Mechanica by Betsy Cornwell

Author:Betsy Cornwell
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Houghton Mifflin Harcourt

I WALKED back through the forest quickly, every once in a while touching Fin’s sculpture where it lay in one of my coat’s roomy pockets. I found myself lingering over the image I’d conjured of Fin sculpting the horse, sketching from life first, perhaps, then working through prototypes, molding parts, making the cast for this piece, pouring the metal and waiting and unmolding, polishing, and finally painting. I pictured his hands holding a paintbrush.

I’d come to the edge of the forest. I touched the horse’s nose once more, smiling, and hurried across the clearing to the cellar window.

I slipped in with no trouble this time, my coat barely catching on the window’s rough wooden edge. Enough times in and out this way, I thought, and I would wear it smooth . . . so long as the Steps didn’t find me out again. I could only guess what they might do if they discovered the studio again. But I was sure that the ombrossus oil would work, at least for a while. After the Exposition, who knew if I would even need it anymore? I could have a patron, and enough commissions to rent a room in the city, away from them, and I could start the long journey of saving enough money to oust the Steps from my parents’ house once and for all.

The thought set my heartbeat into a skitter. One step at a time, I told myself. One small, small step at a time.

Caro’s letter, I remembered, was still waiting unread in my coat’s other pocket. Feeling a bit ashamed for my fixation on Fin’s gift, I sat down in my desk chair to read it. I put my feet up on the desk; when the Steps had ransacked the studio, they’d knocked my chair over and destroyed the adjustable screws Mother had built into its legs. The chair was stuck too low for me until I could find time to repair the mechanisms, but I couldn’t do that without taking it apart at great risk to its old, ornately carved witchwood frame. I couldn’t bear to damage any more of Mother’s things, given how much had already been lost. In the meantime, it felt pleasantly rude and rakish to put my feet up on the desk, even if no one but the insects saw me do it.

The letter was a thick one, and I wondered how a girl I’d met only twice could have so much to say to me. I slid my finger under the cheap candlewax seal on the envelope, remembering my search for the key behind Grandmother’s portrait. I’d hidden the workshop key under my mattress since my birthday, but considering recent events, I made a mental note that it would probably be wiser to keep it on my person.

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