Silhouette of a Sparrow Read Online Free

Mother.”

Double-Crested Cormorant
    (Phalacrocorax auritus)
    I went to sleep that night pleased with the letter I’d written. I reminded Mother that she herself had worked as a secretary during the war, and told her that Alice’s mother had allowed Alice to get a job in a department store. I trusted that she’d ask Aunt Rachel for advice, and that advice would certainly be in my favor. So many young, unmarried women were working outside the home now that it seemed pretty old fashioned to resist the trend. I placed my faith in the belief that no modern woman could deny her daughter this opportunity, and though my mother was conservative, she was not so Victorian as the Harringtons. She prided herself on being fashionable—reading Freud and following scandals in the paper and hemming her skirts to just the right length. She would say yes. She had to. I put the letter into the hands of the bellboy, who would post it in the morning, and went to bed hopeful.

    Three hours later I woke to an awful racket. The sound of steady rain that I’d gotten so used to sleeping with had changed to a clamor. Uneven cracks and thumps and thuds sounded outside my partly open window, and occasional muffled clunks came right into my room. I stumbled out of bed and over to the window. My toes burned with a shocking cold and I looked down.
    Button-sized balls of ice lay on the carpet like sparrow eggs.
    Hail.
    I looked out. The dark sky had torn open completely and ice chunks thundered down to earth. They bounced off the roof of the veranda outside my window in syncopated rhythms. They littered the grass below. With faint sloshing they pelted the lake, and though I couldn’t see it in the dark, an image of the bay popped into my head as an enormous glass of tea with ice bobbing from shore to shore.
    The sound was deafening, but it was a relief to my ears after days of monotonous rain. I laughed and picked up an ice ball from the carpet. The cold burned my skin. I dropped the hailstone into my mouth and let it melt there, cool and clean and almost sweet.
    Thunder crashed and a blinding flash of lightening followed just a moment later. The wind picked up to a fierce gale, and outside my north-facing window the maple tree swayed in the gusts. My joy turned to fear in a heartbeat. I slammed both windows shut and backed away from them, in case the hailstones blew into the glass.

    Muffled sounds of alarm came through my door. The Harringtons were awake.
    “Come, dear,” said a voice at my door after a forceful knock. “We have to go down to the lobby now.”
    I threw a long dressing gown over my nightgown and slid my bare feet into shoes. I opened my door to find Mrs. Harrington and Hannah waiting for me, fully dressed but only half awake. “Come, it’s dangerous up here,” Mrs. Harrington said, ushering us out the door and down the stairs to the lobby like a mother hen.
    The other guests, in varying degrees of undress, gathered in a hodgepodge around the front desk. The bellboy, fully awake and still neatly clothed in his clean uniform, was just addressing the group as we joined it. An air of panic circulated among the crowd, but the bellboy was calm. Professional. In charge. Stately and dignified as a cormorant, that large, dark water bird I’d seen on sandbars by the Mississippi.
    “I’m going to lead you down the kitchen stairs and into the basement,” he was saying. “It’ll be safer there if the wind blows a tree over, or if this storm whips up a tornado. We’ve got some lanterns and candles to take in case the electric goes out. Grab one and follow me. Please be careful with the fire—these old buildings can catch so easily.”
    He set off for the kitchen and the group followed, picking up lit lanterns and candles from the desk on the way. Mrs. Harrington didn’t budge.
    “I’m not accustomed to taking orders from a colored
boy,” she whispered to us, “and I’m certainly not spending the night in some dirty basement with