The Golden Sparrow

by Samantha Latshaw

  Stopping at a flower shop near the cemetery’s gates, I bought a bouquet of hothouse flowers before heading inside.

  As I stood before my father’s grave a few minutes later, the fresh bouquet fanning in the breeze at the base of his tombstone, I pulled his face to the forefront of my mind and remembered.

  My father had been a handsome man, with light brown hair and green eyes that were as rich as an emerald. He had had the brightest smile I had ever seen and had towered over nearly everyone who knew him. Any time I asked him, he would pull me onto his shoulders and show me what the world looked like.

  Adam MacClare, the tombstone read. Father-Husband-Brother. 1887-1919.

  Crouching down, I reached out and touched the cool stone with my fingertips and felt tears spring to my eyes.

  “Oh, Papa,” I breathed, “I miss you.”

  I stayed there for a little while longer then straightened and turned back towards the gates.

  It had been four years ago now since I had met Mimi in the cemetery, both of us visiting our father’s graves. But though I had searched many times, I still could not find her father’s grave. While my father had died from the Spanish Influenza, Mimi had told me hers had died in the trenches during the Great War. It baffled me that I couldn’t ever seem to find the exact location of his grave, but I always shrugged it off.

  My feet were inches from stepping off the path, ready to take me on another futile search for his grave when I stopped myself. It wasn’t really my business to know where he was buried. After all, I knew that he had left Mimi and her mother and sister in financial ruin, which was why they had to move to a cheaper area of Upper East Side. Perhaps he wasn’t even buried in the cemetery at all and Mimi had just been pretending.

  With a small shake of my head, I turned back towards the gates and made my way back home. But when I walked through the door, it was to find my mother standing in the foyer, dressed in a fine purple dress with the look of murder on her face.

  “Where have you been?” she demanded as I pulled off my coat and hat.

  “With Florence,” I answered, momentarily confused. “Why?”

  “We have the dinner with the Townsends tonight,” Mama reminded me and I felt disgust turn my nose up. I hated the Townsends and she knew it. “And you’re going to be sitting next to John, so you had best be on your best behavior.”

  “I always am,” I said with a fake smile.

  Mama glared at me and I sighed.

  “Alright, I’ll be down soon.”

  “And hurry,” Mama urged as I made my way up the stairs.

  I had forgotten all about the dinner with the Townsends and I wished that I hadn’t come home. Every time Mama invited them over, it usually ended in flared tempers and disasters. When I asked Mama why she would invite them, she would simply say because she needed to spend time with friends, and I would roll my eyes.

  Mr. Townsend had been a close friend of my father’s and it had been both of their wishes that our families became united. But after my father died, the relationship between our families had been strained and my mother always invited them over at least once a month to maintain the friendship.

  Danielle was already waiting for me by the time I got to my room and, with her help, I dressed in a rush.

  “My hair will have to do,” I said as I looked at my reflection in the mirror. It was a little mussed, but otherwise was fine.

  Once I was dressed, I threw on a strand of pearls around my neck, took one last look in the mirror at myself, then stepped out of my room just as a knock sounded on the front door.

  To my immense relief, I saw only Mr. and Mrs. Townsend by their stairs with only their daughter, Ethel, with them. John, I soon discovered, had been taken ill the day before and I was unable to attend.

  Good, I thought darkly as Ethel took her seat beside me, looking disparagingly over the table. It was one less Townsend that I had to deal with. And the sooner this night was over, the better, and having John there would only prolong the evening.

  As I had predicated, Mr. Townsend’s foul temper swooped down upon the table soon after the first course was set down and it took every ounce of willpower I had not to be rude back to him while he badgered me endlessly about Carnegie Hall. He vocally doubted my abilities and demanded I give him a demonstration after dinner, something his wife wholeheartedly agreed on while my mother, looking frazzled and furious, attempted to talk them out of it.

  “Surely, Mr. Townsend, you would rather have a game of cards,” Mama suggested, but Mr. Townsend brushed her off brusquely.

  “If your daughter is good enough for Carnegie Hall, she’s good enough to play for us,” Mr. Townsend snapped back and Mama gave up trying to dissuade him. Instead, she pulled him into a conversation about the new cars—a topic Mama couldn’t have cared less about—and listened with a great deal of patience as Mr. Townsend took the bait and boasted about his newest additions. At last count, he had had six total, but what he did with them I couldn’t even begin to guess. I couldn’t imagine why anyone would need more than one car.

  I blocked Mama and Mr. Townsend out and turned to Ethel, who had been eating her meal in total silence. Every time I had tried to start up a conversation with her, she shut me down with one-worded replies and would fall silent again. Eventually, I gave up as dessert was served and finished my own meal without uttering another word.

  I wished more than ever that Mimi were there. She was always able to liven up a room and, at the very least, I would have had someone to talk to.

  Finally, dinner was over and Mr. Townsend was demanding I play for him. But I hadn’t been seated before the piano for more than a minute, playing a well-worn Moonlight Sonata, before Mr. Townsend began to denounce my claims and demand to know how I had gotten a whole evening at Carnegie Hall as a featured concert pianist.

  “Let her play, Stephen,” Mrs. Townsend scolded. “She hasn’t played very much, after all.”

  Mr. Townsend snorted and, over the music, I heard him say, “Every girl thinks they’re something special with pianos. Why, I imagine even Ethel could play with the same skill.”

  Fingers still moving over the keys, though rage was boiling under my skin and making my hands tremble, I kept my voice calm as I asked, “Do you play the piano, Mr. Townsend?”

  He scoffed. “Of course not.”

  “Then I already play better than you.”

  Mr. Townsend did not say another word until I took my bows and seated myself in my chair by the fire. But not five minutes later, after the tension in the room became unbearable for my mother to handle, she said, “Goodness, is that the time? It’s been a pleasure, but it is getting awfully late.”

  Danielle was ready at the door with everyone’s coat and I watched them file outside with glee.

  “Mama,” I said when the door was closed on Mr. Townsend and Danielle was hurrying back to the kitchen.

  Mama turned to look at me, her expression puzzled.

  “Yes?” she asked.

  I stepped onto the bottom stair and, looking back at her, said, “Never again.”

  “Ugh!” I screamed in frustration, slamming my hands down onto the keys before launching myself to my feet to pace around the room.

  The piece was impossible to learn. I couldn’t do it. I knew I couldn’t do it. It was why I had chosen it. But I had thought—hoped, really—that its level of difficulty had been exaggerated by less skilled pianists and that I could master it with the ease I had mastered all the other difficult pieces I had learned over the years. But instead, the Hammerklavier was living up to its reputation and I was beginning to hate it.

  Danielle rushed in, looking alarmed.

  “What’s the matter, Miss Hazel?” she asked, looking anxiously between me and the piano.

  I crossed my arms angrily over my chest and glared at the infernal instrument. “I can’t figure out that ridiculous sonata. My hands”—I flailed them before her—“won’t move the right way! They’re useless!”

/>   “Och, ye’ve plenty o’ time tae learn it,” Danielle reminded me gently, waving a dismissive hand and smiling at me. “Ye’ve got ‘til August an’ it’s jus’ March now.”

  “It’s in September,” I corrected grumpily, plopping back down onto the piano stool, “actually.”

  I wanted to throw the sheet music into the fire and watch them burn, but there was absolutely no way I would perform the concert without something spectacular. Mr. Carrow was most likely expecting something like that from me and I wasn’t going to prove him wrong. I didn’t want to let myself down, either. It was my moment to really shine and I was going to do it.

  But the Hammerklavier…

  I sighed and stared blankly at the music.

  Until I finally mastered the sonata, I would be screaming my frustrations to an unfeeling instrument.

  “Would ye like some tea?” Danielle suggested tentatively. “Tae help wi’ yer nerves, ye ken.”

  “Sure,” I said, waving my hands distractedly. “Why not?” I have nothing else better to do besides drink tea and eat little sandwiches from silver trays.

  “Oh.” She stopped in the doorway and looked back at me. “An’ Miss Waters telephoned while ye were, er, practicing.”

  I perked up and looked at Danielle eagerly.

  “And?”

  “She’d like ye tae telephone back as soon as ye can,” she replied.

  Getting quickly to my feet, I brushed past Danielle and made straight for the telephone while Danielle bustled towards the kitchen, skirts swishing and heels clicking as she walked quickly across the hardwood floor.

  I often wondered if Danielle wished she was back home in Scotland with a family of her own. I never knew why she had come to New York and I didn’t think it very appropriate to ask, so I never had. But I wondered if she wished she had chosen a different life. She was so kind and caring, so gentle and maternal with me, that I often felt she would have made a great mother, had she had children of her own. She could have married well and been praised in her town for being a beauty, since I could still see it lingering despite being nearly fifty years old.

  Once I finally got through the Mimi, it took her all of a second to ask me if I wanted to go out again that evening and my eagerness nearly had me agreeing. But I thought of how likely it was that, even if the owner did have the police eating out of his hand, someone could still take it upon themselves to raid his club and I just didn’t want to take the risk.

  “Mimi…” I lowered my voice, peering anxiously down the hall towards the kitchen in case Danielle came back. “I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

  “You liked it just fine the last time,” Mimi reminded me, sounding a little petulant and I tried not to smile. “And I won’t get you a drink. You can have water. Please?”

  At the sound of Danielle’s fast approaching steps, I said, “Alright, fine. I’ll go.”

  Mimi squealed with delight and I held the receiver away from my ear. “You’re the bee’s knees, Hazel MacClare! Come here and I’ll get you all sorted out then we can get a taxi.”

  Danielle returned with the tea, which made me think she had already had it made and had just been looking for the right time to bring it to me.

  “What time?” I asked as Danielle skirted past me and into the parlor.

  “Seven?”

  “I’ll see you then.”

  Once I hung up the receiver, I stepped into the parlor, avoided the piano entirely, and flopped down into my chair as Danielle poured my tea.

  “I’ll be out tonight,” I informed her as she handed me my cup and I took a sip. I let it warm from the inside out before adding, “I’ll most likely be home late, as well.”

  “Does Mrs. MacClare ken?” Danielle wanted to know, looking strangely suspicious. I wondered if I had said “speakeasy” out loud but then brushed off my worries. She wouldn’t be so nonchalant if I had.

  Shaking my head, I said, “That’s why Mimi called earlier. Apparently her mother will be out for the evening and wants some company for dinner.”

  “Ye hardly speak o’ Miss Florence these days,” Danielle observed, tidying up the already tidy room. “An’ I haven’t seen her in an age. Do ye speak to her still?”

  “I saw her a few days ago,” I replied, remnants of irritation coming back as I thought of our last meeting, but then I remembered her news and it was all forgotten. “And—oh! You’ll never believe it!”

  Danielle looked at me curiously, hand poised over a vase of flowers.

  “What is it?” she wanted to know.

  “She’s getting married,” I announced and Danielle grinned widely. “His name is Jacob Hunt and they haven’t decided on a date yet, but I’m sure they’ll be happy. She seems happy, at any rate.”

  Danielle pulled out a wilted flower then fussed over Mama’s chair, fluffing up her embroidered pillow before setting it gently back down.

  “Didn’t Miss Florence want to be a moving picture star?” she wondered and I laughed, surprised.

  “Goodness, that was years ago,” I said, laughing a little. “Florence is far too serious for all that now. I don’t think she would know what to do in front of a camera, anyways.”

  “I think it would have been a fine thing if she had tried it out,” Danielle remarked, giving up on her tidying.

  Shaking my head, I got to my feet and left Danielle to take a bath before my evening out with Mimi.

  By the time seven o’clock rolled around, I dressed in a newer purple and black evening dress, tidied up my hair, and prayed I looked the part. I would certainly look underdressed beside Mimi, but what did it matter if I did? I wasn’t going to be ogled at by greasy, drunk men.

  Mimi met at her front door and as she flagged a taxi down, I realized just how feeble my attempts were to look the part as I took her outfit in.

  She was dressed marvelously, her glossy black hair sleek then curled at the tips and adored with a beaded headband. Ruby and diamond drop earrings swung from her tiny ears and a short ruby pendant adorned her slender neck. Her dress was a rich, emerald green and glittered under the street lights as she stepped towards the waiting taxi.

  Mimi seemed to have anticipated my being unprepared and dug into her handbag to remove a necklace, which she dropped over my head while saying, “I thought you could do with a little help.”

  She laughed richly as I looked down at the black bead necklace gratefully. She then looked me up and down before telling me to hold still as she removed her lipstick and painted my lips.

  I was thoroughly impressed at her steady hand as the taxi wound its way through the bumpy streets. And I worked extremely hard to ignore the painful skip my heart did when Mimi took her thumb along my bottom lip to clean up a rough edge of lipstick.

  “You’ll do just fine,” she reassured me as the taxi pulled up before the dark windows of the barber shop. “Not everyone dresses like me.”

  I nearly laughed. “I doubt anyone can,” I remarked as Mimi flashed me a grin before getting out.

  When we were both standing before the door, she lifted her hand to knock when fear got the better of me and I reached out, snagging her arm and pulled her up short.

  “What?” she asked, alarmed.

  “This isn’t a good idea.”

  Mimi rolled her eyes and tried to free herself but I held firm.

  I was scared. What if this was the time the police raided it? What if I had to forfeit my concert because I was caught at a speakeasy?

  It was so easy to follow along with Mimi, to dress myself up in the latest fashions and put on makeup. It was the simplest thing in the world to decide to go out drinking and dancing. It didn’t bother me in the least to readily accept her invitation. But then I would remember what it would cost me if we were caught and I just couldn’t find it so easy to follow along anymore.

  “It can be the last time,” Mimi promised and I released her. “Just one more night, since you’re already all dolled up, and then it’ll be it. I’ll never ask agai
n, I promise.”

  Chewing the inside of my cheek with indecision, knowing full well that I was more than eager to step inside that club and get lost in the excitement of it all, I asked, “Can you promise me that we won’t get caught?”

  “Of course I can,” she said bracingly. “I told you. The owner knows police officers who’ll keep the others away. And I doubt the politicians will let anyone touch the place, either. But even if someone did plan to raid it, the men he’s got will warn him and he’ll close the place right up.” She reached out and touched my shoulder briefly. “You’ll be safe. And you won’t ruin your chances with the Hall, either. I’ll make sure of it.”

  Feeling a great deal better at her words, I stepped out of her reach and jerked my head at the closed door where I could hear the faint music from within.

  “Shall we?”

  Chapter 3

  My foot tapped along to the beat of the music as Mimi went off to the bar to get us drinks. I found that, this time, rather than disliking the idea of drinking alcohol, I was eager to give it another try. Surely it couldn’t be all bad since it was banned for being such a problem. Some of it had to be good, I thought as Mimi came back, two drinks in hand.

  I took a sip of the sidecar Mimi set down before me and discovered that I didn’t dislike it half so much as I had before. And when I told her this, she laughed and said that that was how it usually went.

  “I suppose it’s because you don’t care anymore,” Mimi said, her voice raised above the music. “All you want is that sensation of feeling invincible and you’ll drink whatever it takes to get you there, no matter how bad it tastes.”

  I wasn’t at all sure about whether I felt invincible or not, but the club and everyone in it had already begun to spin by the time I drained my second sidecar. I was a little afraid of what would happen when I got to my feet.

  I decided to nurse my third one and by the time I had gotten halfway through it, a handsome man walked up, hand outstretched to Mimi, and asked, “May I?”