Sweeter than Birdsong by Rosslyn Elliott Page A

Hanby said. “She does not know me well. But Mrs. Lawrence is well known to all the townswomen. I believe her presence might influence your mother.”
    Mrs. Hanby was correct—Mrs. Lawrence would be an asset to any discussion. Her reputation was impeccable. Kate’s mother had evinced a desire to impress Ida Lawrence in the past, at charity gatherings and sewing circles. Old money and privilege attracted Ruth Winter’s interest as nothing else could.
    “But my question is whether you yourself would like to go.” Mrs. Hanby tilted her head as if to tease out the real truth like a skein of wool from a spinning wheel.
    “Oh yes, that would be splendid.” She hoped the other woman could hear her sincerity, even though she could not look her in the eye. It was embarrassing, for she knew Mrs. Hanby pitied her. But Kate could not let this opportunity pass by.
    “Then I will have Mrs. Lawrence speak to your mother, perhaps later this afternoon.” Mrs. Hanby smiled and picked up her flower basket.
    “Is Kate coming with us?” Cornelia rushed up to them, face glowing from fresh air and her exertions. “Oh, that’s wonderful.”
    “I agree.” Mrs. Lawrence huffed a little as she walked up. Her corset was probably binding her breath, what with her round maternal build and the vigorous walk. “It would be more diverting for Cornelia to have another young woman with her.”
    “Especially you.” Cornelia took Kate’s hand.
    “If I can obtain permission,” Kate said.
    Mrs. Lawrence waved her hand as if swatting a fly. “I will speak to Ruth myself. She will agree.”
    “Thank you.” Kate remembered the potatoes. “I must be getting back home. Someone is waiting for me.”
    “Very well. Prepare to enjoy the city!” Ida Lawrence was jovial, and Mrs. Hanby waved her farewell as Kate retreated toward her house.
    Her opportunity had come, like a raised window in a musty room. But now she must plan to make a new home for Leah as well as herself if she left. She would need to do so quickly so Leah would not be left at home for too long. And no one must know where they had gone.
    Perhaps her plan was too risky—her father might not ever repeat his violent outburst. But as long as he continued drinking in such quantity, she would not be able to predict his behavior.
    She laid her crown of flowers on the cellar door, put the potato basket over her arm, and returned to the kitchen. But even as she handed the potatoes to Tessie, her thoughts flew out the window, southwest toward Columbus.

Eleven
    T HE STAGECOACH BUMPED ALONG THE CITY STREETS, but the women inside were cushioned by yards of their own skirts, muslin and linen jumbled together like a seamstress’s basket. Kate drank in all the sights through the dots of rain on the coach window. The damp of early evening did not seem to deter the wagons, men in caps, and women with umbrellas who occupied the streets. In and out they went from a dizzying variety of establishments with signs proclaiming the name of the business owner. A milliner’s shop caught her eye—the type of establishment Kate might like to open one day, with its elegant hats on stands in a display window. But she could not stay in Columbus, of course. They would look for her here. Instead, she would go to Cincinnati, close enough to be feasible but far enough to be anonymous.
    Such chaos and hubbub would make it easy to slip away from her companions. She glanced at Mrs. Hanby’s unsuspecting face as the older woman pointed out a shop to Mrs. Lawrence. Ben’s mother might take the blame if Kate disappeared. That would not be fair at all. Kate would have to devise a way to avoid tarnishing the reputations of the Hanbys or the Lawrences. How, she did not know. The plan seemed more complicated now that she had come this far.
    “High Street!” the driver called from above. The coach slid in the mud and the ladies jostled shoulders.
    “I hope Ben is hanging on for dear life up there.” Mrs. Hanby’s