by Amy Brill
“No, my dear,” Elizabeth chirped. “Though we’re certainly scouring the seashore day and night. More syrup? No?”
Hannah shook her head..
“It’s news of you, we mean. Of your great discovery!”
“Oh! The comet?”
“Well, of course!” Elizabeth picked up the bowl of syrup again, and Hannah again refused it.
“But how did you hear of it? It’s not even confirmed I was the first to see it.”
“Well, the Inquirer made it seem as if your priority isn’t a bit in doubt. See here.”
William snapped the newspaper into a crisp sheet and slid it over to Hannah, then leaned over to tap one long finger on a corner notice. She squinted at the tiny print:
Telescopic Comet Discovered by Miss Hannah Price;
First Lady Contender for King of Denmark Prize Embroiled in
Controversy Over Reporting Irregularities.
Miss Hannah Price of Little India St., well known to Nantucketers
as the former junior Librarian of our own Atheneum, has stunned the
astronomy community of these United States by becoming the first to
spot the luminous skyblazer at approximately 10pm on the night of 20 March. The mysterious object was lurking only a few degrees north of our own Pole Star, and through her diligent observations Miss Price did record its position and fire off a breathless note to Messrs. William and George Bond at the great observatory in Cambridge, asking those
fine gentlemen to affirm her discovery.
They did at once confirm the lady’s finding, but as it happens, the
rules of the King’s medal, which we have no doubt Miss Price deserves,
require notice sent directly to the Royal Observatory in London. All are in hopes that Justice will prevail in this matter, and that
the King’s medal will be awarded to our own Lady Skygazer, who is
reported at present to be calculating the orbit of her fiery celestial jewel.
Hannah’s face curled into disbelief as she read the brief article, and when she came to the end she flung the pages on the table as if they were covered in slime. The Hatters blinked in unison.
“Is it not an excellent notice, Miss Price?” Elizabeth asked, reaching over to smooth the pages. “You’re famous!”
“You don’t understand,” Hannah said, feeling the need to move at once. She stood up and began to pace around the kitchen. “My priority hasn’t even been confirmed—not officially, in any case. Certainly not globally. And the King’s medal— I had no idea I’d not complied with the rules.”
She slumped back onto the bench, her strength gone. The reality of her predicament was as glaring as the fresh black ink on the white page. If she wasn’t eligible for the prize, there was no hope of her staying on-Island. Instead of being known as the recipient of the King of Denmark’s prize, she’d be the astronomer who had failed to earn it. The lady astronomer who couldn’t even follow the rules. Who would entrust her with their observations then? Her accomplishment would pale in comparison to her omission. She’d never be offered a contract that would provide an income.
The Hatters fell silent along with her. The kitchen felt like the Atheneum during quiet hours. Then William snapped to.
“Well, are the rules published? If they are, we can resolve that bit straightaway. I’m an attorney by training, you know. This whole inn- keeping business is Elizabeth’s folly. I merely provide finance.”
“William is a brilliant interpreter of contracts, Miss Price. If the rules have any leeway, he’s sure to find them,” his wife chirped.
“I have a copy upstairs,” Hannah said slowly, not allowing the glimmer of hope to blossom into anything brighter. The promise of disappointment was too great. “I’ll go and get them.”
A half an hour and three cold pancakes later, it was determined that Hannah had indeed slighted the rules by sending notice of her finding to Cambridge instead of London.
“Well,” William said, tapping the slip of paper outlining the contest rules and then smoothing it again, “it does say that applicants must inform the Royal Observatory ‘at first opportunity.’ But we might argue that your remote location and lack of professional expertise made it seem impertinent for you to write directly to London without first confirming your finding locally. Just for the sake of argument, of course,” he added, seeing the look on Hannah’s face.
“I suppose,” she muttered. “I’ll wait for word from the Bonds. I’m sure they’ve a better idea how these things work than any of us.”
“Well, in the meantime, fix your mind on the present. I’m certain you have all manner of exciting business to attend to,” Elizabeth said, and patted Hannah’s arm. Then she folded the paper carefully and placed it on a high shelf of the kitchen, standing on her tiptoes to reach. Hannah remembered herself in just the same position as a little girl, striving to add something bright and beautiful to her shelf of specimens. Mrs. Hatter could be no more than twenty years of age, Hannah realized, studying her profile. No wonder she was so excited about everything: her inn, the comet, the life stretching ahead of her. She’d probably be pregnant before the year was out.
“I thank both of you,” Hannah said, seized by a sudden rush of emotion. Where was her family at this crucial hour? Why must she rely on the assistance of strangers? She felt adrift, though she was sitting in her own kitchen, eating off the same dented pewter plate she’d washed and dried a thousand times. But her gratitude was real. The Hatters didn’t have to help her. They weren’t part of Meeting, though given her current standing it wouldn’t much matter if they were. They’d mentioned being Unitarians, but they’d been at the house on First Day, so they clearly hadn’t attended services.
Sunday, she reminded herself. The farther she got from Meeting and daily conversation with its members, the easier it became to shed its dozens of tiny restrictions, like a seam coming slowly undone. Her eyes drank in the bright pinks and dandelion yellows in the curtains Elizabeth had hung in the parlor, and she appreciated how the woven rugs that padded the floors softened the angles of the rooms. But her tongue still tripped over the days of the week and the months of the year, which seemed to beg to be numerically ordered rather than named like pets.
“You’ve been very kind to let me stay. I hope not to impose too much longer.”
“No imposition at all,” William said. “We’re honored to be temporarily installed in such a famous scientist’s home.”
Elizabeth nodded her agreement and, going to stand behind her husband, rested her hands on his shoulders.
“Well, I’m truly grateful.” Hannah swallowed the lump in her throat and rose from the table. “I’ll see you at supper.” Once upstairs, she spent most of the day bent over her notebook, trying to compute the comet’s orbit. At least the Inquirer had gotten that much right.
When she finally emerged, squinting in the late afternoon light, it seemed that every person on Nantucket had seen the notice in the paper. By the time she reached Main Street she’d been approached by a half dozen well-wishers, some hesitant, some hearty. Each time another acquaintance approached, Hannah was startled anew: she hadn’t spoken with many of these people in months, or rather, they hadn’t spoken with her. In the aftermath of her disownment from Meeting, she’d been unofficially shunned by nearly all its older members, few as they were.
But everyone she encountered this afternoon, regardless of religious affiliation, seemed to know more about the comet, her priority, and the King’s prize than Hannah did. One woman told her she’d heard the prize was to be delivered by the King’s consul in person by steamship; another congratulated her on discovering a new planet.
When she went to buy bread, Millicent Rotch—granddaughter of an elder and one of the few young people who remained at Meeting and addressed her neighbors as “thee” regardless of their age or standing— leaned across the counter as she wrapped the loaf in paper.
“My mother disapproves of platform women,�
�� she whispered when she handed it over. “But I think thee is both smart and brave.”
“Platform women?” Hannah kept her voice low and tried not to laugh. “Where would she get that idea about me?”
“Well, first there was that Negro man thee was going about with,” Millicent said. Her cheeks flushed even pinker, but her gaze was clear and steady. “Lilian Archer said thee was helping the Antislavery Society convince the Atheneum trustees to allow their convention to meet there. And now the comet.”
“I never told her that,” Hannah snapped, though Millicent was only voicing what much of the Island had thought of her, at least until recently. She shook her head, a wave of indignation beginning to well up as she considered the fawning flocks of people she’d encountered that morning. Her neighbors were as base as the residents of any other part of the world. Any new scrap of fortune or calamity would eclipse the one that came before as easily as the sun sinking over the horizon. “And I’ve never made a speech in my life.”
“Perhaps you should,” Millicent whispered. “It’s so exciting. I wish I had some occupation besides this. I’d love to study the Heavens. But I haven’t the head for it.”
Hannah leaned over the counter.
“Well, every time I bake something, it either burns or turns to stone. And at least your work actually earns currency.”
Millicent sighed and looked around to see if anyone was near before she answered. “It’s my mother’s currency, not mine.”
“Are you any good with maths?”
“I suppose. I keep our books.”
“Well, any time you want to learn the basics of astronomy, come and see me,” Hannah said.
Millicent’s eyes went round as full moons.
“Really? But when would I?”
“Any time it’s dark, Millicent.”
Her smile made Hannah happier than she’d felt since she’d ripped open George’s letter. Let the Town mutter about her turning its women away from their fine, productive jobs. But her good mood didn’t last.
As she walked past the Atheneum, Miss Norris came flying out, Nantucket Inquirer in hand.
“Miss Price, Miss Price!” she hooted.
“Miss Norris,” Hannah said, suppressing a smile. The older woman looked like a stuffed goose, her dark eyes beady bright and her plump arm waving, wing-like.
“I’m just thrilled. Thrilled!”
“It’s not certain that I—”
“Nonsense! Thee did and thee has!”
“What I mean is, the matter isn’t settled.”
“That old King should be deposed if he denies the award! That’s what I think and so does everyone.” Miss Norris lowered her voice and tipped her wide neck toward Hannah like a conspirator. “There’s talk among the Trustees of reinstating thy position!”
Hannah felt her eyebrows rise into twin arches.
“Is there? No one’s mentioned it to me.”
“Well, I don’t think it’s quite settled. But Dr. Hall is strongly in favor.”
“I see.”
“I’m sure thee would do well to speak to him in person.”
Hannah nodded but didn’t answer. The idea of speaking to Dr. Hall about anything made her feel sick.
“I’ll take it under advisement,” Hannah said, trying to be polite.
“Do. I’d love to have thee back.” Miss Norris lowered her voice and glanced around. “I never agreed with the decision to keep thee out of the rebuilding. Even after what went on at Meeting. And as for that young man thee was teaching, well, I think all the outcry was for nothing. If one of his race was lucky enough to have thee as a teacher, I saw no harm in it. It’s not as if thee were morally deranged. I say people behaved hysterically. Myself, I said Hannah Price is no more likely to enter into an improper relationship with a dog or pony!”
Hannah took a step back, feeling like she’d been slapped. The white wooden building behind the librarian was so bright, it practically glowed. Hannah shook her head, hoping to clear it; then she reached out and snatched the newspaper from Miss Norris’ hand.
“You ought to check your facts,” she said, and turned her back on Miss Norris and the building.
“What? Miss Price? Hannah!”
As Hannah walked away, faint impressions of the columns danced in front of her eyes like wisps of smoke. She kept her head down as she went, trying to choke down the wad of fury that had sprung into her throat. A dog or pony. That’s what Miss Norris equated Isaac with. Hannah couldn’t have felt more disgusted and ashamed. Isaac was a man— he was a good man, a smart man. A man with ambition no different from her own. She ached to share her thoughts with him, to rest her head upon his shoulder.
It would never be. Once, when she was but sixteen, Hannah had caught the end of a speech by William Lloyd Garrison. He’d been speaking at the Boston Common, and Hannah had been in a carriage with her father and William Bond. They’d drawn the curtains and ordered the driver to take a different route, fearing a mob, but Hannah had heard the thunder from the platform as they clattered by: I cannot but regard oppression in every form—and most of all, that which turns a man into a thing—with indignation and abhorrence!
They’d all gone quiet, Hannah remembered, though William had nodded gravely.
That which turns a man into a thing . . . Or equates him with an animal, Hannah thought. Miss Norris would deny she held a shred of prejudice in her heart. She’d been vocally opposed to the segregation of the schoolchildren, and Hannah knew she opposed slavery. Yet the idea that Hannah could view Isaac Martin as anything other than a pupil in need of tutoring—that she could befriend him, respect him, love him—was unimaginable to her.
As she walked, Hannah turned this paradox over and over in her mind, searching for a way to reconcile these two truths, but found none. By the time she got upstairs to the garret, she was spent, though strangely calm. What would have been a revelation just two years earlier—that two competing Truths could in fact coexist in one mind— now seemed like a perplexing but obvious conclusion. She heard Isaac’s voice as clearly as if he’d been standing beside her: Black or white. This or that. How are you believing that all things proceed in this way?
“I’m not,” she said out loud. “They don’t.” Her voice echoed off the walls. Flecks of dust swirled in the rays of light streaming through the window. She sat down at her desk and opened her notebook.
April 15, 1846. Nantucket. via the Neptune
Dear Isaac, Three weeks have elapsed since I wrote to you, so of course there is no possible way you could have received my letter and responded to it by now. Yet each day that passes it becomes more intolerable to me that I delayed so long in writing to begin with, and I imagine all manner of ideas you may have formed about me in the interim. Equally intolerable are the number of times in each day when I think of you but cannot communicate my ideas directly. The quill is a poor substitute for your company, especially without knowing if you are receiving these letters at all.
My thoughts wander. I am still awaiting formal confirmation of priority for my comet, and each day it does not come from Europe is another in which I doubt myself and must redouble my Faith. At these times I think of you the most. You have had to prove yourself in so many ways. It makes complaining about the limitations upon Women seem quaint by comparison. Yet I find it increasingly galling that the eyes of girls be trained on the measuring spoon and mixing bowl when the same attention to detail might be accorded the movement of stars across the prime vertical; that those who excel at attention to detail squander their capacities on the minutiae of domestic demands, and their energy on idle chatter.
I once abhorred platform women, feeling that railing at men would not change anything, but I begin to wonder if the firm and constant application of reason in combination with passion does not do some good; I think I come partly to this from the strong impression left upon me by Margaret Fuller, whose treatise on modern women I have finally read. Here I will copy out a passage for you:
/> “We would have every path laid open to women as freely as to men. If you ask me what offices they may fill, I reply—any. I do not care what case you put; let them be sea captains, if you will.”
It reminded me of games I once played with my brother, in which we explored the Earth from end to end from our “ship” at Madaket. I suppose my new thinking on the matter of leaving v. remaining must be due in part to finding myself as free of all entanglements and obligations as you feel yourself to be, though I’m not sure I could ever move through the world with your ease. Yet as time passes, all I held to be familiar and necessary as a buoy begins to resemble an anchor; perhaps I hold myself back in remaining, as Edward suggested, though where I might remove, even with means to choose my own place, is a mystery. You’ve seen more of the world than I; where might my place be?
Your True Friend,
HGP
. 26 . Return to Cambridge
Cambridge in June crackled with students and visitors. Term had ended a few days earlier, and proud graduates strolled everywhere, trailed by parents and young ladies hoping a promise was imminent. Hannah studied them while she fanned herself with a pamphlet, trying to imagine herself as the former, then the latter. But she couldn’t see herself in either role. Her feelings about the boys and their books were milky; she could no longer conjure the righteous indignation of earlier visits. As for the women, she had to remind herself not to judge, even though their flounces and rouged cheeks made her wince. For all she knew, they might be studying the stars at night as diligently as herself. Or writing sonnets. Or debating.
Watching them, though, she was reminded that her own position was no more certain than theirs. She’d been living in a strange suspended state in which her future was neither assured nor doomed. If Europe decided in her favor, the currency that came with the King’s prize would secure her livelihood for a year at best; if it decided against her priority, she’d need to find paying work immediately, or she’d be right back where she started: choosing between a marriage of convenience or a move to Philadelphia.
She’d prepared herself for the latter, but that was before the comet had appeared before her lens. In the wake of her priority— if it was indeed to be accorded her—the idea of moving to Philadelphia and leaving her observations behind seemed a spectacular failure of imagination. To that end, the former had been playing in the background like distant music ever since she accepted George’s latest invitation to visit.