He picked up a jagged piece of shale and wedged his fingernail between the layers. The top layer chipped off, and he rubbed it between his fingers, grinding it into a smear of gray. Finally he spoke, still not looking at her. “I don’t believe that.”
“You believe most people have the opportunity and wherewithal to travel around the globe and live a grand adventure?”
“I don’t believe most people want that anyway. But I do. Doesn’t that mean something?”
She shook her head, unable to reconcile the brilliant university student who nearly beat her grades with this idealistic, irrational man. “It means you have dreams and desires bigger than society’s allowance. You’re not the only one.”
He rose up onto his knees and grabbed her hands. Startled, she looked down at his fingers grasping hers, spreading disintegrated slate all over her skin. She hadn’t held a man’s hand since right before her father fell into the falls.
“It’s not just an idle dream, Nora. I almost believe I’m called to it. I asked my father when I was fifteen if I could go to seminary and do mission work. He refused. But I still feel this . . . ache inside of me, telling me to go.”
His voice grew louder as he spoke, ringing out so that Nora could almost imagine him traipsing down seashell-lined paths, calling out to the lost. Her pulse leapt, and she became acutely aware of his thumbs resting atop her knuckles.
She cleared her throat and extricated her hands from his. “Why are you telling me this?”
He sank back onto his heels, and his hands danced in his lap, as though it hurt him to remain still. “I don’t want you to think I’m some loafer without any direction or motivation.”
His words sent a wave of remorse through her. She had thought that. “It doesn’t really matter, does it? Graduation is in a few days, and we won’t see each other again. Who cares what I think of you?”
His hands paused their jig. “I care. I want you to think well of me.”
For three years they’d skirted friendship, too focused on competition. Now he wanted her to like him? “Why?”
His lips tipped into a slight smile. A secretive smile. “Because, Peculiar, I think well of you.”
Chapter
Five
Even though Lucius had taken ownership of the library, Nora still thought of it as her father’s room. Everything about it, from the long banks of windows—which her father had insisted on, though they weren’t the style—now hidden behind fussy brocade and lace draperies, to the wood-paneled walls and tiled fireplace, reminded her of him.
She rarely entered it—the memories the room evoked were too painful—but she found herself unwilling to wait another moment without Lucius’s word that he’d turn the journal over to her. She’d given him a week. That was plenty of time.
She rapped at the door, entering at Lucius’s impatient, “Come in. Come in.”
He set down his newspaper when she crossed the threshold and began tapping his fingertips against the polished surface of the desk. She nearly reconsidered her mission but raised her chin and strode across the room, the clicking of her heels giving way when she reached the plush carpet. Well, what used to be a plush carpet. Nora noticed its fraying edge and worn patches as she crossed it.
When she reached the desk, she pushed all thoughts of carpet and curtains from her mind and clenched her fists at her sides.
“Yes?” Lucius said after she stared at him for a moment.
“I wanted to talk with you about the journal.”
He heaved a long-suffering sigh. “I haven’t decided yet if I agree to your terms.”
“I’d like you to know how much this means to me.”
His fingers stopped their rat-a-tat on the desk, and he rested one hand on top of the other.
“The journal reminds me of my father. I’m his daughter in every way, and I believe I can keep it from folding while staying true to its origins as a publication that has garnered the respect of scientists and naturalists.”
Nora had always thought Lucius a cold man, and his eyes seemed to reflect his frigidity, but at the mention of her father, the chill thawed and the tight corners of his lips softened. “It reminds me of him, as well, and I want to honor him with it. I know that’s hard for you to believe, but he was my closest friend.” His chair creaked beneath his weight when he leaned back against it. “But do you really think you will be able to run a periodical? You have no idea how much work is involved. You are only a young girl. And despite your headstrong ways, I do know what’s best. Marriage and motherhood never made any woman unhappy.”
Her spine stiffened, and a vise gripped her head. She rubbed her temples, trying to ease the weight of resentment that took residence beneath her scalp.
His voice dipped lower and became velvety. “Will your husband want you spending your time running a periodical? What about when you have children?”
Nora’s knees weakened. “I will gladly live my life without the joy of family if it means I can honor my father’s memory and pursue the work he set out to accomplish. He meant it to be a place where rigorous scientific work could be shared. You’re changing it, and I don’t understand why. Why would you do that to his memory?”
Lucius stared past her, his eyes going toward the open door, which framed the stairs leading to the bedrooms. “I’ve done everything I can to take care of your father’s family. I’ve loved your mother and tried to guide you, though you make that challenging. I’ve maintained his home and supported his dream of making the journal successful. I’ve been around longer than you, and I know how the world works. It’s not easy for a woman to make it in a man’s world. Why won’t you take my advice?”
She swallowed and backed up a step. Away from his vulnerability, which left her feeling as though the world had tilted on its axis. Away from his demands that she bow to expectation and deny her dream. “I don’t want to go to Long Island after graduation. I want to get this scholarship and continue my education. I want the journal.”
His eyes darted toward her, and she felt like an insect, trapped beneath his critical gaze. “Your mother isn’t strong. She wants to see you wed and taken care of.”
Nora clasped her hands behind her back, hiding the nervous picking of her cuticles. She avoided his gaze, which seemed to pierce her exterior like a mounting pin. After her father’s death, Mother’s health had taken a downward turn that she’d never recovered from. And no amount of Nora’s love or attention could fix that. Nora could shield her mother from worry and ugliness, but, in truth, Nora knew she was culpable.
She shook off the traitorous thoughts. “I need an answer, Lucius. If I’m offered the scholarship, will you give me the journal? I agree to your terms. I will not fuss if I have to go to Long Island. And I’m willing to meet Mr. Primrose. Invite him to my graduation dinner. I’m trying to meet you halfway.”
Lucius stared at her for a moment before giving a tight nod. “Fine. I don’t want it said that I wasn’t fair to you. I still think it would be a mistake for you to have the journal, but if you prove yourself by obtaining an advanced degree, then I guess I’ll have no reason not to give it to you.” He turned his attention to the ledger lying open on his desk.
Dismissed, Nora backed from the room, knowing she had to do everything in her power to make sure she was offered the scholarship. Even if that meant joining Professor Comstock’s friend in India. Because losing the journal didn’t just mean going to Long Island. It meant losing the only way she could make everything up to her father.
Nora preferred pencil to watercolor. She liked the precise control it allowed her, creating thick or thin lines, shading, feathering, outlining. Watercolors bled and often disobeyed dictates, but Anna Comstock told Nora she should practice using the medium since she so often neglected it.
Nora swirled her brush over the moistened magenta cake and traced the green wings of the Luna moth she was working on.
Anna lifted her head from her canvas and inspected Nora’s. “Nicely done.
I know watercolors aren’t your favorite, but you work so well with them.”
Nora stepped back from her work, glancing from the mounted moth on the table between them to her painting. “It’s tolerable.”
Anna laughed. “You’re too hard on yourself. After only a few years of instruction, you’ve surpassed my ability. I’m not sure why we continue to meet. I can’t teach you anything else.”
“Because I value our friendship and enjoy your company. Painting or drawing with you in your garden gives me great joy.”
Although Anna was only a decade older, she bestowed a maternal smile on Nora. “I’ll have Katie bring us some refreshment. It must be nearing three.” She disappeared into the house through the back door, and Nora closed her paint box.
When Anna returned, they settled into a pair of wicker chairs nestled beneath the maple tree at the corner of the garden. Katie, the Comstocks’ Irish maid, tripped across the yard, carrying a tray. She set it on the iron table between them, poured steaming cups of tea, then, with a clumsy curtsy, skipped away.
Anna shook her head and gave a little sigh. “She’s an odd girl, but she has such a lively outlook.”
“I’d love to bottle some of her joy and release it at home. Maybe it would drive away some of the tension.”
Anna clucked her tongue in sympathy. “I’m sorry. Lucius is a difficult man.”
“Very unlike Father. Our house was a place of happiness when he was alive. I miss him, but perhaps I miss that most. He made life pleasurable and interesting.”
“You mustn’t allow the atmosphere of your home to decide how you respond to life. That will make you miserable. You may already know that Mr. Comstock’s childhood was anything but comfortable and joyous. He decided long ago that he, not his circumstances, would be master of his own happiness.”
Nora lifted her teacup and sipped. It was true—she did occasionally surrender to melancholy. When she compared her life now to before her father’s passing, she couldn’t help but notice the broad contrast. If—when—she was awarded the scholarship, maybe she’d move onto campus. She could stay with Rose and Bitsy at Sage Hall. Rose had another year of school, and Bitsy planned to obtain her master’s degree, thanks to her aunt’s largesse.
Nora set down her cup and plucked a cherry from the dish on the tray. She enjoyed its tart sweetness as she considered living among the one hundred female students in Sage Hall. It would be a drastic measure, leaving her home to live only a few blocks away. She wasn’t sure she could convince her mother it was a good idea. What reason could she give?
She shook her head. She couldn’t avoid conflict if she were to be master of her own happiness, as Professor Comstock had done. She’d just tell her mother it was what she wanted. That would have to be enough.
Satisfied, Nora smiled at Anna, who fiddled with her hair, tucking a lock of it behind her ear. It kept falling forward, though. “I’m growing it out,” Anna said.
“I see. It looks nice.” Anna had kept her hair in a short bob after losing it during an illness a few years earlier. “Why aren’t you keeping it short anymore?”
Anna’s eyes crinkled at the corners. “Mr. Comstock suggested one of us should have long hair. Either him or me. I thought growing out my hair would be a much less painful process than if he grew out his.” She fingered the ends and released a wistful sigh. “I do like it short. It’s so easy to care for. But long hair is a sacrifice I’m willing to make for Mr. Comstock. He asks for so little.”
“You don’t think short hair is too masculine?”
“Of course not.” Anna’s face twisted into a scowl. “Believing our hair makes us feminine is absurd. Just like believing an interest in nature makes us masculine. Mr. Comstock would say all people—women included—are created in the image of God, and our interest in nature, the living world around us, is divine.”
“Do you think so?”
Anna gave a firm nod. “Your father thought so too. Why, he encouraged your love of insects, didn’t he?”
“He did.” Nora couldn’t remember a time he wasn’t taking her on expeditions through the gorges and woods, intent on allowing her the discovery of all the interesting families of insects at work—spinning, flying, weaving, mating, growing, changing. When they stumbled upon some flying or creeping creature, Nora would grow quiet as she watched it. Her father would stand beside her, anticipation setting his hands twisting and waving—much the way Owen’s did, now that she thought of it.
Anna reached across the table and cupped Nora’s cheek. “You are who you are for a reason. You can ignore it, but that would be no way to chase happiness, would it?”
Nora leaned into Anna’s touch. “I believe I’d be very unhappy, indeed, if I neglected my work. Or worried overmuch about my hair.” She blinked, then sat up straight against the cool seat. Her words mimicked Owen’s. She had censured him when he spoke of his desire to travel and explore, but she knew that if she ignored her aspirations, she’d be just as unhappy as he would be working for his father’s publishing company or a law firm. She pressed her hand against the center of her chest where a small lump had formed. She should apologize to him.
“Are you all right?” Concern colored Anna’s words.
“Yes. I just recalled something I need to do at graduation this afternoon.” Nora took another sip of tea, then stood. “Will you be there?”
Anna followed Nora back to their easels. “Of course. I’m looking forward to hearing your speech—Cornell’s first female valedictorian. I’m proud of you.”
Nora smiled before turning to study the Luna moth on the table. It was a lovely green, the color of limes. “It’s a shame we have to kill them.”
Anna glanced at the moth. “Sometimes one dream needs to die before another can be realized. He wouldn’t have lived much longer anyway, and his death benefits science more than anything else he could have done.”
Just as Nora lifted her brush from the easel, the back gate smacked open. “Miss Nora!”
Nora whirled and saw Alice running across the yard, her white apron strings flying behind her. Nora’s heart slammed into her ribs. She dropped her brush and paints and flew to Alice, who met her, huffing out wheezing breaths.
“Miss Nora, your mother had a terrible spell. She fell down the stairs, and Mr. Ward couldn’t wake her. The doctor’s been sent for, but you must come home.”
Nora dashed into the house, grabbed fistfuls of her skirt, and took the stairs two at a time.
Lucius paced outside her mother’s bedroom door. He stopped when he saw her, scrubbed his hands through his salt-and-pepper hair, and sighed. “I couldn’t stop her fall, Nora. I heard her cry out, then saw her tumble, but I didn’t make it in time. I tried. I swear.”
Nora pressed her back against the wall, horrified by the tears in his eyes. They signified a much worse situation than she’d expected.
“The doctor is with her now,” Lucius said. He lifted his hand toward the door, then dropped it. “She was so pale.”
A tremble began in Nora’s legs, spreading up her body until she shook like a spider web caught in a hurricane. She made her way to the oak chair outside her mother’s room and sank into it. She avoided looking at Lucius, whose frenzied pacing made her think the worst.
A moment later, Dr. Johnson slipped from the room, sporting a black medical bag and a grim expression. Nora jumped to her feet, and both she and Lucius converged on him.
“She will be fine, I believe,” the doctor said, “with adequate rest. She cracked a rib in the fall, but she’s lucky that was all. More disturbing is the reason she fell.”
Nora held her breath captive, trapping it between her chest and throat. Willing it to stay put until the doctor told her something that would set it free in an exhale of relief.
“She’s been weak since she lost the baby after Nora, but the fainting spells have increased. They alarm me. Her blood pressure is low, her heart rate fast.” Dr. Johnson shook his head. “She’s not a healthy woman. I
want her abed for a week at least. Feed her lots of rich broths, puddings, and fresh milk. And, above all, keep her calm. Don’t allow her to become stressed.”
Nora and Lucius nodded in unison. “I’ll see you out,” Lucius told the doctor. “Nora, please go sit with your mother.”
When they descended the stairs, Nora crept into her mother’s dark room and perched on the edge of her bed where she slept, her long lashes resting on pale cheeks. Nora brushed wispy hair from her mother’s brow. She looked so small. Nora realized with a start that she’d stopped looking up at her mother years ago, before her father had died. Her mother was small. And frail. She’d always been sickly. So unlike Nora.
Lydia’s lids fluttered, and she blinked before focusing on Nora. “Oh, darling.”
“Mother, are you feeling all right?”
She smiled. “I’m better now that you’re here.”
Nora slipped to the floor and rested her head on her mother’s chest. “I’m so sorry I wasn’t here.”
“What could you have done? Lucius wasn’t even able to help me. It happened so quickly.” Her hand grazed Nora’s shoulder before resting back on the bed. “I’m glad you’re home, though. I do so rely on you.”
Nora’s stomach clenched, all thoughts of moving into Sage Hall extinguished at her mother’s words. What had she been thinking? She couldn’t leave her mother with only Lucius to care for her. And India! What a ridiculous notion. She’d just have to make do with the research trip to Illinois Professor Comstock would be leading this summer. Perhaps Owen wouldn’t be able to go to India either.
The clock downstairs struck the hour, reminding Nora that she had to get ready for graduation. She stood to go to her room to prepare for the moment she’d been working toward for three years. The moment that made all the demeaning insults and patronizing comments worth it. The moment she’d dreamed of with her father as they trekked over Ithaca’s hills.
The moment she would never get back.
A Mosaic of Wings Page 5