it.”
“Yes, bring your picture,” said Mother, “but don’t show it at dinner. We’re taking our meal early so that Irena may perform afterwards. You can show us your bird then.” Mother frowned. “Do you have anything to exhibit, Adelina? Do you still persist with your poetry? You’ve not shared any with us for some time.”
“You kept telling me to write more about God,” Adelina said, “and I can’t do it. I can’t write unless I believe in what I’m writing—” Her innards turned to ice, while Mother’s expression remained still. “I didn’t mean that as it sounded. I do believe in God, but I don’t believe in my ability to express divine subject matter. I feel it’s outside my comprehension.”
Mother visibly relaxed. “Yes, it is difficult. Nonetheless, if you persist, you will not only write better verse but also become closer to Him.” She took a gingerbread biscuit, but before it reached her lips, she hesitated. “If you truly prefer a life of reading and contemplation, and if you so dislike the idea of being courted, you could always become a woman of God.”
“Join a convent?”
“Yes. Your father would be disappointed, but perhaps it might be the best fit for you.”
Adelina’s fingers tightened around her teacup. “I don’t know, Mother. It’s hard to imagine myself as a nun.”
“Yes, it does rather tax the imagination. Nonetheless, it is always an option for you if the demands of this temporal life become too burdensome.” A rare softness stole into Mother’s voice. “You are not entirely without an escape, Adelina, if that is what you crave.”
Adelina stared into her tea. If there was a proper response, she couldn’t think of it.
“Well, dinner shall commence shortly. An early meal to prepare the way for an evening of entertainment.” Mother blotted her lips with a napkin. “I look forward to Irena’s singing. She has a sweet voice, our eldest. And, of course, I greatly anticipate seeing your bird, Felise.”
Felise folded her arms. “It’s a large black raven.”
“Yes, quite.” Mother rose, wincing as her legs straightened, and placed her teacup on the tray. “I will retire for a moment. Will one of you be so kind as to fetch me before dinner begins?”
Felise raised her hand. “I’ll do it. I also want to hear Adelina read a poem tonight. Please bring one, Ada. You have such a lovely way of reading.”
Adelina smiled at her witless, infuriating yet somehow beloved sister. “We’ll see.”
She waited for Mother to leave, waved farewell to Felise and returned to the lobby. The sun had already evaporated into sunset, and a crimson glow flooded the halls.
Adelina ascended the stairs and entered the bedroom she shared with Irena. The sun burned behind the great tree outside her window, tracing each leaf with a radiant, feathered outline. She sighed a breath that seemed somehow not her own. She’d never look at a tree again without thinking of Silvana.
Adelina’s desk was in the corner of the room, opposite the bed. Adelina removed the tiny package from her sleeve, opened it onto the desk’s cluttered surface and set the rings side by side. The waning sunlight burnished their silver edges.
Was it too soon for such a bold gift? Adelina bit her lip. No—Silvana had already offered her cup, as forward a courtship gesture as there was. There was no need for timidity. Adelina had to court Silvana with passion and daring. It was exactly what such an exciting lover demanded, not delicate, prudish wooing but an audacious, searing romance.
Adelina unfurled a length of writing paper and took up her quill pen. If she were to truly captivate this experienced older woman, she would have to conduct a courtship so reckless that future poets would blush to describe it.
The pen scratched acoss the paper. For Adelina’s entire life, she had carried in her a defiant energy, one always frustrated by the conditions of her existence. Now that vitality had found
“Yes, bring your picture,” said Mother, “but don’t show it at dinner. We’re taking our meal early so that Irena may perform afterwards. You can show us your bird then.” Mother frowned. “Do you have anything to exhibit, Adelina? Do you still persist with your poetry? You’ve not shared any with us for some time.”
“You kept telling me to write more about God,” Adelina said, “and I can’t do it. I can’t write unless I believe in what I’m writing—” Her innards turned to ice, while Mother’s expression remained still. “I didn’t mean that as it sounded. I do believe in God, but I don’t believe in my ability to express divine subject matter. I feel it’s outside my comprehension.”
Mother visibly relaxed. “Yes, it is difficult. Nonetheless, if you persist, you will not only write better verse but also become closer to Him.” She took a gingerbread biscuit, but before it reached her lips, she hesitated. “If you truly prefer a life of reading and contemplation, and if you so dislike the idea of being courted, you could always become a woman of God.”
“Join a convent?”
“Yes. Your father would be disappointed, but perhaps it might be the best fit for you.”
Adelina’s fingers tightened around her teacup. “I don’t know, Mother. It’s hard to imagine myself as a nun.”
“Yes, it does rather tax the imagination. Nonetheless, it is always an option for you if the demands of this temporal life become too burdensome.” A rare softness stole into Mother’s voice. “You are not entirely without an escape, Adelina, if that is what you crave.”
Adelina stared into her tea. If there was a proper response, she couldn’t think of it.
“Well, dinner shall commence shortly. An early meal to prepare the way for an evening of entertainment.” Mother blotted her lips with a napkin. “I look forward to Irena’s singing. She has a sweet voice, our eldest. And, of course, I greatly anticipate seeing your bird, Felise.”
Felise folded her arms. “It’s a large black raven.”
“Yes, quite.” Mother rose, wincing as her legs straightened, and placed her teacup on the tray. “I will retire for a moment. Will one of you be so kind as to fetch me before dinner begins?”
Felise raised her hand. “I’ll do it. I also want to hear Adelina read a poem tonight. Please bring one, Ada. You have such a lovely way of reading.”
Adelina smiled at her witless, infuriating yet somehow beloved sister. “We’ll see.”
She waited for Mother to leave, waved farewell to Felise and returned to the lobby. The sun had already evaporated into sunset, and a crimson glow flooded the halls.
Adelina ascended the stairs and entered the bedroom she shared with Irena. The sun burned behind the great tree outside her window, tracing each leaf with a radiant, feathered outline. She sighed a breath that seemed somehow not her own. She’d never look at a tree again without thinking of Silvana.
Adelina’s desk was in the corner of the room, opposite the bed. Adelina removed the tiny package from her sleeve, opened it onto the desk’s cluttered surface and set the rings side by side. The waning sunlight burnished their silver edges.
Was it too soon for such a bold gift? Adelina bit her lip. No—Silvana had already offered her cup, as forward a courtship gesture as there was. There was no need for timidity. Adelina had to court Silvana with passion and daring. It was exactly what such an exciting lover demanded, not delicate, prudish wooing but an audacious, searing romance.
Adelina unfurled a length of writing paper and took up her quill pen. If she were to truly captivate this experienced older woman, she would have to conduct a courtship so reckless that future poets would blush to describe it.
The pen scratched acoss the paper. For Adelina’s entire life, she had carried in her a defiant energy, one always frustrated by the conditions of her existence. Now that vitality had found
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