The Lost Hearts

by Maya Wood

  Alexis had swept the room with her eyes, scanning her peers and waiting for the punch line. She lifted an un-amused brow. “No,” she responded flatly.

  Philip opened his mouth a little wider in a cocky grin. “Do you want to be mine?”

  Now Alexis glared at him through slits. She wasn’t going to fall for it, and she turned her back to him altogether. She laughed as she remembered that it took him a week of pestering, home visits, and phone calls to convince her that he was serious.

  Granted, he secretly shared the sentiment that her presence at the university was peculiar, her aspiration to pursue academics out of place. But she was the most stunning woman he’d ever met, and so he took his future with her seriously. He learned almost immediately that she wasn’t interested in other men, at least not the way most women her age were interested in men. She paid little attention either to their scrutiny or praise.

  When Philip appeared in her life, it was with ease and disarming interest. He never questioned her motives for attending school. She liked that she did not have to explain herself to him. She liked that he seemed eager to share her work, even to learn from her. She would never have guessed that his interest in anthropology was so singularly and personally focused.

  Even if Alexis was intrigued by his insistence, she had held him at arm’s length. It wasn’t until mid-semester that he earned her trust. By then they’d become regular partners in course work, and they sat together in a lecture hall stuffed elbow to elbow with confident young men. The professor had made some tired assertion about the economics of colonialism and Alexis’ boiling blood had practically thrust her hand upward involuntarily.

  “Aren’t we perpetuating overall inefficiency and dependency under this model?” She could feel the heat swelling her cheeks. Even if defiant, she disliked drawing attention to herself.

  Amid the snorts and muffled snickers, a voice sounded. “Go back home and bake us some cookies.”

  Alexis felt herself disintegrate. She had developed a tough skin over the years as an outcast, but not enough to withstand direct assault, and especially not surrounded by hundreds of leering classmates just waiting for the chance to pounce. In that moment, she’d wished with her bones and flesh for the ground to open and swallow her whole. She was closing her notepad, her body springing for flight when she felt Philip’s hand press her shoulder. She had never seen the green of his eyes erupt with such fire.

  He had stood from his chair and turned with a deliberate, agonizing slowness toward the heckler. “Is that your very best?” His voice was glacial. “The first time you speak up in class and it’s total horseshit. Congratulations.” Philip swept his hand in a wide inclusive circle so that his audience had no doubt he was referring to each and every one. “I’d like to see you prove her wrong.”

  “That’ll be enough, Mr. Talbot,” the professor had commanded, his humorless voice punctuating the impossible hush of the lecture hall.

  Alexis’ brain had churned with contradiction. She hated to be defended when her foes looked to seat her in a position of female weakness. But if she had ever doubted Philip’s sincerity, this was the moment everything changed. There was no pretense. Only respect. And in this careful way, Philip earned her trust as a workmate, friend, and ultimately, as a lover.

  ***

  “Alexis,” a soft, low voice cut through the quiet. Alexis suddenly felt herself enveloped by warmth. Her father stood behind her, wrapping a thick, cashmere shawl around her shoulders. “What are you doing out here in the dark? It’s getting chilly!” Alexis nuzzled her small frame under his arm, smiling at the welcome scent of sweet pipe tobacco. She inhaled deeply, closing her eyes. He eyed her thoughtfully. “Well you must be doing some thinking out here. I hope you’re not still giving Harry Bates any thought.”

  “No,” she said under her breath. She didn’t know what more to say. She and her father had never failed to find easy conversation, but then she had never talked to him earnestly about her life outside of the home or museum, let alone romance. She wondered what her father really thought of Philip, if he was oblivious to the attention it had called among the upper crust. As if reading her mind, her father placed a quick kiss on the top of her head just as he’d done when she was a girl.

  “You know…as much as I wish otherwise, I know I can’t fill the absence of your mother. I’m sure there are things you would like to discuss. I’m not so good at…” Lawrence’s hands flew to his mustache in a nervous flutter. “I imagine you could really use her at a moment like this.” His voice choked with momentary emotion.

  Alexis scowled. “I wish you wouldn’t say things like that. You’re wonderful. I do miss her, though,” Alexis agreed wistfully.

  “I miss her, too.” Lawrence cleared his throat and squeezed her shoulder. “Well, there’s no use in feeling sorry for myself,” he chuckled for self-preservation. “Why don’t you join me in the study for a quick brandy? I want to hear your thoughts on the field reports you’ve been reading up on.” He gave Alexis an excited nudge and turned to go inside. “And I want to talk about the trip!” Even in the dark she could see color bursting into his round cheeks at the idea of one of their late night brandies. It had become a ritual for them over the years that she had worked as his assistant.

  Even as they entered the cheerily-lit house, Alexis could hardly suppress the urge to return to solitude. She let her body sink against the expanse of the living room wall, resting her arm on the back of a cherry leather reading chair. “I’m awfully tired,” her voice tapered, offering no explanation.

  Her father’s portly body spun. Eyeing her carefully, he took his white beard in hand and stroked it thoughtfully. Sensing his daughter’s introspection pertained to matters of the heart, he suddenly fidgeted with the thin metal frames of his glasses. Though he was a man of deep intelligence, he had never managed to articulate emotions, and for a moment he looked vulnerable and lost amidst the familiar surroundings of his home.

  “I just need a good night’s rest is all,” she assured him. His troubled expression unmoved, she leaned in to deliver a reassuring kiss on the cheek. “Goodnight, father,” she said. Lawrence stroked his daughter’s hair, nodding his head in acquiescence.

  Not until she heard the heavy dark mahogany door to her bedroom close behind her did she feel she’d reached a sanctuary. The light still burned in the green stained-glass lamp on her window-side table. Its light haloed against the rich golden hue of the wall and caught on the humble frames displaying black and white photos of beautiful, happy faces. She walked to the far corner of her room, a pocket of serene shadows, and turned on the small bed lamp. Her eyes welcomed the illuminated image of her mahogany, four-poster bed, the plump chocolate-colored layers of blanket and pillow tempting her instantly.

  Alexis hung her shawl on a brass wall hook and unbuttoned the side of her navy blue cotton dress. The soft fabric slid down over the slope of her breasts, gathering at her waist, and she coerced the garment over the fullness of her hips until it was piled around her bare feet. The breeze from the window moved over her exposed skin like cold breath, and the faint glow of the bedside lamp revealed almost imperceptible goose bumps rising along the length of her body, warmed only by a cream silk slip.

  Nestling into the womb of her bed, Alexis’ heavy lids closed over her pensive, blue eyes. In her mind she saw a pair of heavy green eyes. She wondered what it would feel like to mold her small figure next to the solid warmth of Philip’s body, to hear his breath in her ear. Her eyes sank back, and the tiny hairs on her body lifted over the flush of pink warmth that rolled along the surface of her skin.

  Alexis imagined him now, his powerful body emanating with heat above her, crushing her deep into the mattress. She could almost feel his large, aching hands moving along the curves of her hips and waist, pressing into her skin. She thought of his strong, muscular legs tangled with hers, moving in a soft, wave-like rhythm. Unconsciously she ground her hips against the firmness of her mattress and squeezed
her thighs together. She could feel the hard response of her breasts beneath the silken fabric of her slip, and the urgent heat pulsating from beneath the layers of bedding. She thought of his arms collecting her beneath him, and imagined opening herself to him. She saw his eyes combust beneath the jet black arcs of his lashes, and his mouth open, claiming hers. She could almost hear their breath, short and panting. Rising together. Alexis’ eyes shot open. Running her hands upward along the valley of her stomach and the rise of her chest, she buried her face in a dewy palm. She could feel her swollen lips tingle, her head swaying, her skin clawing with need. From the stinging warmth beneath the covers, she outstretched a damp arm into the chilly air and turned out the light.

  Chapter Two

  Cheeks flushed and hair tousled from the wind, Alexis leaned her black and white Schwinn bicycle against the magnolia tree outside the Boston Society of Natural History. She stood for a moment to gaze at the men and women walking busily along the sidewalks, ducking in and out of shiny, black cars. She eyed a group of handsome men clustered together around a crisp newspaper. They were sharply dressed, their well-pressed suits hugging the masculine lines of their bodies. She watched them argue with good-natured tones and gesticulations. Alexis sighed as she thought with disappointment about her sore lack of companionship. She had met few women who shared her passion, and even fewer men who would allow her into their tight-knit circles.

  Wiping the band of perspiration from her forehead, she straightened her ivy green print dress, which clung flatteringly to her small, curvaceous form. She walked along the path to the main entrance of the brick building, oblivious to the admiring glances of men as they passed her. They watched her longingly, holding doors, murmuring greetings, hoping to catch her attention. A striking man with jet black hair and smooth olive skin stopped dead in his tracks as Alexis approached him. “Good morning, Miss,” he managed. Alexis nodded her head vacantly, even as he let out a low whistle. She was already lost in the world of the museum.

  Alexis’ pace quickened as she approached one of the areas she knew was implicitly off limits to her. Through the doorway of the men’s club, she could hear a deep chorus of laughter and banter. Her eyes glimpsed the rich, sophisticated décor and the self-possessed men with puffing chests as they swapped tales of archeological conquests. Her father cringed with embarrassment whenever Alexis mentioned the club. They both knew the men that congregated there would never withstand the intrusion of a woman. Though many of the men who worked with the Society had come to respect the mind and work of Alexis over the years, they still insisted on preserving, in the words of Harry Bates, at least one sphere free of females.

  The thud of Alexis’ heels against the acoustic belly of the marble floor alerted the men, and she could see a huddle of heads swivel to identify the source. There at the center was Bates himself, and she felt his beady eyes lock her in their gaze. “Woman…no good…ridiculous…” popped in her ears like kernels, followed by an anonymous chorus of agreement. She felt the familiar swelling of her throat, an allergic reaction, she thought, to the chauvinism she so often faced. Charles Woodall sat on the outer ring of the men. His lips were pulled tight across his face. Alexis caught his eye, which was hot with shame.

  Alexis stopped at the end of the long, austere corridor. A simple brass plate was fastened at eye-level. Curator. And underneath, Lawrence Scott. Alexis tapped at the door, a distinct pattern she knew her father would recognize as hers.

  “Come in, Alexis,” a jovial but muffled voice called through solid oak. Alexis swung open the door and an opaque cloud of dense pipe smoke gushed out of the office.

  “Good morning, father.”

  Lawrence Scott sat comfortably in a plush, leather desk chair, pipe in one hand and a stack of rumpled papers in the other. His glasses were suspended at the very tip of his bulbous, pink nose, a sign that she’d found him in the middle of intense study. At the sight of Alexis, he released the notes in hand and brushed a few stray ashes from the belly of his crisp, white dress shirt. “Come, sit down!”

  Alexis’ smirked and noted that almost every surface in the office was covered with books and files. “That one there, dear.” Lawrence chuckled sheepishly and pointed to the wooden chair closest to the window. “Now, about the trip! I received a telegram from Henry Patterson, you know my old colleague from the London Museum of Natural History. He’ll been laying some of the groundwork for the trip as a personal favor to me. He’s looking for a reputable guide as we speak.”

  Crossing her legs and taking out her brown leather work journal, Alexis bobbed her head perfunctorily. “Yes, father. I’ve met Henry,” she grumbled. They’d been over this a hundred times before.

  “Yes, yes, I know. You know I like to be thorough.” Lawrence inhaled deeply from the pipe, and a pretty silver plume of smoke rose from the base. “Well, what did you come up with, my dear?”

  Alexis opened her mouth to speak when she noticed the glossy cover of a magazine on the desk. It was the September 1937 edition of the Journal of Natural Science and History. A remarkable, sharp looking man faced the camera, hands clasped in front of a neatly tailored suit. In bold black letters ‘America’s Portal to Lost Civilizations’ stretched above his head. Alexis sprung to her feet and let out a shriek of glee. “I can’t believe you didn’t show me this yet!”

  Lawrence huffed, straining half-heartedly to reclaim the magazine. Alexis snapped it back from reach and began thumbing through the journal. She splayed it open and held it up high. “Wow,” she gushed, and clearing her throat, affected the polished inflections of a radio news broadcaster. “Dr. Lawrence Scott, illustrious curator of the Boston Society of Natural History, gives the world an opportunity to see civilizations only dreamed about. After two decades of concentrated research, Dr. Scott embarks on a landmark expedition to New Guinea in hopes of unveiling matriarchal tribes in modern times.”

  Alexis twirled around, her eyes wide and sparkling. Lawrence fidgeted uncomfortably in his chair. “Alright, alright,” he said, his tone curt. “I already read it, dear. No need for theatrics.”

  “But it’s just so glamorous, father!” Alexis marveled. “Anthropology has never looked so fine. And look at this suit you wore for the photo shoot. I haven’t seen you in that since my first graduation.” Alexis’ eyes scanned the article. “It’s great publicity, anyway.”

  Lawrence groaned with skepticism. “I just can’t help thinking it might be bad timing. It’s highly controversial, you know. And donors aren’t usually attracted to controversy. Not many want to hear about women giving orders and men in submissive positions.” Lawrence played with his mustache. “Besides, the article makes a promise we might not deliver. I’ve been to New Guinea more times than I can count on my hands, and only in the last two years have we begun to follow a disconnected chain of clues that there might be, might be, a matriarchal tribe.”

  Alexis cocked her head to the side, her eyes widening in mock horror. “Oh my, what would happen to social order if the world were to discover that women governed men with total harmony and pacifism?” She spread the magazine open on the desk, her fingers running over its silky finish. “I’m just so happy, father. You’ve worked so hard, and now you’re really at the threshold of putting this museum on the map as a leader of research and world exploration.”

  Lawrence watched his daughter, and he felt a lump swell in his throat. “You mean we, of course.”

  Alexis lowered her head, her eyes suddenly blinking furiously. She knew he meant only to share the reward, to congratulate her efforts. But she couldn’t shake the bitterness that her contributions were so strictly limited. She would be free to read the studies, conduct interviews, compile reports. But she would never descend the plank of a boat to any of these places, hear the exotic tongues, or feel her heart thunder as she lived the adventure of discovery. Now’s not the time, she thought. It wasn’t the moment to start another argument with a predictable ending. Pick your battles, she reminded herself. She gl
anced at her father, fearful that her eyes would betray her sudden somber mood.

  Eager to change the subject, Alexis reclaimed her seat. “Shall I brief you on my latest findings?” Examining the notes she knew by heart, she cleared her throat. “As you know, I’ve cross referenced the latest field reports out of New Guinea. According to the most relevant research, Dr. Maples and Dr. Weinstein have produced some promising evidence of matriarchal tribes in the Southern Highlands. I’ve narrowed down the two main sites you’ll have to visit to confirm their existence.” A wavy lock escaped the restraint of her bobby pins, and Alexis reflexively twirled it around her index finger as she commonly did when deep in thought.

  Alexis let out a pensive breath. Her eyes shot to the quiet corner next to her father. Perched on a small recessed shelf, the loving face of Madeline Scott smiled at them. She sat atop a giant boulder, her arms loosely hugging her crossed legs. Behind her roared a giant waterfall, the shimmering mist dampening her long chestnut brown curls. Her face was pulled back into an expression of delight and mischief. It was the last photo ever taken of her mother.

  “What is it, Alexis?” her father interrupted her thoughts. His short fingers brushed the crown of his head and patted the sparse silver hair combed purposefully in one direction.

  Alexis swallowed hard. She didn’t mean to dampen the celebratory mood, but the words came before she could suppress them. “It’s just that, well, I’m an adult. I think I’ve done alright.” Sucking in a gulp of air, she continued. “What I mean is, I’m well on my way to completing my studies, all of which have centered on the research we’ve done for New Guinea. You keep saying ‘we’ when you talk about our achievements, and yet I can’t be allowed to experience it the way you or so many others have. I don’t even have the advantage of other doctoral students who apply field research to their dissertation.” Here Alexis met her father’s gaze. The twinkle in his eye extinguished, and his mouth cinched into a pained expression. He leaned back into his chair and massaged his temples. The conspicuous silence only punctuated the tension now thick in the room.