But her mother gave Nora’s hand a weak squeeze, and a sigh of contentment whispered from her lips. “Must you leave so soon? I love when you’re near.”
Nora sank back onto the cushions and raised her free hand to her throat, careful to conceal the movement from her mother. A lump had settled there, and she eased it free with her fingers. She couldn’t miss her graduation.
She couldn’t leave.
“I’ll stay,” she whispered. “As long as you need me to.”
Owen, as salutatorian, would have to give the address while Nora sat in a dark bedroom, trapped beneath her mother’s fine-boned hand.
A delivery boy stood on the front step, a box in his outstretched hands. “Got a package at the post office for you, miss.”
Nora glanced in the mirror and tucked a lock of hair back into her chignon, then reached for her reticule, which hung from the hall tree. She dug through it, locating a penny, and exchanged it for her package. Seeing the return address, she squealed and sat on the front porch swing.
Before she could pull at the jute string holding the box closed, Owen ambled up the walk, his hands shoved deep within his pockets.
“Professor Comstock sent me to see if you want to come to a picnic with the class.”
Nora’s stomach growled, and she realized she hadn’t eaten today. She’d skipped breakfast in favor of reading to her mother, who still, nearly a week later, remained confined to her bed. But Lucius sat with her now, and Nora hadn’t left the house since her mother’s fall. Nesting birds chirped in the oak tree at the corner of the yard, and the sun, though high and bright, shone through a blanket of white clouds. It was a lovely day for a picnic, and she needed to get away from the house for a while.
“I’d love to.” Excitement about her delivery made her feel generous, and she patted the seat beside her. “Sit with me a moment and see what Mrs. Martín sent me. She is a respected entomologist and an expert on Lepidoptera, specifically moths. She’s been working on a catalogue of Tortricidae for over a decade, and she occasionally sends me a specimen she believes I’ll find interesting.” She opened the box, finding a folded note and a smaller box tucked inside. She opened the note and read, “‘Dearest Nora, this is the Amata huebneri, or the wasp moth. It is a Batesian mimic I’ve only found a few times. I have never seen the larva.’”
Nora glanced at Owen and mirrored his broad smile. She pulled the smaller box into her lap and set the other near her feet. With gentle movements, she pried off the top and pulled the tissue-thin paper away. “Oh!”
Nestled inside sat a moth that more resembled a child’s fanciful drawing than an actual creature. Fuzzy dark blue and orange stripes marched down its abdomen, and its black wings were peppered with white spots.
Owen poked at it. “Incredible. I’ll never cease to be amazed by the variety in the insect world.”
“On that we agree.” She closed the box and stood. “I’ll let my mother know I’m leaving.”
When she rejoined him a few minutes later, Owen led the way off the porch.
“Where are we headed?” she asked. She paused at the gate, securing a serviceable hat to her head with a pin. Owen offered to take her shawl, which he draped over his arm.
“Professor Comstock’s. They’ve taken the liberty of hosting the entomology graduating class. No one has seen you in a week. And you missed graduation.”
“My mother took ill. I’ve been staying close to her.”
“I’m sorry. Will she be all right?”
“She’s never been strong, but she’s been having dizzy spells lately. This time she took a tumble down the stairs. She’ll recover, but I’m not sure if this is going to progress. . . .” Nora didn’t like the direction her confession had taken. She couldn’t lose her mother, the only person left in her small family. “Will you be returning home soon?”
To Owen’s credit, he allowed her to change the topic. “Next week, unless I decide to go to India.” He smirked. “I’ll be back, though, to give my lecture, and I’m sure I’ll end up staying . . . after they offer me the scholarship.”
She laughed. “It’s unlikely you’ll need to stay. But we’ll all miss you.”
“If I don’t come back, I’ll miss Ithaca. I’ve enjoyed living here.”
“Thinking about giving up your vagabond ways and settling here?” She meant to tease him, but his expression turned serious, a sight she wasn’t used to.
“If I ever have the chance to travel and I grow tired of it, I would consider settling here. I love Ithaca. The waterfalls and gorges. The constant growing and flexing. The people.”
Nora understood his sentiment. She hadn’t traveled much, but she imagined there weren’t many places like her hometown. Everything she could possibly want perched on the edge of the Finger Lakes. Ever since Professor Comstock had brought up the possibility of research in India, though, she’d begun to imagine the insects she could study in their natural habitat. Sliding mounted or dissected pieces beneath a microscope surely couldn’t compare to in-person observation.
She huffed. Ridiculous. She couldn’t leave her mother. And fanciful daydreams didn’t make a thing practical. Or even possible.
“Here we are.” Owen opened the Comstocks’ gate and allowed her to precede him around the house to the backyard.
Scattered around the lawn, twenty students sat on blankets in groups. Professor Comstock held court in a wicker chair while Anna and Katie passed out glasses of lemonade.
“Our valedictorian has arrived!”
Professor Comstock waved Nora over, and the knot of students at his feet opened to welcome her. She settled on the blanket, and when Owen sat beside her, she scooted over a few inches. He seemed to have no concept of personal space. She didn’t think he took up more room than necessary on purpose, but it made her uncomfortable, all the same.
“We’re talking about our plans now that school is over,” Thomas Nichols said. “I’ve secured a position with a textbook company in Boston. I heard you’re both trying for the scholarship.”
Curtis Wiggs, who sat beside him, nudged Thomas in the ribs and guffawed.
Professor Comstock scowled at them. “I believe you’re placing bets on who receives it.”
“It’s only a bit of sport, Professor. No harm done.” A silly grin tugged at Thomas’s thin lips when he looked at her. “Odds are on you, Nora.”
Owen snorted beside her, and she ignored him, pleased they considered her the top choice. Wouldn’t that irritate Lucius.
Thomas continued to gaze at her until Professor Comstock coughed, breaking whatever spell had captivated him. Thomas looked at Owen. “We all know it’s going to be one of you two.”
“If I don’t come back, I guess I’m going to law school. That’s my father’s plan for me,” Owen said. He didn’t mention anything about travel or adventure.
“When the scholarship is mine,” Nora said, “I plan to obtain my master’s, then maybe go into teaching. I might even teach at Cornell.”
“Do you think they’ll hire a female teacher, Professor?” Thomas asked.
“One day. Cornell has been inclusive since its beginning. I imagine it will happen sooner than later.” The professor regarded Nora, his forehead puckered and his heavy mustache drooping low beneath his frown. “I’m not sure if you should be the one to break that barrier, though, my dear girl.”
Nora’s mouth fell open. Heat climbed her neck when she realized the entire group had grown quiet and was sending furtive glances in her direction. Owen shifted beside her, closing the gap between them, and his fingers brushed her hand. She withdrew, drawing in tightly. How could Professor Comstock be so unkind? He’d been a reliable source of encouragement and affirmation since her father’s death.
His gaze softened. “Don’t be upset. I only meant that I don’t believe teaching to be a good fit for your skills.”
“But my father was a teacher.”
“And an excellent one. But you . . . I believe you will shine elsewhe
re.”
She swallowed against the lump in her throat. “Where?”
“You need time, Nora. And space. Time to explore and discover and study. Space to think, draw, and create. Teaching would stifle your natural gifts.”
Nora drew her brows together and shook her head. He made her sound like Owen!
When Anna approached and pointed out the table laden with a spread of sandwiches, pickles, fruit, and cakes, Nora leapt to her feet, eager to escape the awkward discussion. The pitying looks of the others. Owen’s too-close and physical sympathy. As she filled a plate with food she knew she wouldn’t be able to eat, she kept her head tucked, not wanting to meet anyone’s eyes.
Settling in the bower of a weeping willow, she picked at her food, hardly tasting anything. Too soon, the branches parted, and Owen joined her.
She pursed her lips and stiffened when he sat on the ground beside her.
“You look so sour, Nora. I’m sure he didn’t mean anything by it. I think you’d be excellent at anything you chose to do.”
“It’s okay that I’m upset. You don’t have to fix it.” She set her plate on the ground and sighed.
He nodded. They looked at each other, and Nora wondered if she should ask him to leave. She wanted to be alone with her disappointment and hurt.
He must have seen it on her face, because he stood. “I guess I’ll go.”
Before he could, though, Professor Comstock stepped through the branches. Nora stifled a groan. How could she process her thoughts surrounded by chatty men?
“I’m glad you’re both”—Professor Comstock looked around the hideaway, delight apparent in his toothy grin—“in here. This is very nice. I’ve never been under this tree.”
Nora pressed a hand to her head while the men discussed the merits of what was supposed to be her quiet refuge from them. Finally they noticed her and grew quiet.
Professor Comstock cleared his throat. “Yes, well, what I wanted to say, Nora, is that I hate to see you isolate your talent to our fair—but tiny—city. I expect you to do great things in our field, and I don’t believe you can do them stuck here.”
“Isn’t becoming the first female professor at Cornell a great enough thing?” Nora asked.
He nodded. “I suppose, but there are greater things waiting for you. Do you recall discussing the possibility of India?”
“I don’t recall discussing the possibility of it.” A cheer went up from the students gathered outside their tree, shouts of “Ice cream!” drawing Owen’s attention for a moment. Nora stood and brushed off her skirt. “I considered it, but after Mother fell, I realized I’m needed at home. With her.”
Professor Comstock rubbed his hands together. “Frederic has lost most of his team to dysentery. He’s desperate for help, and he’s exhausted his pool of entomologists willing to go. He needs to rely on students, and he trusts my judgment. This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity for both of you.” He bounced on the balls of his feet and clapped his hands. “You couldn’t do any better. Just think, in a month you could be collecting your own exotic insects to send back to me.”
Her refuge beneath the tree had grown too tight, bursting with the professor’s excitement and plans. Nora crept toward the swaying curtain of leafy branches. “I plan to join your short trip to Illinois next month with the seniors. It will be enough. And I’d only have to be away from Mother for a couple weeks.”
Professor Comstock shook his head. “Imagine the opportunity. You’d be in India, working with an experienced field researcher. You might even have the opportunity to discover a new species. What do you think that will do for your chances of being offered the scholarship? The position is only six months long, Nora, but he needs you right away.” Using his arm, he swept the drooping branches aside. “Think about it.” He left.
Owen looked from Nora to where Professor Comstock had disappeared and back to Nora again. His eyes glinted, and a slow grin spread across his face. “I don’t have to think about it,” he said. “I’m going.”
Nora couldn’t help but feel he had just issued a challenge.
Chapter
Six
Rose and Bitsy sat, heads together, at the wrought-iron table beneath the arbor in Nora’s backyard. They made a pretty picture—Rose with her blond hair piled into curls beneath a jaunty feathered hat, and Bitsy, not as conventionally pretty as Rose, but with a magnetism that drew people to her. As Nora moved closer, they pulled apart and stared at her with wide eyes. Rose’s even looked wet.
“Whatever is the matter?” Nora asked, rushing to her friend’s side. She tugged a stool around toward Rose, sat down, and took her friend’s hand. “Why are you both here? Has something happened?”
“Oh, Nora!” Rose cried. “Owen told us about India. Are you leaving?”
“Let her explain before you jump to conclusions.” Bitsy arched a brow, then turned to Nora. “India! Just imagine. I had an uncle who was in India with the military. He married an Indian woman, and they had half a dozen children. My family never recovered.” Her sardonic smile told Nora that she was rather proud of her family member’s scandalous behavior.
“I can hardly go to India,” Nora said. “Not with Mother’s illness.”
“Your mother has Lucius.” Bitsy tipped her head. “She’s not your responsibility.”
Rose gasped. “That’s so heartless. Of course Nora feels responsible for her mother. She would never be so selfish.”
“Oh, come now.” Bitsy twirled the pearls circling her wrist. “You must sacrifice your own desires and allow Nora to follow her path.”
Rose pouted. “It’s not selfish to want Nora to remain in Ithaca, safe and surrounded by loved ones.” She withdrew her hand from Nora’s and clasped hers together at her chest. “I promise, Nora, I just want you to be safe. I’m not being selfish.”
“Of course not,” Nora said. She shot a warning look at Bitsy, who only shrugged a delicate shoulder. “Besides, I’m not going to India.”
“Owen is going,” Bitsy said with a twist of her expressive lips.
Owen had made that clear right after Professor Comstock reminded them about the opportunity. He’d rather travel than work for his father over the summer. It fit with his hoped-for adventures. He probably dreamt in Hindi. Or Mandarin or Polish or Russian. Nora felt certain he dreamt of vibrant birds resting in banana trees and sari-clad women smelling of sandalwood. Her face burned.
“Why should it matter if Owen goes?” she asked.
Bitsy shifted her weight toward the front of her chair and leaned against the backrest, one arm draped over it in affected indifference. “I’m sure it won’t matter at all to the trustees when they are ready to choose a scholarship recipient.” She tilted her head. “How will it look when they see Owen went to India . . . and you pursued economic entomology in Illinois’s cornfields?”
Nora stared at her. Was that what Bitsy really thought? That the scholarship could rest on who had the most exciting summer? No, not that. But they would, as Professor Comstock said, look at who had invested the most time and energy in proving their dedication to the science.
Nora buried her head in her hands, and Rose patted her back. “It’ll be okay,” Rose said. “You don’t have to get your master’s. Why, you could get married!”
Bitsy chuckled. “For Nora, that’s not the promise of utopia it is for you. Besides, she’s married to her insects. And nothing would satisfy her greater than thwarting Lucius’s plans for a good match.”
Nora crossed her arms and narrowed her eyes. “It has nothing to do with Lucius. I just can’t think of anything better than insects to commit myself to.”
And she would prove it to the scholarship committee, with or without a trip to India.
On her way out the door the next day, Nora peeked into her mother’s room. Lydia lounged on the floral chaise near the window, a walnut lap desk perched atop her skirt. Sunlight spilled over her, and Nora thought she looked almost healthy.
“Mother, I�
�m heading over to the laboratory. Do you need anything?”
“I’m quite well. See that Alice comes up before you leave. I need to plan the menu for your dinner.” Her expression became animated, and she clapped her hands together. “Oh, Nora, Lucius told me you’ve conceded to allow Mr. Primrose to join us. I’m so glad. Lucius is positive you’ll like him.”
Nora swallowed a groan. She’d forgotten about the dinner and Mr. Primrose. She wouldn’t dream of asking to cancel the party in honor of her graduation—Mother might grow stronger with the joy of planning it—but she couldn’t think of anything she’d rather do less than make polite conversation with her stepfather’s friends and pretend to be satisfied with the thought of settling down and marrying.
“I will let Alice know.” Nora did as her mother asked and then set off for the school.
When she reached the cemetery, she pushed open the rusting gate and picked her way across the grass. She grimaced as she skirted a newly dug grave, the dirt packed down in a mound. Guilt pricked her conscience. She hated that the quickest route from town to school cut through the graveyard, but it was what all the students did. She avoided looking in the direction of her father’s Gothic headstone, increasing her pace as she passed the gravel path that led to it. She never visited his grave. She couldn’t. Couldn’t imagine him, so full of vigor and life, moldering in a casket beneath the ground.
Head down lest she accidentally see the headstone, she hurried toward the road and bumped into someone standing just outside the gate. “I’m so sorry.”
Owen turned and blinked down at her with a crooked grin that turned shy. “Fancy running into you. Or rather, you running into me?”
Nora glanced back at the graveyard and considered running for real. Hiding behind one of the stones. Climbing the oak tree and disappearing within its branches. Of course, she’d probably fall out.
When she looked back at him, his smile had slipped, and she saw exhaustion in the tightness around his eyes and the deep crevice between his brows. His normally parted and pomaded hair fell forward into his face as though he hadn’t taken the time to properly see to his morning toilette. With a flick of his wrist, he swept back his incorrigible cowlick, then stuck his hands into the pockets of his gray plaid trousers.
A Mosaic of Wings Page 6