Emily's Dream Read Online Free PDF

said, looking over her students. “Perhaps our Sophie will inspire others among you.” Her eyes rested briefly on Emily. Emily looked away. Miss Withrow couldn’t be suggesting that she, Emily, should go to art school. Emily did love art, but she was sure she didn’t have nearly enough talent or courage.
    After breakfast the next day, Emily stole back up to her room. It was Saturday, so there was no school. She slipped a sprig of groundsel weed she’d found near the front of the house into the canary cage and whistled a greeting to the bird. The cage stood in front of the dormer window next to her easel. She’d madethe easel several years ago, using branches Father had pruned from the big cherry tree at the side of the house.
    That was when she’d first felt the urge to be an artist. She’d tried more than once to put the urge aside and concentrate on being more like what her family wanted her to be, but it was never any use. Art always pushed its way back. She couldn’t ignore her need to draw and create, but to go away to art school? That was something she didn’t know if she’d ever be ready for.
    Emily looked out the window into the branches of white blossoms. Perhaps she could sketch one of the branches. But where was her sketchbook? She looked around the room and didn’t see it. Thinking back, she remembered having it with her in the sitting room after school yesterday. She must have left it there.
    Emily raced down the stairs. In the hall, she could smell the vile smoke of Mr. Piddington’s cigarettes. Voices came from the sitting room, and Emily hesitated outside the door.
    â€œShe does draw rather prettily,” said Mrs. Piddington’s voice. It was less shrill than usual, but there was still something about it that Emily disliked.
    â€œIf you say so,” Mr. Piddington answered, sounding bored as always. “I suppose they’re not bad for an annoying kid.”
    Suspicion set Emily’s heart pounding. She stepped into the room to see Mr. and Mrs. Piddington sitting with her sketchbook between them, flipping the pages. Mrs. Piddington looked up, startled, but Mr. Piddington only glanced at her.
    Outrage and disbelief coursed through Emily.
    â€œHow dare you look through my private book!” she shouted, striding up to them and snatching the book from Mrs. Piddington’s hands.
    â€œWell, isn’t she touchy?” Mr. Piddington said with a trace of amusement. He sucked deeply on a long brown cigarette and blew the smoke in Emily’s direction.
    Emily waved the smoke away with her book, her eyes sparking with anger.

    â€œYou–” She pointed a finger at Mr. Piddington, ready to tell him what she thought of him.
    â€œEmily!” Dede’s sharp voice came from behind Emily, stopping her words.
    â€œI hope my sister isn’t being rude,” Dede said to the Piddingtons.
    â€œThey had my sketchbook,” Emily told her.
    â€œEmily, please don’t interrupt me.” Dede kept her voice pleasant in front of the Piddingtons, but Emily could hear its dangerous undertone.
    Mrs. Piddington waved her handkerchief.
    â€œWe were just admiring her sketches,” she said sweetly. “We meant no harm.”
    â€œYes, quite,” Mr. Piddington said, agreeing with his wife. “The kid just overreacted.”
    â€œI’m not a kid!” Emily cut in angrily. “And you have no right to look through other people’s things.”
    She thought she saw Mr. Piddington smile slightly, as if he’d been expecting her reaction. At the same time, Dede took hold of her elbow in a pinching grip.
    â€œApologize to our guests, Emily,” Dede ordered quietly.
    Emily clamped her mouth shut and glared at the Piddingtons. She realized that, for the first time, Mr. Piddington did not look so bored, and she wondered if he was enjoying seeing her in trouble. She watched him take another long drag of his