Hathaway had a son of his own, Samuel, nearly the same age as the lost child, as fair as the girl was dark. Hathaway accepted no nonsense from his own flesh and blood, and he took it upon himself to train this child from the northern woods and teach her the ways of civilized people. When the bell rang and woke everyone in the house, Hathaway beat Rebecca with a switch cut from a hazel tree. When she took the compass and wandered through town, he brought her back and beat her again, this time with a switch from a hawthorn tree. When she would not take off the star, he tore it from her neck, then beat her with a switch made of oak.
Already, the girl and Hathaway’s son were inseparable, united, perhaps, by their hatred for Hathaway. One night the children disappeared. Guided by the silver compass, they found the place where the girl had first been spied, on the far side of the Table and Chairs. Hathaway discovered them late that night, asleep on the Table, their arms locked around each other. He got rid of the girl the very next day. He took her down to the washerwoman, who lived at the edge of the lake, an old woman who had an eye for worthwhile things.
It was said the washerwoman could tell the difference between homespun and silk at a distance of a hundred yards. Although the washerwoman’s name was never recorded, it was she who decided to call the girl Rebecca, after she who’d been found in the wilderness. This was the name anyone passing by the lake would hear, at any given hour of the day: Rebecca, come here! Rebecca, where are you now? For there was a great deal to be done on the shore of the lake. A girl must be smart if she was to learn not to burn herself when she added hot grease to the ashes in the making of soap. She must be strong if she were to wring out heavy bolts of wool. She must be sweet so that she would never complain when her fingers bled from the toxic lye. She must be quiet, so she would not say a word when her hands ached from the harshness of the starch made from potatoes. She must make certain to bide her time.
SOMETHING SOUNDED against the window. Stella thought it was only the rain, so she ignored it. She was consumed by Rebecca Sparrow’s history, but there was the sound again, more insistent this time. Pebbles were being thrown against the glass, a rain, it seemed, of stones. It was just past twilight, the murky hour when everything turned blue. Outside, blackbirds flew across the sky and disappeared into the shadows. Stella opened her window and peered down, past the lilacs, past the plane trees, past the blackbirds taking flight.
There was Jimmy Elliot.
Stella couldn’t see his face exactly, but she knew it was him from the way he stood there, as if he’d just happened by for no particular reason. As if one minute he was minding his own business, and the next he’d found himself throwing rocks at a window he didn’t even know was hers.
He’d been more and more underfoot lately. Arriving where he was least expected, happening to stop in when Stella and Cynthia went to the pizza place or standing beside Stella’s locker at school with that same confused look on his face, as though he’d been lost, as though he needed a map in order to find his way through his own hometown. Now, on this evening, he was making his presence known and something more: he was daring her to respond.
Stella never backed down from a dare. She got her key from her backpack and threw it down to the sidewalk. Whether or not this was the reaction he expected, Jimmy immediately picked it up. He went to the locked door of the tea house and before long Stella could hear him on the stairs. She hoped Liza wouldn’t notice, that she was still in the kitchen, busy with making out the week’s grocery list. Because Stella felt a churning in her stomach each time she saw Jimmy, she wondered what her own response would be when he came through the door. Did she want him here, did she not? She realized she was only wearing underwear and a T-shirt under her bathrobe, so she quickly pulled a quilt over herself.
He came into the bedroom and closed the door behind him. The room seemed quite unreal to Stella with Jimmy Elliot there at the foot of the bed. She could feel him, as if particles of his essence were filtering into the air. He smelled like rain and something Stella couldn’t place.
“Did she hear you?” Stella whispered.
“Liza? She’s in the kitchen listening to music and singing along.”
Sure enough, Stella could hear Liza’s muffled voice. They both tried not to laugh. “Natural Woman” was the tune Liza was singing. Aretha. Will often played her CD. The Queen of Soul.
“What’s with the blanket?” Jimmy said. “You look like one of those old ladies who never gets out of bed.”
“Don’t make fun of me.” Frankly, Stella felt a little sick to her stomach right now. She felt that churning. She wished Jimmy Elliot wasn’t so good-looking. She wished he didn’t look so confused.