The Mapmaker's Children (14 page)

Ms. Silverdash smiled. “I think that can be arranged. We're always looking for help, and you're nearly eleven—practically a grown-up.”

Cleo beamed at that, and Eden felt she ought to offer to help, too, remembering what Cleo had said about the bookstore being in financial trouble after all of Ms. Silverdash's kindness.

“I saw the Help Wanted sign up front,” said Eden. “I don't know if you could use me for the festival or…”

Before she'd finished, Ms. Silverdash was clapping her hands. “Saints
be praised! I've been looking for someone to lead the Children's Story Hour. I hope today didn't scare you off. Once the story starts, they are angels. It's the before and after that can require a little motherly discipline. I'll be here the whole time. It's an hour, Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. I can't pay you much but…you'd be a godsend!”

It lit something in Eden to have pleased Ms. Silverdash, and before she had time to think twice, she agreed. It was the easiest job interview she'd ever had.

“
And
the shop is pet-friendly,” added Cleo.

“Indeed, we have our own resident, the Fur Fairy of Children's Story Hour.”

Ms. Silverdash went into the Reading Room and returned carrying an antique stuffed animal as loved apart as the fabled Velveteen Rabbit. While possessing a bear snout, big brown eyes, and floppy dog ears, it had a human body and wore a faded lace-collared dress embroidered with bough blooms.

“The Fur Fairy has been here since the first hour. The shop might vanish into the mists if she were to leave.” Ms. Silverdash winked. “The children obey her every command, including sitting for an hour without fuss. That, alone, proves her power. She'll be at your assistance now.”

And so the deal was made. Eden was to be the new manager of the Children's Story Hour starting that very Friday. The happy high of pleasing Ms. Silverdash carried her all the way to her car.

It wasn't until Cleo had finished putting the groceries in the backseat that Eden realized what
exactly
she'd committed herself to: three days a week, she, a childless woman, would be surrounded by children. What did she know about kids? Look at the Hunter twin: he'd hit his own mother. What would they do to her? Anxiety gripped her, and she knuckled the steering wheel of the parked car.

Balanced on the banana seat of her bike, Cleo knocked on the driver's side window. “Miss A, you okay?”

Her head eclipsed the summer sun, outlining the curve of her cheek against the white sky like the silhouette portrait Eden's mother had done of her as a child. She said it was the most beautiful likeness she had of
Eden and hung it on Eden's bedroom wall. Eden had studied it for hours. The image seemed an impersonator with a concealed expression. She made up stories about it, imagining countless frightening countenances in the darkness.

“We didn't talk to Ms. Silverdash about the doll,” she said finally.

Cleo shrugged. “She'll be there tomorrow and the next day.”

Eden nodded but didn't move.

Cleo cupped her hands around her face and pressed her nose to the window. “Do you know the way or do you want to follow me again?”

With only the windowpane between them, Eden could make out each starry freckle on Cleo's skin. She relaxed her grip. “I'll follow you.”

NEW CHARLESTOWN POST

New Charlestown, Virginia, February 8, 1860

Dear Sarah
,

My mother kindly passed on your words of the January 14 letter. Instead of sending my reply through her, I thought it best to correspond directly. I hope you don't think me impudent. From our time together, I feel confident that formal pretenses are unnecessary
.

Thank you for your offer to lend me a personal, signed copy of Thoreau's book—no doubt treasured by you and your family—and I'd readily accept if I didn't already own one, which, although lacking the hand of its creator, is beloved and dog-eared from much reading. This was how I knew you were a person of great mind when we took our short nature walk together. However, if there were another book of your high recommendation, I would eagerly receive that lending
.

Mr. Sanborn's school is of noble distinction! One of the many principles our fathers agreed upon: the education of the mind. You must tell me how it is to ride in a modernized cabriolet. Father and Mother say they are quite popular in London, where, years ago, they paid sizably to be carted from one street to another. Your benefactor understands what precious cargo is being transported. As you witnessed here, the horse and wagon is still our standard mode of travel. The railroads have yet to build their lines to a majority of southern cities, but soon enough they will see they must—for the natural advancement of our country. I am fascinated by the northern innovations and would be delighted to discuss that subject and literature, as those seem to be our two favorites
.

We are well in New Charlestown. Your enclosed apple blossom illustration sparked a new interest in Alice. She has begun construction on a diorama likeness of your orchard on which to stage doll performances. She, like you, has a proclivity for the arts
.

Might you continue to send us illustrations? All would be tremendously useful as examples
.

I am at the aid of my father at the New Charlestown Church and our community endeavors. Having completed my academics ahead of my peers, I now have the time to live the example set forth in
Walden
and the good Holy Word
.

Affectionately your friend
,

Freddy

P.S. Gypsy has pressed her nose to the page corner. Her greeting to you
.

Concord, Mass., March 1, 1860

Dear Freddy
,

I've arrived at Mr. Sanborn's private school and was happy to receive your letter. You are a man of literature! From what I'd always been told, I believed there was a blockade of lettered thought at the Mason-Dixon Line. I'm glad that hasn't affected the Hill household
.

Per your request, I've sent my copy of
Flower Fables,
written by Louisa May Alcott. Louisa is tremendously gifted in the written word. I stayed with the Alcotts in Massachusetts a short time before moving into the school's dormitory. With so many girls in one home, we did little more than play checkers, read Louisa's fables, and dream. Our studies must've poorly shown because as soon as lodgings became available, Mr. Alcott counseled it wise to move. He doesn't believe girls sleeping head to toe is beneficial for the mind or body. Being that Abigail May's feet stink of sardines, I wasn't disappointed to have a room of my own. Such a luxury I've never known
.

It has a window that looks out to the actual Walden Pond. A dream! Even in the depths of winter. Just as Thoreau described. The colors of the sun mirror back a rainbow of different worlds, depending on the time of day. Misty greens in the morn. Stark cobalt at noon. Yolky yellow come sunset and shimmering blue as a crow's breast by night. I wish I could
send a painted scene and not just these words. Boston sits just on the hazy horizon. Seen best by evening. The twinkles of streetlamps hover like stars. I'd been to Massachusetts before but never on my own. It feels as if I'm seeing everything truly for the first time
.

It would be my pleasure to send sketches of whatever scenes might be best and most inspirational to Alice and friends
.

Before I run out of candle, I must tell of the cabriolet! It was terribly, wonderfully modern. Teamed by black stallions with the steadiest trot I have ever been privy to. The folding wooden doors at the base ensured that passengers were kept safe from the wheel spokes and trail muck. The glass windows atop allowed me to keep vigilant watch of the scenery, like a whip-poor-will flying across the land. Or at least that's how I imagined it, and I'm glad to report, we landed with a happy chirp
.

I hope you are afforded the opportunity to ride in such a fine carriage one day. It makes one aware that knowledge and modernization are making so many impossibles possible
.

My candle has gone out, and I am penning this by Walden moonlight. I hope you enjoy the book of fables. When you are finished, you may return it here. However, I hope you write me again sooner
.

Your true friend
,

Sarah

New Charlestown, Virginia, March 18, 1860

Dear Sarah
,

Thank you for the collection of
Flower Fables.
Mother has begun to read the fables aloud after dinner. We are quite entertained by the whimsy. As well, I've read Alice your description of Walden Pond
.

Inspired, she's made a new diorama using our mother's vanity mirror as the pond and colored ribbons for the theater curtain. When fanned, they flitter through various cascades of daylight, just as you wrote. She's
to put on a production of
Kerry Pippin at Sarah's Walden Pond
this evening, and all wish you were in the audience with us
.

Sarah, might you do us the kind favor of drawing something of the bustling city of Albany? Mother has just read a feature article on the Erie Canal, and Alice waits in earnest for some firsthand description. We trust only you for accurate pictorial rendering. Are you familiar?

On sadder tidings, word has come that your sister-in-law Martha passed away following the birth of her daughter, who lived a mere handful of days. Our deepest condolences. Please write and let us know how you are bearing up
.

Affectionately yours
,

Freddy

Concord, Mass., April 2, 1860

Dear Freddy
,

I'm sorry to reply with unhappy salutations, but shortly before your March letter, Annie arrived in Concord bereft and inconsolable. The passing of Martha and baby Olive seems to have cleaved Annie indefinitely. She hardly eats, taking down medicinal herbs of her own collection or balsam tinctures ordered from European doctors. All leave her in a stupor. She tells me she can't study. Her mind is elsewhere, and I fear it might abandon her completely
.

I can't share this with my mother or anyone else. They will insist we return home, and I might as well drown myself in the pond as return to making tallow candles and stitching new buttons on old shirts. Oh, Freddy, the very thought has me as woeful as Annie. Of course I miss my family. Please don't think me heartless. But I'm not like them
—
Mother, Annie, Ruth, and my sister-in-laws, living and gone. I want more
.

I'm doing Annie's academic assignments and my own so that no
one is aware. I work all day at school, followed by all hours of the night in my own artistic endeavors. Enclosed is the sketch of Albany's Erie Canal port. I had the opportunity to visit the lock system while studying modern architecture. Father was a great admirer of inventive form and function in transportation design. An academic field I seem to excel in now, as drawing by candlelight is the only place I find peace these days. I hope it is of aid!

To be truthful, I am at the end of my blasted rope and don't know how much longer I'll be able to keep apace…Please forgive me for cursing, but I am in need of a friend. You, Freddy, know all that I carry and have offered unconditional rapport at my lowest hour. I hope you might do the same now
.