Frederica Feathersworth's Arc

Chapter 3 of 6

Frederica walked beyond the sanctuary gates for the first time in weeks, her sequined boots crunching on the forest path. The sanctuary had books and a classroom, but she needed to know what else existed in this world for someone teaching birds. A wooden sign pointed toward town—she followed it. The trees thinned as buildings appeared, small shops with painted windows. She spotted a library first, its stone steps worn smooth. Inside, three entire shelves held bird books she'd never seen. Her hands shook as she pulled down a field guide with photographs instead of drawings. The librarian nodded when Frederica asked about borrowing them. Two streets over, she found a supply shop selling magnifying glasses, specimen jars, and teaching posters showing bird skeletons. She bought four posters with money saved from her father's world. On the walk back, a wooden community board outside the post office caught her eye—other people advertised classes and events there. She pinned a note about the sanctuary, her handwriting cramped but clear. The forest swallowed her again as she headed home, arms full of books and posters. This world had what she needed. She just had to keep looking. Three days later, Frederica hired builders with the rest of her saved money. She showed them sketches of a wooden pavilion with glass cases inside. They hammered posts into the ground while she arranged specimens she'd collected over months—feathers organized by species, a robin's nest from last spring, field journals she'd filled with observations. When they finished, she placed everything inside the cases. Visitors could walk through and see what real bird study looked like. The elderly swan watched from its pond as she worked, and she felt champagne bubbles in her chest. The greenhouse she'd noticed in town gave her the next idea. She bought glass panels and wooden beams, then built a small cafe next to the classroom. Plants lined the shelves—ferns and flowering vines that birds loved. She added tables and chairs so people could sit with tea and talk about what they'd seen. The half-blind heron limped past the windows, curious about the new structure. This was a place where visitors would stay longer, where they'd trade stories about birds they'd spotted. On her final trip to town that week, Frederica ordered a billboard. It arrived painted with bright illustrations of finches, herons, and peacocks. She had them list the class times: Monday to Friday, 9 to 3. The workers mounted it on iron poles near the sanctuary entrance. When they finished, she stepped back and stared. Anyone walking this path would know what lived here now. An educational center. A place her mother would have loved. The sanctuary wasn't just hers anymore—it belonged to everyone who wanted to follow the birds.