Uprising by Margaret Peterson Haddix Page B

“People are saying he flew his aeroplane twenty miles this morning, up the HudsonRiver. In the city! Can you imagine? If the weather holds out, he’ll be flying an exhibition this afternoon, for everyone to see, at the Hudson-Fulton Celebration. If you’d like, I could take you to watch.”
    Jane felt a flicker of interest. An aeroplane—a machine taking a man high into the sky. Incredible. She remembered how excited everyone had been when the news came out that the Wright brothers had flown the first plane. And now, for the first time, Wilbur Wright had brought his contraption to New York City. It was probably the most amazing thing she’d ever get the chance to see.
    But her mind snagged on verbs.
To watch. To see.
It reminded her of the most recent letter she’d gotten from Eleanor at Vassar. The letter had begun with apologies for not writing sooner, because of all the classes Eleanor was taking, the Social Improvement Club meetings, the Hiking Club’s outings. Then the letter had taken on a lecturing tone.
    I am sorry that your father will not allow you to attend college. Perhaps you can eventually persuade him to take a more enlightened view. But, if that is not possible, then one must make the best of one’s situation and set one’s sights on achievable goals. Some of my friends are planning a grand tour of Europe next summer. I am certain that your father would allow you that; everyone’s father allows that! If I were you, I would endeavor to show him a good faith effort that you are mature enough and responsible enough for this trip. Study your French, study your Italian, study the tour guides we poor college girls don’t have the time to glance at. . . .
    There was a postscript, too:
I am such a dunderhead with languages that you will have to be the one who translates. Study your Italian most especially!
    It was almost an invitation, almost a plan of action. At first, Jane had been excited, and she dove immediately into Italian grammar and vocabulary. She was good with languages; the French and Latin she’d learned at school had slipped into her brain with very little effort on her part. But the sentences in the Italian phrasebook seemed to taunt her:
Ho bisogno di un portabagagli per le miei valigie.
I need a porter to carry my bags.
Vorremmo pranzare adesso. Che cosa mi consiglia lei?
We’d like to have dinner now. What do you recommend?
Quando in comincia la gita? Vogliami vedere il museo.
When does the tour begin? We want to see the museum.
Vorremmo vedere un’opera. Quale opera presentano?
We would like to watch an opera. What opera are they performing? They made the European grand tour sound like her regular life, just in a different place. Seeing, watching—what if her whole life passed by and she never
did
anything?
    Now she blinked up at Miss Milhouse.
    â€œWill Mr. Wright be giving people rides in his aeroplane?” she asked.
    Miss Milhouse gasped.
    â€œI should say not!” she said, scandalized. “And even if he were, surely you realize that would be much too dangerous for a girl!”
    Surely she did. Surely she realized exactly how many ways she was caged.
    Miss Milhouse kept talking, but Jane closed her eyes and went back to sleep.

Bella
    B ella heard the music as soon as her sewing machine stopped.
    Give me your hand,
Turn out your toe,
All lovers know
The way to go....
    Curiously, she peered far down the row of tables. At the end of the room, between the cloakroom and the elevators, someone had set up a box with a disk and a horn. How could it be? The tinkly, delicate music seemed to be pouring out of the horn.
    â€œIs that a phonograph?” a girl breathed incredulously behind Bella.
    â€œYes. We’ll have dancing at lunchtime now. If you wish, of course,” Signor Carlotti said.
    Bella peered up at him, puzzled. He’d been so nice the past few weeks, she couldn’t get used to it. Once, when a