The Vanishing Point

In the tradition of Philippa Gregory’s smart, transporting fiction comes this tale of dark suspense, love, and betrayal, featuring two star-crossed sisters, one lost and the other searching.

Bright and inquisitive, Hannah Powers was raised by a father who treated her as if she were his son. While her beautiful and reckless sister, May, pushes the limits of propriety in their small English town, Hannah harbors her own secret: their father has given her an education forbidden to women. But Hannah’s secret serves her well when she journeys to colonial Maryland to reunite with May, who has been married off to a distant cousin after her sexual misadventures ruined her marriage prospects in England.

As Hannah searches for May, who has disappeared, she finds herself falling in love with her brother-in-law. Alone in a wild, uncultivated land where the old rules no longer apply, Hannah is freed from the constraints of the society that judged both her and May as dangerous—too smart, too fearless, and too hungry for life. But Hannah is also plagued by doubt, as her quest for answers to May’s fate grows ever more disturbing and tangled.

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Raised by a father who secretly trained her in the physician's art, Hannah Powers journeys to seventeenth-century colonial Maryland to be with her sister, married off to a distant cousin after a series of sexual improprieties, and falls in love with her brother-in-law despite her feeling that he is lying about her sister's fate. Reader's Guide available. Original.

Prologue Gloucestershire, England

Hannah Powers’s father taught her about the masters of painting and engraving, how Albrecht Dürer and Leonardo da Vinci had transformed vision into a new geometry. He lectured Hannah on scale and proportion. The place where a ship was lost over the horizon was known as the vanishing point.
Their servant, Joan, was a woman of fifty-three years with ropy blue veins bulging out of her red hands. She taught Hannah and her sister, May, about another kind of vanishing, about the lost people who had once populated the West Country, indeed the entire island of Britain. Their stone arrows, green mounds, and dolmens still marked the land that had swallowed them. The first people.
Once, according to Joan, the faery folk had possessed physical bodies as plain and ordinary as anyone else’s. But over the centuries, they had become fey. Their bodies grew vaporous and insubstantial, visible only at twilight and in dreams. Fleeing church bells and the glint of iron, they shrank into their hollow hills.
“A mere optical illusion, Hannah,” her father told her, referring to the vanishing point on the horizon. “In truth, the ship does not disappear. The vessel is still there, even if we on the shore cannot see it.” So it transpired that both people and ships could become ghosts without ever dying or sinking beneath the waves.

I

1 The Dream of Comets May 1689 The morning the letter arrived, May Powers awoke with a premonition. Before she even opened her eyes, her heart was pounding and her throat was so tight she thought she might choke. The taste of iron filled her mouth. Throwing the bedclothes aside, she told herself not to be silly. She laced her bodice over her shift and stepped into her skirt. After pinning her hair into a coil, she descended the narrow staircase to the kitchen to help Joan prepare breakfast. Father and Hannah were in the front room murmuring over his pile of books. May listened to them recite the Latin names of apothecary herbs.
The morning passed as uneventfully as any other, with wool to spin and seams to stitch. Just past midmorning, Hannah left for the market with Joan. In the garden, Father picked betony and woodruff. It was the end of May, the lovely month after which her departed mother had named her. The weather being fine, she took her spinning wheel to the front of the house so that she might look out on the village green, the sheep that grazed there, and the hills beyond. That morning her eyes were too restless to settle on the village; they kept wandering off toward the horizon.
When the rider trotted up to the garden gate on his mud-spattered cob, she struggled to her feet as though waking from a dream. “Is this the house of Daniel Powers?” he asked.
May nodded, and the milky-faced youth leaned from his saddle and thrust a letter at her — a piece of folded paper, sealed with wax and marked by the many hands it had passed through until it had reached hers.
“The letter did come all the way from America,” said the rider, too imperious to even flirt.
A peculiar tingling gripped her. She remembered the dream she’d had just before waking — a dream of her father showing her comets through his telescope. As she peered through that lens, the sky filled with shooting flames.
The letter was addressed to her father, Daniel Powers, Physician. She read the name of the one who had sent it — Nathan Washbrook, her father’s distant cousin who had crossed the waters to Maryland.
“Father!” she cried, racing to the back of the house where he was gathering strawberry leaves. “Father, look!” A fever gripped her, the blood running in her veins like hot wine as she broke the seal herself, not waiting for her father’s permission.
Under the hawthorn tree, beneath that canopy of foamy white flowers, she read the letter aloud. When she handed the letter to him, he nodded, as if he already knew its message. Father and daughter were silent, but the words May had read remained in the air, buzzing around them like flies.
“What think you of the letter, May?” She plucked a handful of hawthorn flowers, crushing them in her left hand while holding the letter in her right.
Father wrapped his arm around her shoulders. “My dear, can you forgive me? A year ago, I took the liberty of writing to our cousin Nathan and telling him you were still unwed. In faith, it was I who planted the idea in his head.” Had Joan and Hannah been present, there would have been hysterics. The garden would have rung with shouting, curses, and tears. But between May and her father there was neither discussion nor debate. Her fingers went limp, hawthorn flowers and letter falling to the grass. Father took her hannd.
“Could you consent?” “You might have told me this was coming,” she said. Then, looking into his eyes, she read his will. He had been praying for this oooooffer, this miracle, to take the burden of her future off his hands.
Females are scarce in the Colonies, Cousin Nathan had written.
My Son needs a Wife. He is a healthy young Man of eighteen Years. I would rejoice to have your eldest Daughter May for his Bride. In Truth, I care not that your Daughter is without Dowry. I have Wealth enough and have already paid eight Hogs Head Barrels of Tobacco to the Ship Captain to assure her speedy Passage. Please be good as your Word and see that she sails out on the Cornucopia in August.
He expected her to leave already in August, only two months away? And offering her a boy of eighteen as a bridegroom! She was twenty- two. May nearly laughed aloud. Aware of her father’s somber gaze, she sobered and considered. On the one hand, what choice did she have if she wanted to save herself and her sister from penury? Though her father was a doctor of physick, making money had never been one of his talents. In recent years, his health had gone into decline. There was no son to carry on his business. When he died, she and her sister would have to sell his globe and telescope, his skeleton and surgical instruments, his books and diagrams of human organs. Even this house would be taken from them, for they merely rented it. She and Hannah would be dowerless spinsters, wards of the parish. After what she had done to disgrace herself, ruining her chances of honorable marriage, how dare she refuse? She was twenty-two, her sister only fifteen. The burden of securing their future fell upon her.
On the other hand, what an adventure! She half believed the letter had come to answer her own prayers of deliverance. When she was a young girl, long before she had discovered the lusts that plagued her body and spoiled her reputation, she had dreamt of setting sail for unknown worlds. Once she had declared to her sister, “If I were a boy, I would run away to sea.” Only a roving young man could be as free as she longed to be. When she closed her eyes, she saw not a young bridegroom but herself at the bow of a ship.
Leaving Father alone in the garden, his query unanswered, she ran to his study, took the globe from its place on the shelf, and spun it until her eyes blurred. He found her there, twirling his prized globe. She laughed uncontrollably, her whole body shaking. Laughter was her weakness. May laughed the way other girls cried. Once she got started, there was no stopping her. Turning to her father, she laughed in his face. Without a shred of submission or obedience, she told him, “Yes, Father. Yes, I consent.”

“Fancy his name being Washbrook,” May said, trying to make light of it in the face of Joan’s glowering. “Is h

MARY SHARRATT’s first novel, Summit Avenue, was a Book Sense selection. She has taught at the Loft Literary Center in Minneapolis and has given workshops around the country on the subject of women and fairy tales. She lives in Lancashire, England.

When beautiful, promiscuous May leaves 17th-century England to marry an unknown distant cousin in the New World, her plain but brilliant sister, Hannah, is heartbroken, but vows to follow her sister to America someday. In the meantime, Hannah cares for their physician father, who secretly passes his knowledge of medicine on to her. Letters are exchanged between the sisters at the rate of only one or two a year, telling much of May's new life but remaining oddly silent about her new husband, Gabriel. When the girls' father dies, Hannah leaves England intending to reunite with her sister. On arriving in America, however, she does not find May, but Gabriel, with whom she falls in love. Hannah and Gabriel attempt to carve a new, happier life for themselves--until Hannah can no longer ignore her doubts about Gabriel's part in May's disappearance. This extremely compelling, well-researched, and intensely written tale by Sharratt (The Real Minerva ) is packed with fascinating historical information. Its only fault is that the narrative switches perspectives between characters, which in itself would be fine, except that the events are related out of sequence. This is not only somewhat confusing but also unnecessary, but despite this drawback the book is recommended for public libraries.--Wendy Bethel, Upper Arlington P.L., OH

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