The Aviary by Kathleen O'Dell Page B

“Clara?”
    “What? I think it’s reasonable to ask. To wonder.”
    “The next thing you know, you’ll be wanting to go to school,” said her mother.
    Clara handed her mother the teapot and did not speak for fear of losing her temper.
    Ruby rubbed her hands together and put on a bright face. “Well, what shall we do today? I’m marketingthis morning and have been thinking it’s time for me to blow the dust off some of these elegant old cooking books.”
    Clara’s mother appeared glad to change the subject. “Yes! Clara, would you like that? We could set the table in the dining room. Put a cloth on.”
    “I think there is still a silver candlestick or two left around here. We could be ladies for the evening,” Ruby added.
    The idea immediately appealed to Clara. “How long do you think it has been since that dining room was used?”
    “Let’s see,” said her mother. “Mrs. Glendoveer used to take her dinner there when I first arrived, didn’t she, Ruby?”
    “She did, and for years before that. But I can’t say she always enjoyed it. It was often she’d ask me to fix a meal and want to sit at the kitchen table.”
    “It’s too lonely to eat by oneself,” Clara said. “Especially at a long, grand table like that.”
    “I think she used to picture her family there. Truly, I do,” said Ruby.
    Clara watched her mother’s smile disappear. “What family, Ruby?” she rushed to ask.
    “Her childhood family, is what Ruby meant,” said her mother, stepping forward. “Mrs. Glendoveer came from a large brood, a wealthy one—the Newsoms. And they weren’t pleased with her running away with a person of the theater.”
    “They cut her off,” said Ruby. “She used to grieve about it.”
    “They mustn’t have been very nice people,” Clara said.
    “That’s the way it was in those days,” said her mother. “Magic shows were filled with riffraff, and pickpockets worked the crowd. The Newsoms couldn’t accept that George Glendoveer was a different kind of entertainer. It was a disgrace to the family.”
    “I didn’t know that,” Clara said. “She told me she had regrets, but in a roundabout way.” Clara was piecing together a fuller view of the depths of Mrs. Glendoveer’s sadness.
    “So, Harriet, after I make my shopping list, would you like to come with me?” asked Ruby.
    “Hmm. I could use some seeds. I think that in the next week or two, it’ll be safe to plant radishes …”
    Clara did her best to hide her sublime excitement.
    “… but then, the ground could use preparing,” her mother continued. “And it won’t do to have seeds and no decent bed to plant them in.”
    Clara stirred herself to speak. “But it is so lovely this morning. We haven’t had an early blue sky like this in ages.”
    “Which makes it a perfect day for gardening,” her mother concluded.
    Clara felt absolutely punctured. She stumbled over to the icebox, took out some eggs, and began cracking theminto a bowl. It was all she could do not to start sobbing. But she kept a straight face and made eggs and toast. And when Ruby left and her mother was out shoveling earth, Clara went upstairs to further investigate the bedroom with all the Glendoveers’ things.
    But this time, the knob would not move.
    She rattled it, and then shook the door.
    Locked!
    It could not be. Clara went over the last two days in her mind and wondered what had changed. Then she remembered: the stocking. That antique stocking had made her mother suspicious.
    And what must her mother have thought when she found the door unlocked? No wonder she was reluctant to leave Clara alone today.
    So this is how it is to be
, Clara thought. No direct questioning or accusations, no punishments; just a silent tit for tat, like a chess game.
    And so Clara determined that she would betray no disappointment today. Tonight at dinner, she would be as enthusiastic and gay as she could be. For if she showed any sign of indignation at being thwarted, her