Page 43 of The Starling and the Hatter

And then he just left.

When I came within sight of the Hatchers’ tent, I couldn’t bring myself to go back there. Instead I sat down on the bank of the stream and stared at the rocks under the clear surface of the water. I didn’t want to go back to Hatcher and Marshall pouting, especially when I suspected that Hatcher didn’t like Robert much. If I went back and told him how deeply Robert had hurt my feelings, I was certain Hatcher would like him even less.

So I tried to breathe through my hurt. I tried to see things from Robert’s point of view. The smithy had said Robert wanted to try something new, which wasn’t surprising. Robert couldn’t sit still; he was always running to the next activity or the next idea. Maybe that was why he left. Maybe when I’d told him that I wasn’t sure I wanted a life outside of my routine, he’d decided that I couldn’t be the person he needed. Did he believe I was too staid and boring for him now?

What a depressing thought.

I looked across the stream and saw a very pretty spray of bright purple flowers climbing the hill that rose on the other side. Deciding it was up to me to improve my mood, I decided to go after them and perhaps even weave them into a circlet for my hair. I stood, brushing at the back of my skirts before lifting the hem so that I could step out onto an obliging stone in the middle of the stream that would allow me to cross easily.

Or so I thought.

The stone was not stable. The moment my foot landed on it, it shifted and tilted to the side. I had to step off into the water before falling onto my back. I rolled to my hands and knees and tried to climb to my feet, but I’d rolled my ankle, and when I put weight on my right foot, a sharp pain shot up my leg. So I sat down and scooted myself onto shore, my hem sopping.

I growled through my clenched teeth and lay back on the grassy bank, cursing under my breath and pounding a fist into the ground. Why did Robert leave? Even if he didn’t care for me as anything more than a friend, I truly believed he cared somewhat. But maybe I was wrong. Maybe he didn’t care. Maybe no one cared.

At that thought, my eyes filled with tears and I covered my face with my hands.

Maddox

It wasn’t like Elise to be gone so long, especially if she wasn’t singing. I knew she wasn’t singing, because all of her costume pieces and her wooden perch were safely tucked away at the back of the tent. I’d checked. She’d left without explanation just after breakfast, which I assumed meant she was with Robert, but now that the noon hour had passed, I’d decided to track her down. Elise was usually careful not to cause us any worry, and she never missed meals. She seemed to believe she owed us that because the thought of being a nuisance and a burden weighed heavily on her. She wasn’t a burden, but it didn’t matter how many times I told her that—she never believed me.

After doing a circle around the festival and not seeing her, I decided to walk along the stream. She’d mentioned her fondness for it the other day.

Nearly as soon as the stream came into view, I spotted her sitting on the bank, looking forlorn. I was about to call out to her when she stood and leapt across the water.

Or tried to.

She slipped and fell backward, then crawled out of the water…and threw a tantrum. She cursed and flailed and looked so much like Didi had when she was three that I nearly laughed out loud.

But then she laid back, quiet and still, and I didn’t feel like laughing anymore. My presence suddenly seemed like an intrusion, and I thought perhaps I should just turn around and go back to work. Then she covered her eyes and took a stuttering breath, and I couldn’t stay away.

I approached slowly, being sure to make enough noise that she would be aware of my presence without being startled. She kept her hands over her eyes until I sat in the tall grass beside her and asked, “Did you get hurt?”

“Yes,” she said, and it came out almost as a wail as she tried to hide her crying.

I swallowed. The things her crying did to me…

“What hurts?”

“My ankle,” she said as she turned onto her side and curled into a ball.

This was clearly about more than her ankle. Elise did not weep over a turned ankle, yet here she was, lying on her side in the grass with her arms curled over her head.

I scooted down so that I could lay facing her, propped up on my elbow. I tugged on her arms a bit, but they didn’t move. “Are you going to tell me what’s really wrong?” I asked.

“I told you,” she sniffed, more in control than she had been a moment ago. “I hurt myself. And my dress is wet.”

“Yes, and what else?”

She remained stubbornly silent for a moment and then said, “Robert left.”

“Ah” was the only thing I could say without my true feelings leaking through.

“And he didn’t tell me he was going. He left without saying goodbye.” The hitch in her voice poked holes in my heart.

“That was not kind of him,” I said, proud that I’d kept my voice neutral. Perhaps his thoughtlessness would finally free Elise from the trance he seemed to have over her.

“It’s nonsensical,” she said, finally pulling her arm down so that she could look up at me, her eyes swimming in pretty tears.