I heard that one? But I suppose books are more wholesome and refined companions for you than I am, right?”
“That’s the general idea . . .” I squirmed in my seat on the rock. “But please don’t think, you know I don’t, I mean—”
“Of course not, Garnet, don’t worry. I’m flattered, actually, to be considered a bad influence. You don’t think I got my reputation by chance, do you?”
I laughed.
“Do you think other hotel guests will see me out here
and tell Mrs. Harrington?” I said, looking up and down the shoreline.
“Someone might see you. And some of them are gossips, I’m sure. But most of them will be too caught up in their own outings on a warm, sunny day like this to be worried about you. You’d be amazed how self-involved people can be.”
I sighed, shrugged. I was determined to enjoy this time with Isabella, despite the risk.
“Plus, from what I hear, plenty of people don’t much care for your aunt. So it’s not as though the town is crawling with her spies. But let’s be quiet now,” she said. “We’re frightening the fish.”
We sat there silently with our lines in the water for a long time and I could feel her beside me even though we didn’t touch. The fish weren’t biting but I didn’t mind—I could’ve waited all afternoon like that.
But then a great egret swooped low and landed in the shallows not fifteen feet down the shore from us. Bright white, slender, and elegant, it stalked its prey from above on stiltlike legs. Now and then it plunged its sharp beak into the water and surfaced with a small, struggling fish or frog clamped in its bill. It swallowed the creatures whole. The egret was so beautiful and so fierce that I couldn’t help myself—I slowly set down my fishing pole and reached into my pocket for scissors and paper. I began to cut. Gradually, the bird’s dark twin emerged from the paper.
Isabella looked dismayed that I’d given up on my pole to watch our highly skilled neighbor fish instead. But,
intrigued, she turned to watch me as the image took shape in my hands. I felt her eyes on me.
“How do you do that?” she asked, her line still in the water. When I’d snipped back the last of the tail feathers, I pulled out a clean sheet and handed it to her, along with my scissors.
“Do you want to try? Be careful with these; the points are sharper than they look.”
Reluctantly, she reeled in her line and set her pole down next to mine. She took the crane scissors from me and turned them over and over in her hand. She touched them with reverence, as though she’d never held anything so delicate in her life, running her slender fingers over the handles, the crane’s arched body, the hinge, the blades.
I shivered despite the heat.
“My mother gave them to me so I wouldn’t dull my sewing scissors on paper. I was twelve. Father had just come home from the war and it was clear he wouldn’t be taking my side and helping me get back to real birding. So I make these.”
“They’re divine. And your mother, she encourages this I hope?”
“Yes. She prefers it to the alternative—collecting specimens and things like that. But here’s what she doesn’t know.” I took out the chalk and labeled the bird Ardea alba.
“Latin names. I saw that on the gull you gave me. You’re a scientist as well as an artist then, I see.” I blushed. “Okay. You tried fishing, so I’ll give this a try.” She took the paper from me and looked down into the water. A small
sunny drifted just below the surface. Tiny minnows darted anxiously around it, but it seemed to sense that we’d given up fishing for the moment, and it treaded water calmly It practically posed for Isabella.
A minute later,
“That’s the general idea . . .” I squirmed in my seat on the rock. “But please don’t think, you know I don’t, I mean—”
“Of course not, Garnet, don’t worry. I’m flattered, actually, to be considered a bad influence. You don’t think I got my reputation by chance, do you?”
I laughed.
“Do you think other hotel guests will see me out here
and tell Mrs. Harrington?” I said, looking up and down the shoreline.
“Someone might see you. And some of them are gossips, I’m sure. But most of them will be too caught up in their own outings on a warm, sunny day like this to be worried about you. You’d be amazed how self-involved people can be.”
I sighed, shrugged. I was determined to enjoy this time with Isabella, despite the risk.
“Plus, from what I hear, plenty of people don’t much care for your aunt. So it’s not as though the town is crawling with her spies. But let’s be quiet now,” she said. “We’re frightening the fish.”
We sat there silently with our lines in the water for a long time and I could feel her beside me even though we didn’t touch. The fish weren’t biting but I didn’t mind—I could’ve waited all afternoon like that.
But then a great egret swooped low and landed in the shallows not fifteen feet down the shore from us. Bright white, slender, and elegant, it stalked its prey from above on stiltlike legs. Now and then it plunged its sharp beak into the water and surfaced with a small, struggling fish or frog clamped in its bill. It swallowed the creatures whole. The egret was so beautiful and so fierce that I couldn’t help myself—I slowly set down my fishing pole and reached into my pocket for scissors and paper. I began to cut. Gradually, the bird’s dark twin emerged from the paper.
Isabella looked dismayed that I’d given up on my pole to watch our highly skilled neighbor fish instead. But,
intrigued, she turned to watch me as the image took shape in my hands. I felt her eyes on me.
“How do you do that?” she asked, her line still in the water. When I’d snipped back the last of the tail feathers, I pulled out a clean sheet and handed it to her, along with my scissors.
“Do you want to try? Be careful with these; the points are sharper than they look.”
Reluctantly, she reeled in her line and set her pole down next to mine. She took the crane scissors from me and turned them over and over in her hand. She touched them with reverence, as though she’d never held anything so delicate in her life, running her slender fingers over the handles, the crane’s arched body, the hinge, the blades.
I shivered despite the heat.
“My mother gave them to me so I wouldn’t dull my sewing scissors on paper. I was twelve. Father had just come home from the war and it was clear he wouldn’t be taking my side and helping me get back to real birding. So I make these.”
“They’re divine. And your mother, she encourages this I hope?”
“Yes. She prefers it to the alternative—collecting specimens and things like that. But here’s what she doesn’t know.” I took out the chalk and labeled the bird Ardea alba.
“Latin names. I saw that on the gull you gave me. You’re a scientist as well as an artist then, I see.” I blushed. “Okay. You tried fishing, so I’ll give this a try.” She took the paper from me and looked down into the water. A small
sunny drifted just below the surface. Tiny minnows darted anxiously around it, but it seemed to sense that we’d given up fishing for the moment, and it treaded water calmly It practically posed for Isabella.
A minute later,
Similar Books
