I shushed him with a finger to my lips and turned back to the room.
I hurried to put the model back inside the chest, locking it tight and returning the key to its hiding place before turning back to the window. I threw one leg over the windowsill.
“What are you doing?” Henry called from the ground below.
“Can you please lower your voice?” I whispered fiercely as I threw my other leg over the sill. “What does it look like I’m doing? Leaving the house.”
“No, Kate. Not the window. Just use the door, like a normal person.”
“I cannot. Mama will see me.” I turned over, gripping the inner edge of the sill, so that my stomach rested against the wood. “It is only a little more difficult since the lattice broke last summer.” I searched for a crack 18
in the stones with the toe of my boot. At that moment, Cora decided to explore my predicament and jumped onto my head.
“Oh, no. Not now,” I said. “Get down!”
But after peering over my head, she proceeded to walk slowly and elegantly down my back. Henry laughed.
“This is your fault,” I muttered. “She is going to see you.”
Just then, Cora seemed to decide that the slope was too steep for her comfort and dug her claws into my legs and back. I jerked with the sharp pain, and she lost her balance. She meowed pathetically, scrambling to catch hold of something but with no luck. I looked over my shoulder to watch her twist in the air as she fell. Henry caught her before she hit the ground.
“Well done,” I said. He set her down, then reached up for me.
“Just drop and I will catch you,” he said, as I continued to fumble for my customary foothold.
“No. I don’t need that much help. Let me find that crack and then you may give me a hand . . .”
“Does it really matter exactly how much assistance I render here? I am going to help you anyway. Let me catch you.”
“A hand will suffice.”
He muttered something. I found the crack, shoved the toe of my boot into it, and slid my hands to the outer edge of the windowsill. “What are you muttering about?” I asked.
“Stubborn. Something about this stubborn young lady I know.”
The sound of footsteps came through the window above me. Mama was coming to speak to me, and she was still angry, by the sound of her sharp steps. A loud knock sounded at my bedroom door. In that instant, I realized I had forgotten to lock the door again after opening it for Oliver.
I pushed away from the wall and let go. I had no doubt that Henry would catch me. From the corner of my eye I saw him lunge forward.
He grabbed me around the waist in time to slow my fall. I stumbled as I landed, but he pulled me to my feet and ran with me around the corner 19
J u l i a n n e D o n a l D s o n of the house. I pressed myself against the stone wall and tried to quiet my breathing.
“Kitty? Kitty!” Mama’s voice reached us from the open window.
Henry looked down at me, and his amused expression turned suddenly sharp with concern.
“You are upset,” he said.
I pressed my lips together, refusing to either confirm or deny his state-ment. His eyes narrowed. “Who has upset you?”
“Kitty!” Mama’s yell came again, louder this time. “Katherine Worthington! Answer me this instant! If you have been climbing out of your window again—”
The next instant Henry left my side and walked around the corner of the house. Panicked, I reached out to grab him, to stop him, but he was already out of my reach. All I could do was stand still and wait, tense with nervousness. Cora twined herself around my ankles, meowing, and I picked her up to quiet her.
“Oh. Henry.” Mama’s voice held a note of pleasure. I could imagine her smoothing her hair and leaning further out the window. I could imagine her smiling at Henry as he lifted his face up to her. “I was just looking for Kitty. You have not seen her, have you?”
“Not today. Perhaps she has walked into town?”
“Hm. You’re probably right. I will send one of the servants directly.
Thank you, Henry. You are a dear boy.” A pause, and then her voice lowered and she laughed, a low, throaty sound. “Oh, dear, but you are not a boy anymore, are you? And you are certainly growing more handsome every day.” I closed my eyes, sick with shame. “You must come to dinner tonight. I don’t know how many times I have told Kitty to invite you since your mother and Sylvia left for London, but she has failed me time and time again. I do want you here, dear Henry.” Her voice was sultry. “I want you very much.”
Cora meowed, wriggling in my arms, and I realized that I was squeez-ing her—strangling her, almost. I loosened my hold but did not let her 20
go, burying my face in her fur. I wished I could bury all of me, somewhere far, far away from my shameful mother.
“Thank you for the invitation, Mrs. Worthington, but I must decline.
George has invited the Farnsworths to dine tonight, and they are expect-ing me.”
“Oh.” Her voice took on a complaining tone. “I am sure your brother and his wife can get along fine without you for one evening.”
“I am sorry. Perhaps another evening. If you will excuse me . . .”
“Very well. But I will hold you to it. One of these evenings, Henry, you will be at my side.”
A moment later, Henry rounded the corner and stood before me. Full of dread, I threw a glance up at him. His cheeks had reddened and his lips were pressed together, as if he was trying very hard not to say something. But his eyes, when he looked at me, were only kind. The line of his mouth softened, and he gave me a quick, small smile.
“The target, as I was saying, is set up, and I believe I have thrown your mother off your scent. Will you come?”
I trembled with anger and shame and wished I could apologize for my mother. But to apologize for her would be to acknowledge her behavior, and I couldn’t do that. I set Cora on the ground. “That is exactly what I need right now.”
I made sure nobody was watching from the nearest windows as Henry and I darted for the woods, Cora at our heels. The clearing was almost perfectly halfway between our two houses. When we reached it, Henry took off his coat and hung it over a tree branch. The target was set up beside the large maple tree. Two bows and two quivers of arrows rested on a large tree stump. Everything looked just as it should—just as it always had every other day we had spent in this clearing practicing our archery.
But I was so angry at Mama that I doubted I could hit anything.
I picked up a bow and a quiver of arrows. Henry stood beside me, watching me in silence. My hands shook with anger. I took a deep breath 21
J u l i a n n e D o n a l D s o n while I lifted the bow and looked at the target. I released the arrow. It flew wide. No surprise, but still I glared at the offending target.
Henry nocked an arrow, pulled it back, and narrowed his eyes as he looked at the target. The sun glinted off his hair. He released the arrow. It hit the target with a satisfying thunk. He never missed.
“Are you ready to talk yet?” he asked.
I picked up another arrow and nocked it while I considered his question. . Staring at the target, I imagined my mother’s cold eyes. “My mother,” I said, releasing the arrow. It hit the outer edge of the target.
Pathetic.
“Of course,” Henry said. “But what has dear Mama done this time?”
His second arrow hit home just as soundly as his first had done.
“She is the most unfeeling mother in creation,” I said, picking up another arrow. “She does not comprehend my dreams, nor does she value my desires. She only wants me to marry. And you know how I feel about that. ” I released the string. This time the arrow buried itself in the grass.
“Indeed.”
“Indeed!” I grabbed another arrow, upset with the arrows for not flying true and at Henry for being so calm when I was so angry and at Mama for not understanding me at all. “In fact, how many times have you heard me vow that I will never marry?”
He smiled, a little half-smile. “How many times? I have not kept count, Kate.”