Free The Violet Hour by Brynn Chapman Page A

South Carolina.
    Reward via Lord Lawrence Manners for her safe return to her loving family.
    Contact local authorities with any information.

    Unmistakable doe-brown eyes stare back.
    Allegra’s eyes, from beneath an elaborate hairstyle of upswept strawberry-blonde locks.
    Her fingers tightly clutch the neck of a cello, a sad smile on her wide, full lips.
    I dab my forehead as the light sheen of sweat breaks out.
    I scan the whole street, fervently searching for more pamphlets.
    * * *

    Allegra

    “Alright Tom. You practice now. I shall see you later so that you may assist me.”
    The boy’s wide smile is infectious.
    “Of course. Thank you so much, mam.”
    He steps out of my cottage and onto the thoroughfare, heading back towards the hustle and bustle of Charleston’s Fancy.
    The nod and tip of his hat is so utterly adult. The orphan boy has stolen my heart completely.
    He turns to go, and I bite the inside of my lip. Did his limp seem less pronounced today?
    That was impossible. Club feet did not mend. The cry of a gull shifts my attention to the sea.
    Tom, too, is a slave to the park. Silas recently began ‘ taking in strays’ as he called them. Seeming to altruistically adopt orphans, providing them room and board—but I have seen how he works them. I swallow the disgust thickening my throat.
    The morning is clear and bright; the white clouds a fluffy contrast against the baby-blue sky. The breeze puffs in off the bay like hot, salty breath, tickling my hair across my cheek. In the distance I see the red striped poof that is the aerial balloon. I have never dared to alight in one. I am frightened of heights, but the playful bob and weave of it in the breeze, make me wish I was not.
    I stroll out into the thoroughfare, breathing deep, filling my lungs with the air’s salty tang. It is early; only men readying the amusements are about. Sarah was up and gone before the sun arose. Silas keeps her bustling each day until the very hour she collapses into bed each night.
    My eyes stray across the bay…to the rock-mass beyond.
    White gulls swarm the rocks, dipping and diving to the water’s surface and soaring back up as they fish.
    I have strategically avoided the isle for a week; steadfastly refusing to admit why.
    For instance, ignorance is bliss?
    After seeing such tremendous strength, how he discarded a tree-trunk as if flicking a matchstick—my nights have been plagued with dreams of him performing endless feats of strength. They culminated last night in him dressed in a strong-man’s uniform from the carnival.
    I smile and cover my lips. It is not a matter for jest, I know. It should vex me more than it does. If I was any other girl, I would’ve told every person I know.
    I couldn’t even bring myself to tell Sarah, for fear it might somehow convict him.
    It was madness. Completely out of my character—but for once, I truly didn’t care. My heart seemed to beat in my chest for him .
    For the moments he regarded me.
    When I held his attention, I felt alive . Like all things were possible.
    It felt…like when I play my music. I swallow with the realization.
    Nothing or no-one has ever come close to matching that feeling. The soaring-wonder that fills my soul.
    The icy enclosure that keeps my heart in a perpetual winter and hibernation is thawing. I feel the hot stirrings of life within and a renewed beat of hope surging through my veins.
    My whole life has been self-denial. Hiding my thoughts, my true feelings.
    He does not demand that, nay he discourages it.
    I know how rare and precious love to be. And I, like a miser, must have it .
    “Lost in thought, are we?”
    I looked up, realizing in horror I’ve arrived back at the Shoot-the-Chute. The scene of the crime.
    The park staff has been buzzing about its opening for weeks. The talk was that Brighton had designed it after riding the first-ever chute in Watchtower Park, Illinois.
    I step back, admiring his handiwork close up. The towering wooden ramp,