S. Grove - The Glass Sentence

“You have Veressa, don’t you?” she teased.

Martin scoffed. “I shall need more than one.”

The pirated boldevela carried them to Veracruz, where they boarded the faithful Swan and set sail for New Orleans. The journey was not a pleasant one; Sophia was still troubled by her memories of Blanca, and though they had left Nochtland and Veracruz far behind, she continued to hear a distant murmur that often made her sit up straight and fall silent. She felt as seasick aboard the Swan as she had before. And, worse, she knew that when they reached New Orleans she would have to say good-bye to the pirates as well. Theo wisely left her quietly brooding to herself. Only Shadrack and Grandmother Pearl, the one with grand plans for future exploration and the other with gentle words of reassurance, dared come near her.

“Well, Soph,” Shadrack said, as they sat side by side on the deck, “it will be good to be home so we can get back to planning. Things will be different, of course, but I believe in a good way. I’m glad Theo is staying, and not just because he knows the west better than I do; he has nerve, that boy. We’ll have to get papers for him, but I can manage. In the meantime,” he said, sitting up so abruptly that he winced, “you’ll be diving back into your cartological studies. There’s so much still to learn! Though now some of it you will have to teach me ,” he added with a smile. “Won’t you?”

Sophia leaned her head against his shoulder. “Yes, I guess so.”

“You guess so ? You were at the forefront of a great discovery, Soph!”

But for some reason, she could not summon up the enthusiasm she knew she ought to feel. All she felt was nausea.

When they reached New Orleans, they took leave of the pirates, who were entirely cheerful and not at all concerned about when they would meet next. “I’m sure we’ll see you before the month is out!” Burr proclaimed happily, pumping Sophia’s hand.

“Without a doubt!” Calixta agreed. “They may not let us past the harbor, but they can’t do without the rum we deliver.”

“So sad and so true,” her brother added.

“I’m afraid they’re right, dear,” Grandmother Pearl said, laughing, as she enfolded Sophia in her arms.

“Good-bye,” Sophia said, pressing her face against the soft, wrinkled cheek. “Even if it is soon, it will feel like ages to me.”

“Then make it short, dear,” the old woman replied. “Make of the time what you want.”

1891, December 18: 12-Hour 40

When you lose a marble, a favorite book, or a key, where does it go? It does not go nowhere. It goes elsewhere. Some things (and people) go elsewhere and soon return. Others go elsewhere and appear to want to stay. In those cases, the only solution for the very determined is to find them: to go elsewhere and bring them back.

—From Guide to Lost, Missing, and Elsewhere, author unknown

IT WAS WINTER in Boston, and the school term was coming to an end. Sophia thought, as she watched the snow piling up on her walk home, that the trolleys might be stopped the next day if the snow continued to fall. If the trolleys were stopped they would cancel school, and if they canceled school she would have the whole day free.

She made her way down East Ending Street and turned to walk backward so that she could see her footsteps disappearing. The air was gray and faintly warmer, as it always was during a snowfall. She had a sudden urge to run as she neared 34 East Ending, and she skipped through the snow the rest of the way, her satchel banging against her side and her hair streaming away from her face. She bounded up the steps of the house and threw open the door. Placing her satchel on the floor, she sat down to unlace her boots.

“Close the door, my dear!” Mrs. Clay said, walking into the entryway and doing it for her.

“It’s not even cold out!” Sophia exclaimed, looking up.

“It’s cold enough for me.” She smiled and removed Sophia’s knitted hat, which was wet with snow, shook it out, and hung it on the coat rack. “Do you want any milk or coffee? I’m just making some.”

“I’ll have coffee, thanks,” Sophia replied, following her into the kitchen in her socks.

After Mrs. Clay had put the coffee to brew, she took two bowls from the cupboard. “Why don’t you lean out the window and get some snow from the spruce?”

Sophia seized the bowls with delight. “You want some, too?”

“No, dear, but I’m sure Theo does.”

Sophia opened the window, leaned out, and scooped snow from the spruce tree into first one bowl, then the other. Then Mrs. Clay poured maple syrup over the white snow in thick, even spirals. She tucked a spoon into each bowl. “Your uncle is downstairs with Miles. Arguing, from what I hear.”

Sophia rolled her eyes. “About the election again?”

New Occident was on the verge of electing a new Prime Minister, and the candidates had been the subject of many a heated debate at 34 East Ending Street. The Wharton Amendment, which would have closed the borders for citizens at the end of August, had been soundly defeated. The travelers at East Ending would have more time to plan their expedition. Shadrack hoped the defeat of Wharton’s extreme agenda augured the success of a more moderate candidate, while Miles, ever pessimistic, observed that New Occident was becoming all too accustomed to the absence of foreigners and would slide further into intolerance.

“This time,” the housekeeper said, “over a letter from Veressa that a traveler from Veracruz brought.”

“Veressa! What does she say?”

“There’s a letter for you, as well,” Mrs. Clay said by way of an answer, reaching into the pocket of her apron.

Sophia had expected a letter from Dorothy, but the handwriting was entirely unfamiliar. “Strange,” she said, sipping the coffee as she tucked the letter into her own pocket. “Did Veressa send any more maps of the glacier?”

“I couldn’t say. The conversation was heated enough to drive me all the way upstairs. I only came down for a moment to make coffee.”

Sophia took her mug in one hand and her bowl in the other and walked carefully out of the kitchen. “Thank you, Mrs. Clay.”

“Be a dear—when you go down, tell Theo to come get his snow.”

Walking as fast as she could without spilling, Sophia passed through Shadrack’s study to the bookcase that led to the map room. As she descended she heard pieces of the heated argument taking place downstairs.

“I tell you,” Shadrack said, “snow is not the same there. It is qualitatively different. The water is different. The water is different because the soil is different. It just is. ”

“And how am I supposed to believe you without ever having seen it?” Miles shouted back. “You didn’t bother to bring back a sample. Am I supposed to go on faith?”

“And how, I beg you to tell me, would I have brought back a sample of SNOW ? I’ll remind you that it was July, and even the train rails were in danger of melting.”

“I think,” a much younger voice said with a light laugh, “this is one problem we won’t solve by talking it over in the cellar.”

Sophia reached the bottom of the stairs. “Did Veressa send any new maps?” she demanded. The map room, which Shadrack had put back in order upon their return, had been restored to its former glory. The shelves were loaded with books, the cabinets had been fitted with new glass, and maps were once again scattered on every surface. The only remaining sign of the destruction was the long scar across the leather surface of the table. Shadrack and Miles stood across from one another, leaning on it; Theo was in the armchair by the wall, his legs tossed over the side. His eyes widened at the sight of the bowl Sophia was holding. “Mrs. Clay made you some,” Sophia said, holding her bowl firmly. Theo jumped to his feet and raced up the stairs. “Hello, Miles.”