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grandmother's and Rowena's faces when I bring home the payment that Alistair
will give me after finding his clock. I could drop the money onto the table.
What's this? Oh, just a little something that a customer gave me after I--The
stairway creaks a little as if weighing in and I jump. Thankfully Gabriel doesn't
seem to notice. He's too busy staring off at the painting.
You know, Gabriel says thoughtfully,
my mom never really explained that rule to me anyway. It was one of those
conversations that we had to have on the down low,and my dad came home
in the middle of it and we never picked it up again.
And no one's ever explained it to me, either. I mean, why would they bother? I
say, making my face as innocent as possible. Gabriel puts one finger to his chin
in an overly thoughtful pose.
So no one's actually forbidden us to do this or explained why it would be a
particularly bad idea?
Nope I shake my head sorrowfully.
No one. We grin at each other, and suddenly he stands up and pulls me to my
feet. Off balance, I rock close to him for a minute. Close enough to learn that he
smells like clean laundry. His hands linger on my arms a second and I try to step
back, but he tightens his grip.
Do you really want to do this? His voice is low and all traces of his grin are
gone. I nod.
Do you promise me that if we do this, you won't touch anything? That you will
follow my lead at all times? I would salute but he's pinning my arms to my side,
so I settle for nodding again. But Gabriel looks unconvinced, so finally I say,
Yes, I promise.
Okay He releases me and steps back to study the painting again.
Surreptitiously, I rub my arms. I can't help but stare at him. He looks so intense, so
determined and otherworldly, that I'm having a hard time rememberingthat this
is the person who used to play sock puppets with me when he was six and I was
four. Then he turns, holds out his hand. I give him mine, feeling the strong close of
his fingers.
You ready? No! I want to say suddenly. And by the way, will it hurt? I want to
ask. As if I've spoken out loud, Gabriel gives my hand a little shake.
We don't have to do this, you know.
I want to, I answer.
I really want to. He nods, looking back at the painting. He closes his eyes, so I
close mine, too. All of a sudden I have that feeling you get on a roller coaster,
just at the moment when the car has inched all the way up to the highest peak
of the track and is poised, waiting to plummet and hurl down, down, down.
Then everything shifts and swirls past me and I feel as if I'm standing in the
ocean, the sand beneath my feet disappearing under my heels, leaving me
balanced on air. My eyes snap open. Focus, I think desperately, clinging to
Gabriel, the bones of his hand solid and real. I concentrate on watching the
shadows skim across the hardwood floors to pool in the corners of the foyer. A
breeze is coming in from somewhere. There must be a window open and now
it's making the candlelight flicker and sway. Candlelight?I turn my head.
Branches and branches of candles line the wainscoted walls, their lights
dancing and bobbing. Somewhere above our heads music is playing, violins
andmaybe a piano.
You did it! I say, and Gabriel grins.
Is it always like that? Gabriel raises one eyebrow at me.
Did the earth move for you, too?
Oh, shut up! I snap. Then I take a second look around.
Gabriel, this is Aunt Rennie and Uncle Chester's house I gaze up at the familiar
ceiling covered in polished tin that rains pieces of light all along the white walls.
The windows are large and arched with wooden shutters pressed closed across
the bottom halves, and the floors, polished to a gleaming mahogany, are
interrupted here and there with the same Persian rugs that look decidedly
newer in this century than in ours. And the life-size metal knight that's usually on
the second floor now stands like a sentinel at the foot of the stairs.
Alistair said his family lost the clock in a card game to another family. It must
have been ours and--
Really, Miranda, comes a voice from somewhere to our left.
I think you're being quite ridiculous. He's only the most eligible bachelor in town.
It's natural that I danced with him.
Yes, but you danced three times with him and you know that's not allowed by
Mama's dance rules and--
Quick, Gabriel hisses in my ear, and we dart toward a closet. Just in time we
press together into the small dark space that smells overwhelmingly of mothballs.
Leaving the door slightly open, I try not to breathe in too much. Two girls sweep
into view and I can't help but wishthat Agatha could be here to see their
dresses--she would die. I feel a quick pinch of sadness that I'll never be able to
tell her about this. They're both wearing long white trailing gowns made of some
silky material. One has her dark hair sculpted in elaborate swirls, and a large
white feather curls over the left side of her face. She is the taller of the two,
definitely more beautiful, and from the look of things the other girl seems to
know this. Her gown is just as elaborate, but it doesn't seem to fit her body,
which is shorter and stubbier. In a wheedling tone, the shorter girl says,
Yes, but I wanted to dance the waltz with him. You know the waltz shows me
off perfectly, and you deliberately took that dance. The first girl gives a light
laugh that snaps off abruptly, like breaking icicles.
I did nothing of the sort. Did I fling my dance card at him? No, he approached
and asked for that dance. What would you have me do? Tell him -- and here
she puts on a sweet falsetto-- 'No, my little sister would care to have that dance
with you, and I must condemn you to that experience of missed steps, bruised
toes, and insipid conversation'?
Oh! The younger girl balls her hands into fists, and then quick as a flash she
reaches up, snatches the feather from her sister's hair, and shreds it.
You little wretch, the older girl exclaims. Suddenly, the pieces of feather in the
younger girl's hand burst into flame and she drops them with a little cry. She
sucks onher fingers, regarding her sister through narrow eyes. But before she can
retaliate, an older woman enters the foyer. I can see her assessing the scene
rapidly before the feather scraps disappear in a puff of smoke. She advances
slowly on the two girls, the skirts of her blue taffeta dress rustling with every step.
Mama, the younger girl wails,
Lavina did it again.
She started it, the older girl murmurs. She passes one long hand over her hair
as if to make sure it's all still there.
Girls, what have I said about using Talents against each other? Their mother's
voice is low but forceful, and even I feel like taking a step back in the closet.
There's been enough division and strife as it is between us all and you have to
turn against each other like that? Has our history taught you nothing? The two
girls look down at the mahogany floor, the picture of guilt, and eventually their
mother's face softens. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
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grandmother's and Rowena's faces when I bring home the payment that Alistair
will give me after finding his clock. I could drop the money onto the table.
What's this? Oh, just a little something that a customer gave me after I--The
stairway creaks a little as if weighing in and I jump. Thankfully Gabriel doesn't
seem to notice. He's too busy staring off at the painting.
You know, Gabriel says thoughtfully,
my mom never really explained that rule to me anyway. It was one of those
conversations that we had to have on the down low,and my dad came home
in the middle of it and we never picked it up again.
And no one's ever explained it to me, either. I mean, why would they bother? I
say, making my face as innocent as possible. Gabriel puts one finger to his chin
in an overly thoughtful pose.
So no one's actually forbidden us to do this or explained why it would be a
particularly bad idea?
Nope I shake my head sorrowfully.
No one. We grin at each other, and suddenly he stands up and pulls me to my
feet. Off balance, I rock close to him for a minute. Close enough to learn that he
smells like clean laundry. His hands linger on my arms a second and I try to step
back, but he tightens his grip.
Do you really want to do this? His voice is low and all traces of his grin are
gone. I nod.
Do you promise me that if we do this, you won't touch anything? That you will
follow my lead at all times? I would salute but he's pinning my arms to my side,
so I settle for nodding again. But Gabriel looks unconvinced, so finally I say,
Yes, I promise.
Okay He releases me and steps back to study the painting again.
Surreptitiously, I rub my arms. I can't help but stare at him. He looks so intense, so
determined and otherworldly, that I'm having a hard time rememberingthat this
is the person who used to play sock puppets with me when he was six and I was
four. Then he turns, holds out his hand. I give him mine, feeling the strong close of
his fingers.
You ready? No! I want to say suddenly. And by the way, will it hurt? I want to
ask. As if I've spoken out loud, Gabriel gives my hand a little shake.
We don't have to do this, you know.
I want to, I answer.
I really want to. He nods, looking back at the painting. He closes his eyes, so I
close mine, too. All of a sudden I have that feeling you get on a roller coaster,
just at the moment when the car has inched all the way up to the highest peak
of the track and is poised, waiting to plummet and hurl down, down, down.
Then everything shifts and swirls past me and I feel as if I'm standing in the
ocean, the sand beneath my feet disappearing under my heels, leaving me
balanced on air. My eyes snap open. Focus, I think desperately, clinging to
Gabriel, the bones of his hand solid and real. I concentrate on watching the
shadows skim across the hardwood floors to pool in the corners of the foyer. A
breeze is coming in from somewhere. There must be a window open and now
it's making the candlelight flicker and sway. Candlelight?I turn my head.
Branches and branches of candles line the wainscoted walls, their lights
dancing and bobbing. Somewhere above our heads music is playing, violins
andmaybe a piano.
You did it! I say, and Gabriel grins.
Is it always like that? Gabriel raises one eyebrow at me.
Did the earth move for you, too?
Oh, shut up! I snap. Then I take a second look around.
Gabriel, this is Aunt Rennie and Uncle Chester's house I gaze up at the familiar
ceiling covered in polished tin that rains pieces of light all along the white walls.
The windows are large and arched with wooden shutters pressed closed across
the bottom halves, and the floors, polished to a gleaming mahogany, are
interrupted here and there with the same Persian rugs that look decidedly
newer in this century than in ours. And the life-size metal knight that's usually on
the second floor now stands like a sentinel at the foot of the stairs.
Alistair said his family lost the clock in a card game to another family. It must
have been ours and--
Really, Miranda, comes a voice from somewhere to our left.
I think you're being quite ridiculous. He's only the most eligible bachelor in town.
It's natural that I danced with him.
Yes, but you danced three times with him and you know that's not allowed by
Mama's dance rules and--
Quick, Gabriel hisses in my ear, and we dart toward a closet. Just in time we
press together into the small dark space that smells overwhelmingly of mothballs.
Leaving the door slightly open, I try not to breathe in too much. Two girls sweep
into view and I can't help but wishthat Agatha could be here to see their
dresses--she would die. I feel a quick pinch of sadness that I'll never be able to
tell her about this. They're both wearing long white trailing gowns made of some
silky material. One has her dark hair sculpted in elaborate swirls, and a large
white feather curls over the left side of her face. She is the taller of the two,
definitely more beautiful, and from the look of things the other girl seems to
know this. Her gown is just as elaborate, but it doesn't seem to fit her body,
which is shorter and stubbier. In a wheedling tone, the shorter girl says,
Yes, but I wanted to dance the waltz with him. You know the waltz shows me
off perfectly, and you deliberately took that dance. The first girl gives a light
laugh that snaps off abruptly, like breaking icicles.
I did nothing of the sort. Did I fling my dance card at him? No, he approached
and asked for that dance. What would you have me do? Tell him -- and here
she puts on a sweet falsetto-- 'No, my little sister would care to have that dance
with you, and I must condemn you to that experience of missed steps, bruised
toes, and insipid conversation'?
Oh! The younger girl balls her hands into fists, and then quick as a flash she
reaches up, snatches the feather from her sister's hair, and shreds it.
You little wretch, the older girl exclaims. Suddenly, the pieces of feather in the
younger girl's hand burst into flame and she drops them with a little cry. She
sucks onher fingers, regarding her sister through narrow eyes. But before she can
retaliate, an older woman enters the foyer. I can see her assessing the scene
rapidly before the feather scraps disappear in a puff of smoke. She advances
slowly on the two girls, the skirts of her blue taffeta dress rustling with every step.
Mama, the younger girl wails,
Lavina did it again.
She started it, the older girl murmurs. She passes one long hand over her hair
as if to make sure it's all still there.
Girls, what have I said about using Talents against each other? Their mother's
voice is low but forceful, and even I feel like taking a step back in the closet.
There's been enough division and strife as it is between us all and you have to
turn against each other like that? Has our history taught you nothing? The two
girls look down at the mahogany floor, the picture of guilt, and eventually their
mother's face softens. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]