A Mosaic of Wings

by Kimberly Duffy

  He couldn’t know. No one had been at the falls that day. The only witness was God.

  Lucius gave her a quizzical look. “If she hadn’t had a child, your mother would never have remarried. She adored Alex and knew he couldn’t be replaced, but she also didn’t want you growing up without a father.”

  Nora sucked in a breath and sank back into her chair. She clutched the heavy book with white fingers and rolled her dry lips inward, moistening them. “You were a poor substitute.”

  He lifted his glass in agreement. “I won’t argue that. All I wanted was to see to Lydia’s happiness, and for some reason she believes you are instrumental to keeping her happy.” He picked up the decanter of cognac and poured another glass. “It seems I’ll be the one who most disappoints her, though.”

  His hand shook as he brought the glass to his lips, and Nora wondered if he’d been drinking away their money as well as gambling. She shook her head, not understanding how her mother had thought this sorry man could fill her father’s place.

  She stood again, wanting nothing more than to shed the pins pricking her scalp and the day’s heartache. To climb into bed. Hopefully her dreams would give her a measure of escape.

  Lucius held up a finger, indicating his desire that she stay. She sighed and waited.

  “She will soon know how I’ve hurt her. Everyone will know. I’ve done something I promised her I wouldn’t, and there is no way of hiding it from her anymore.” He swirled his glass, the alcohol capturing his attention. His words came from very far away, as though he’d disassociated himself from them. “Do you know Mr. Primrose is headed to Long Island? He’s part of my sister’s social circle. There still might be a chance you can recover what you lost. What I lost.” His eyes snapped up from the glass and caught her gaze.

  “I’ve lost my chance at everything I’ve ever wanted professionally. I’m not willing to lose my personal life so you can escape the consequences of your poor decisions. I know you’ve gambled, Lucius, and lost our house.” Rancor filled Nora’s mouth with bitterness. This was her home. Her parents’ home. Lucius had only been a guest—an unwelcome one—and he’d managed to steal it from them. She wasn’t going to let him steal anything else that belonged to her, and her choice of a husband might very well be all she had left.

  Lucius frowned but didn’t question how she’d come into that knowledge. His eyes held only resignation. He took another sip of cognac. “If only that were it, Nora, but there are some things worth more than a house. And I’ve managed to lose it all.”

  Nora had only met Martha Farnesworth, Lucius’s sister, once—at Mother’s wedding. Soon after that, Martha’s husband, a prominent Long Island doctor, fell ill, and Martha spent all her time caring for him.

  Which was why Nora stood confused, hand on the front door, blinking at the imposing woman who smiled at her from beneath the brim of a wide hat.

  Martha pulled Nora into her ample bosom. “It’s so nice to see you again! My, you’ve grown.”

  “Aunt, you’ve come,” Nora said blankly. She pulled back and glanced behind Martha at the carriage but saw no one but the driver standing beside a large trunk. “Where is your husband?”

  Martha’s smile slipped, but just a little. “Poor Frank. He died two weeks ago.”

  Nora stared. “We had no word.”

  Martha waved a hand as if to say not to worry and lifted two small cases from the porch. She bustled inside past Nora. “I sat down to write after the funeral but then thought, Why not just visit? I haven’t seen you since the wedding, and I had a letter from your mother”—Martha turned, and her voice dropped to a whisper—“which led me to believe all is not well.”

  Nora held the door open for the driver, who had hoisted the trunk onto his shoulders. He stomped his feet before entering the house, then followed Martha into the hall. “Where should I take this, ma’am?”

  Martha looked at her in expectation, and Nora inhaled, trying to center herself in the whirlwind of her aunt’s arrival. “The guest room is at the top of the stairs, third on the right.”

  The driver followed her directions, and Martha removed her hat. “Well, where is my brother?”

  “He and Mother are in the back garden.”

  Nora led Martha through the house and out the back door. Lucius walked the gravel paths of the rose garden, Mother’s hand in the crook of his arm. Nora had encouraged her mother to go outside, the weather today being much milder than mid-November normally produced. It couldn’t be healthy, staying inside all day, inactive and closed off from the world.

  Martha marched across the lawn, her stiff skirts flapping with every step. Nora followed her.

  Lucius halted, his eyes growing wide when he saw Martha. “Sister?”

  “I have come to set things right.” Martha planted a kiss on his forehead, then patted his cheek as one might a child.

  “Set things right?” Lucius plucked at Mother’s sleeve, sending her a hesitant smile that didn’t reach his eyes.

  Martha planted her hands on her hips and rooted herself to the spot. An immovable boulder standing in the face of poor management and disorder.

  Nora quite liked her.

  “I am under the impression,” Martha said, “that there are some concerning problems afoot. You didn’t tell me you’d lost your position.”

  Lucius’s eyes shot to Nora, and he pulled his lips back, revealing a grimace of large, straight teeth. “Why must you involve yourself in things that don’t concern you?”

  Nora held up her hands. “I had nothing to do with this.”

  She had never heard anyone speak to Lucius the way Martha did—a no-nonsense tone that caused Lucius’s mouth to snap closed. “Leave that poor girl alone. She did nothing wrong. Lydia wrote to me and hinted at trouble.”

  Lucius looked at Mother with a wounded expression. She dropped her eyes to the ground, and her chin quivered.

  “Where is your husband?” Lucius asked, turning back to his sister.

  “In his grave, and it’s about time.” Martha huffed. “That stubborn man refused to die when the good Lord called for him.”

  Lucius sputtered. “Martha!”

  The corners of his sister’s lips turned up for just a moment, as though she knew her words were shocking and she reveled in her ability to ruffle Lucius’s sense of decorum.

  Goodness, Nora really liked her.

  “Lucius,” Martha continued, “the man was ill in bed for five years. Five years of fetching things for him, reading to him from his dreary medical books, listening to him complain and whine. He was a terrible husband when he was well. Unbearable when he was ill. The only consolation was that he couldn’t raise his hand against me for weakness.”

  An unnatural quiet descended on the garden. Of course, spousal abuse wasn’t rare, but no one talked about it. For Martha to divulge the ugliness of it in the light of day, so unvarnished, seemed ill-bred. Why, though, Nora didn’t know. Why shouldn’t people discuss it? Maybe abuse happened because the secrecy allowed it to flourish.

  Nora touched Martha’s arm. She didn’t offer pity because her aunt didn’t seem like the type of woman to take kindly to that, but she hoped her touch offered understanding. Solidarity.

  “I didn’t know,” Lucius said, his words abnormally gentle and soft.

  Martha patted Nora’s hand. “It is done. Now, why don’t you have tea made for me, Lucius? I’m quite famished.”

  She turned toward the house, and that was when Nora saw it. The green-and-yellow ribbon pinned to the lapel of Martha’s fine woolen cape. “You’re a suffragette!”

  Lucius coughed and choked, his face draining of color. “Please tell me you’re not.” He looked so horrified, Nora didn’t know whether to gloat or pity him.

  Martha fingered the ribbon and said with a self-satisfied smile, “Of course I am. I joined the day after Frank died. It is my new mission to fight for women’s rights—both civic and personal. If there is one thing Frank taught me, it’s that women nee
d to rise up and stand against injustice.”

  “I’ve learned,” Nora said, “that when women do that, we suffer tremendously.”

  Martha threw back her shoulders and raised her head. Nora couldn’t help but compare her to her mother, who seemed drawn into herself, probably still worried that she’d overstepped in writing to Martha about their problems. Martha—vibrant, stout, and forthright—wasn’t worried about offending.

  “The suffering is worth it if we’ve caused change.” Martha eyed Lucius. “Don’t you agree?”

  Something passed between them—a secret understanding—that caused conflicting emotions to cross Lucius’s face. He stiffened beside Mother and wrapped his arm around her—hiding her within the safety of his bulk—as though trying to shield her from whatever he and Martha knew. He turned to her and said, “Darling, I believe you’ve spent enough time outdoors.”

  Lydia didn’t question him. She pressed a kiss to his hand and hurried toward the house.

  “It is a good thing you came,” he said after she’d disappeared inside. “I’ve been meaning to contact you about a situation that has left us unable to remain here in Ithaca.”

  Not live in Ithaca? Nora knew he’d lost the house, but there were other, smaller houses. Why did they have to leave?

  Lucius didn’t meet Nora’s eyes. He gazed at his sister as though she were a lifeline. “I have heavily mortgaged the house. In order to pay my debts, I’ve been forced to make difficult decisions. I’ve done the best I could.”

  Nora forced her frozen lips open and formed words she didn’t want the answer to. “What have you done?”

  He ignored her, instead speaking to his sister, as though Nora didn’t deserve an explanation for why he’d destroyed the life her father had worked so hard to create. “We will need somewhere to stay until I’m able to secure a new position in a different town. And moving will incur expenses I’m currently unable to support.”

  “What have you done, Lucius?” Nora’s breathing grew shallow, and the cold air, which only a moment ago had felt brisk and refreshing, paralyzed her lips. Unable to form any more words, she wrapped her arms around herself and rocked.

  She knew about the house and the money. Knew he’d sabotaged her chances for the scholarship. But he’d said there was something else, something that would break Lydia’s heart. And the only thing Nora could think of was his losing the one thing she wanted most in the world.

  “I have significant debts, outside of the house, which must be paid.”

  “From gambling!” Nora’s accusation hung between them, full of vitriol and years of contempt. “You gambled my father’s money and house. You’ve ruined everything.”

  Martha sighed, and it contained more than just disappointment over her brother’s actions. “I expected more from you, after everything I sacrificed to give you a better life. I thought you’d learned from Father’s example. What have you done?”

  Lucius pressed his white lips together, and his jaw went rigid. He turned on Nora, and his words, spilling over with accusation, hit their mark. “This is your fault. You ruined our chance when you insulted Primrose. If you had kept your mouth shut, I wouldn’t have had to sell the journal.”

  Her limbs stiffened, and she repeated his words, not sure she believed she’d heard correctly. “You sold it?”

  “It isn’t final, but it’s practically done. There’s no going back on it.”

  Nora threw her head back and stared at the sky, her gaze tracking a formation of geese flying south. She swallowed hard, wishing she could sprout wings and join them. Escape the terrible knowledge that she’d never have the chance to save her father’s journal. That she’d never have the chance to prove she was worth his belief in her. To make up for her part in his death.

  “Your impulsive words destroyed my chance to keep it going.” Lucius’s words this time held less confidence. They were devastating in their blow, but the effect was minimized by his shaking voice.

  Martha drew Nora close, the weight of her arm offering comfort. “Do not accuse the child. This is your fault, just as surely as our predicament when Father died was his.”

  Lucius ignored her chastisement. “Whoever’s fault it is, the journal is as good as gone. And I can’t say I’m upset. The only reason I kept it going as long as I did was because I promised Lydia I’d hold on to it until Nora was old enough to take over. It generated little income and used too much of my time.”

  “But you didn’t honor that,” Nora said. “You broke your word. The journal was mine.” Why had her mother never told her it was meant for her the whole time? “Why didn’t you turn it over to me when I asked you months ago? You knew I wanted it.”

  “I needed to pay off my debts. Threats were being made. I hoped turning it into a commission publication would make money, but it was too late. I needed to sell. At least I turned a small profit on it.”

  “You said I could have it if I proved myself and finished my education.”

  “And you met my expectations. I wouldn’t have made you that offer if I believed you capable of attaining it. I mainly wanted you out of my house.”

  “Father’s house, you mean. The journal was self-supporting until you ruined it. I could have helped you turn a profit.”

  “Like I said, I had debts that needed to be paid. After I lost my teaching position, that was the only money coming in. I tried extending credit with the printer, but you know how that went.”

  “There are other printers!”

  Lucius turned his back on them and walked away, showing as much care for her grief as he’d shown to the promise he’d made her mother.

  Nora looked at Martha, gleaning a measure of comfort from her stalwart presence. “There are other printers in town.”

  Martha shook her head. “Not for someone known to be a gambler. I doubt any of them would have offered him credit.”

  Nora’s eyes watered, and she blinked to clear them. It had all been for nothing. Going to India, trying for the scholarship, choosing the journal over Owen and refusing his proposal.

  “It wasn’t his to lose.”

  Chapter

  Twenty-Eight

  Martha guided Nora toward the house. The stiff brown grass crunched beneath their boots. “Do show poor Lucius some grace.”

  Nora pressed her lips together. “He has made a series of terrible choices that have indebted my family and destroyed my father’s legacy. My mother isn’t well. What do you suppose this will do to her?”

  Martha tucked Nora’s hand into the crook of her elbow as they entered the parlor. Nora usually loved this room, with its jasper-colored anthemion paper, floor-to-ceiling windows, and ornate moldings, but a shadow had been cast over her home. It no longer belonged to them.

  After Martha had settled Nora into a chair, she sat opposite her. “You had the benefit of a wonderful father during your formative years. Lucius wasn’t so lucky.”

  Lucius never spoke of his family—except for Martha—and Nora knew nothing about his parents, except that they had died years ago. She realized she’d never thought to ask him about his childhood.

  Her aunt twisted the lace at her wrists and sighed so deeply, her generous bosom rose. “Our father, too, gave in to the scourge of gambling. He was a lawyer by trade, the son of a lawyer, and had never experienced need or want. When he married my mother, who was beneath him in class and education, his parents disinherited him. He died when Lucius was sixteen and I was eighteen. We were left penniless.”

  Compassion pricked Nora’s heart, an emotion that, when directed toward Lucius, felt wholly unfamiliar. She shifted in her seat, and the beginnings of empathy soured her stomach.

  “What could my mother—the daughter of a blacksmith—do? She’d always been beautiful—I take after my father.” Martha chuckled. “Men . . . wanted her. So she did what she had to do in order to take care of her children.”

  An ache burned the back of Nora’s throat, and she saw Sita’s beautiful face. Such differen
t stories, but they could have had the same outcome. How terrible for Lucius, watching his mother debase herself.

  She looked down at her lap. A year ago, she might have judged his mother harshly, but she’d learned that life could be very hard. “She must have loved you very much.”

  “She did,” Martha said, her words soft and ripe with untold stories.

  Heavy steps brought Lucius into the room. “She may have loved us, but she made us a target for derision and acrimony. It would have been better had we starved.”

  Nora frowned. “You can’t possibly mean that.”

  He stood in front of her, his barrel chest and crossed arms meant to intimidate. “I do mean it. Women, when given a chance, will always stumble toward sin and depravity. My mother could have found a different way, but she did what was easy. Expedient.”

  Martha huffed and drew herself up so that she matched Lucius’s stance. “Much like you, it seems. Gambling instead of taking better care of your finances. Expedient, indeed.”

  He grunted as though Martha had hit him in the middle. “You’ve changed since your husband died. Every woman needs a man to keep her on a straight path so that her emotions don’t consume her good sense.”

  “Nonsense. I married a terrible man so you might have a future.” Martha turned flashing eyes toward Nora. “For all my husband’s cruelty, he did send Lucius to school, and I’ll never regret my choice for that reason alone. But I will not marry again.” She tipped her chin at Nora. “Lucius, you have a bright, sensible young woman sitting in the middle of your parlor.”

  He didn’t even glance in Nora’s direction. “She is the epitome of unsexed behavior and an overreliance on emotion. Her conduct in India showed an extreme lack of logic.”

  “How do you know what happened in India?” Nora demanded.

  Lucius did look at her then—though she imagined he didn’t see her—and a proud smile pulled his mouth into a caricature. “You received a letter from someone named Jeffrey Steed. I knew you were hiding something, so I took it upon myself to read it. He mentioned how foolish it was that you interfered in local matters and went on to recount your responsibility in having the camp burned down. After you left, the rest of the team was run out of India. They did have enough work to keep their commitment, though. Does that make you feel better about your stupidity?”