Little Sparrow

Chapter Twenty

William and I returned to the house not long after.

We stopped off at a bakery on the walk home where William purchased some cream buns for us to eat on the walk back and we spoke very little. I carried the fabric under one arm, wishing I could go back to the shop and return it but I did not and manoeuvred my way through the streets with it. It would be nice to have a new dress, but I wanted to be able to pay for the materials myself, to be able to buy it rather than have it handed to me as a form of a charity.

Still, the trip to the shop had been rather helpful and Rosie's words continued to play on my mind as we walked. I liked the idea of deciding everything for myself, or not having to worry or take into consideration what anyone else thought. Rosie had done that and managed to turn around the life she no doubt thought she would never be able to escape from. Regardless of whether I ended up going into service, I did not want to spend my entire life being known as an orphan, as though it were my only defining character.

I did not hate James' suggestion of working in the shop had it been a serious one, and I could not tell if he really meant it or not. My future had always felt decided for me; service. The idea of being able to choose and that I might be able to do something else had never crossed my mind, not once. I did not feel like I had the skill to do anything other than scrub floors for a living and I had not made any clothing since my Sunday best six years before. Although I did not hate the idea, it felt odd to know that that choice was there when I did not know it.

When we reached the house, Mr and Mrs Atkinson had disappeared somewhere upstairs, so William and I sat down in the living room. I placed the fabric beside me along with the other things James had given me and clasped my hands in my lap. Rosie have may have told me to enjoy myself a little more and be more open about things, but that was far easier said than done. It would take a while until I grew completely comfortable with being at the Atkinsons. Even I did not think a week would be enough time.

"Did it help? Talking to Rosie?" William asked.

I nodded. "A lot. Thank you for suggesting it, and for taking me there."

"You're welcome. She's a better person to talk to than me since she's been in a similar situation. I was only young when the fire at the factory happened, but the family who took her in where friends of Mother and Father. You know, I think they got the idea of adoption because of what they did. They tried several orphanages in the area before they found you."

"Really? I thought I would have been someone's last choice."

"Not my parents. I guess they thought you were the better person to give a new start, even if they don't know what happened with your foster parents."

"I'll have to tell them eventually."

"Perhaps, or they may never ask. If you want, I could tell them. It might be a tad easier."

"No, I think this is something I have to do myself."

William nodded and said nothing more. He slumped back against the chair and stretched his arms up behind me, staring at the ceiling. I looked over at the fabric, funning my fingers across it again and trying to decide what I wanted to do with it. It had been so long since I made anything that I did not think I would be any good at it. Still, James had given me the task and I intended to carry it out as best I could, even if the dress looked like it had been made by a younger child rather than a thirteen-year-old.

"Rosie was right about your scar, by the way. You could come up with the most ridiculous story you can think of for how it happened, and no one can tell you otherwise."

"I've never really thought of it like that."

"It's like me with the burn, say anything in a convincing tone and people will believe anything."