by Amy Brill
She’d never formally answered his proposal, and as her remaining banknotes diminished with no word about the Prize and no letters from Isaac, the idea of aligning her fate with George’s had become more difficult to dismiss. She still hadn’t settled on a decision, but she meant to bring it up when the moment seemed right. Perhaps he had some new insight that would help crystallize the decision for both of them. She couldn’t very well marry him unless he knew that she had no romantic feelings for him, and accepted that arrangement as mutually beneficial in some way; but she didn’t want to hurt his feelings, or his chances to find a true match. Then again, weren’t there some marriages that began as friendships but blossomed into love over time? Should she not be open to such a possibility in this case?
But the idea made her queasy, not because George was awful, but because he was not Isaac Martin, and feeling what she felt for Isaac for anyone else was impossible. Still, she spent a good portion of the trip trying to reason herself into or out of just such a decision.
The carriage ticked to a halt in front of the observatory before she could arrive at a conclusion, and the instant it stopped George himself flung open the door.
“My famous friend,” he said, making a little bow. Hannah laughed and took his arm as she stepped down and stretched her neck. The sight of his familiar tousled hair and pale face was comforting. She squeezed his elbow, hoping he wouldn’t notice her blush and read anything into it.
“My loyal supporter,” she answered. “Without your help I’m sure I’d still be hidden away in my garret, counting transits and teaching schoolchildren. Wait— I am still counting transits! And I’m sure I’ll be teaching again sooner or later, since no other occupation has made itself apparent.”
“Bah,” he said, taking the valise her driver handed down. “We’ll have you set up in no time, I’m certain. Meanwhile, you’re here and there’s plenty to discuss.”
“Your sun is eternally shining,” Hannah said, hitching up her skirts and following him inside. “It’s amazing you’re able to observe anything. Ah, but here’s your secret.”
She stopped at the foot of the giant telescope, which loomed like an ogre, and laid her hand upon it. She wished she could put her cheek on the cool, polished tube.
“I might have some other tricks up my sleeve,” George said from the doorway.
“I thought you’d shown your hand,” Hannah called, meaning to tease him as always, then realizing that, in light of his proposal, her words had a double meaning. She drew a breath to broach the subject and tried to order her thoughts, but they were as sticky and tangled as wet clothes in a basket.
“Touché,” he said. He came and stood beside her, grinning like a schoolboy up to no good. “But speaking of my hand . . . since you were honest enough to point me toward the possibility of—what was it you called it? A ‘true match’?—the almost unthinkable has occurred.”
“You’ve dedicated yourself to the pursuit of astronomical progress to the exclusion of all else?” Hannah said, wondering what he could be getting at.
“Well, not quite, though my father would certainly be forever indebted to you were it to be so. Rather, I’ve found myself . . . that is . . . well . . .” He put her valise down, fumbling with the handle, and his bravado seemed to dissolve. Hannah wondered if he was having some kind of attack, or if he was about to repeat his proposal, or announce that he was moving to Nantucket to prove his affection. She took a small step back, trying to prepare a response.
“There’s a lady,” he blurted.
Hannah blinked, too stunned to respond, and George found his voice again and leapt into the silence.
“She was visiting her brother, who was a student here these past years—quite a good student, actually, and not so full of hot air as his classmates, but I’d not taken notice of him much until he brought her along to observe an occultation—and, well, the family lives just south of here, and we’ve been corresponding. She’s quite interesting, actually. Phenomenal at the piano, though that’s incidental, of course; she’s actually an accomplished botanist: knows more about flora and fauna than anyone I’ve met, and she’s cultivated a greenhouse that’s not to be believed.”
He’s in love, Hannah thought, watching his eyes flash and his hands dance in the air as he went on about the lady’s ability to divine one green thing from another. She smiled, though her chest tightened with a sharp sadness that felt like the snap of a twig. In an instant, the door that led to a life with George had closed, and though she hadn’t wanted to pass through it, she was stung.
She put her hand on her friend’s arm.
“She’s truly lucky, George.”
He tilted his head and studied her face, and she didn’t look away.
“Did I . . . I mean, were you . . . You never answered me so I assumed—”
She shook her head.
“You acted with perfect courtesy. Beyond courtesy. It was I who delayed in responding, even though I knew that in the interest of both our sanity and happiness, we’d do best to remain the closest of friends.”
George slumped with relief but kept his hand on her arm. His voice had a quiet sincerity she had rarely heard.
“I’ve always wanted only your happiness.”
“As I wish for yours,” she said, leaning in to put her free hand atop his. Hannah savored the sweetness of the moment, even as a final spark of doubt flared. Had she been mistaken in not accepting George? But she knew the answer.
“Well.” George straightened up and they extracted their hands at the same time, like children caught sneaking cookies. “We had another visitor recently that will be of interest to you. He had to be off, but consented that we share a certain piece of news with you.”
He reached down and gripped her valise again, turning toward the hall that led to his father’s office. At one time she would have snatched it from him, insisting it made no sense for him to struggle. Now she understood that he might want to carry it anyway. Not everything had to make perfect sense.
“Hannah Price, welcome, welcome. We couldn’t be prouder if you were our own daughter,” the senior Bond gushed as George held the door open for Hannah. Embarrassed, she ducked into the small room. Its familiar jumble of tools and lenses, chronometers and sighting tubes, reminded Hannah of his old shop.
“Thank you, William. I hope I can live up to such praise.”
Warmed by his affection, Hannah sank into one of the chairs, shifting to avoid the springs. William spared no expense on instruments, but everything in his study was about to fall apart.
“How is your father faring in Philadelphia, then?” William asked, settling in the chair next to her while George perched on the desk.
“Well, I believe,” she said, pausing to consider. “I haven’t had much detail. We’ve rather been corresponding about my finding, and what it means, if it means anything at all. He mentioned that you’d asked the President of the College to post a note on my behalf to the Astronomer Royal in London.” She tilted her head at William. “Can it be true?”
“Of course it’s true!” William reached over to cuff her on the shoulder, then checked himself and gave her an awkward pat on the arm instead. “You’re far too humble for your own good, Hannah.”
“It’s not humility at all! It’s practicality. The likelihood of my having seen that comet, in that location, before anyone in the entire world, is— mathematically speaking—extraordinarily thin. Surely you agree.”
William and George exchanged a look, and then George said, “May I?”
His father nodded, and the younger Bond shifted his body to face Hannah.
“What would you say the probability is? Of your priority, I mean.”
“I’ve not calculated it, George.”
“Guess.”
“I won’t.”
“Humor me.”
Hannah refrained from rolling her eyes but sighed loudly.
“One in a million?”
“Well, then you’re exceedingl
y lucky. We, of course, realize that your discovery was a result of your unflagging diligence and magnificent eyesight.”
“Get on with it, George,” William said.
“Right. Hannah, your priority has been confirmed by London. Comet Price is officially yours. Rome thought it was their prize, as one of their own saw it two days after you—but once we submitted your claim and explained the circumstances, etc., they decided in your favor.”
Hannah gripped the worn upholstery of the chair arms, feeling the fabric under her fingers, engulfed by the warm air of the room. It smelled like tobacco and ink; there was a metallic twinge of something ignited and then snuffed out. George’s words dropped through her and disappeared into an invisible hollow.
“You’re certain?” she asked.
Father and son laughed in unison; Hannah felt as if she were spinning gently, like a leaf in a current.
“Everyone is certain, Hannah,” George said. “Except you, apparently.”
“I don’t know what to say.” She glanced up at her old friend, as if he could tell her what she was supposed to do now that everything she’d worked and hoped for had come to fruition. But he only reached across the space between them and took her hand. Tears sprang to Hannah’s eyes. She’d been carrying the weight of her ambition for so long that setting it down made her feel unmoored.
She let go of George’s hand and stood up, then sat down again.
“What do I do now?” She looked from William to his son and back.
“Whatever you wish, my dear.”
“Well . . . I still need to earn a living.” Before she could contemplate how she might translate her priority into some kind of income, George burst out laughing.
“True!”
He seemed so delighted that Hannah wondered if he’d misunderstood her.
“That brings us back to the topic of our guest,” he said, hopping to his feet like a sparrow. “Our other piece of news.”
“Did you mention Dr. Bache’s offer to Hannah?” William asked.
“Father! I wanted to tell her.”
William sighed and shook his head.
“It’s not a parlor game, George.” The elder Bond turned toward Hannah. “Dr. Bache has taken on oversight of the Depot of Charts and Instruments. Including the Nautical Almanac.”
“And?” Hannah tried not to imagine anything. The chance was so slim. But hope gripped her ribs and squeezed.
“We were speaking of your superb mathematical skills, and of course of your recent discovery, and he expressed his desire to contract you as a computer. I think he said he needed someone to do the tables for Venus. Is that right, George?”
“Quite right.” George seemed to be resisting the urge to pout.
“Washington wants to hire me as a computer?” she repeated, knowing that she sounded doltish, but unable to overcome her disbelief and say anything smart.
“Starting immediately. He said, if you were amenable, to write a note straightaway and he’d send the terms, et cetera. It’s not much money, I’m afraid, but I don’t have to tell you that it’s a prestigious appointment. To say the least.”
Hannah stared at George. Her priority confirmed; an income that would at least buoy her position if not keep her permanently afloat. She could stay on Nantucket, even without her father’s support. And Comet Price would be recorded and reported for all time, blazing through the Heavens, bearing her name like a bright beacon. These were the facts. Yet she felt numb.
“Aren’t you happy?”
George’s eyes were full of concern.
“Yes,” she said. “I’m very happy.”
“You don’t look it.”
“I’m certain a sufficient display of emotion is imminent,” she muttered. He was right: she should be floating off her chair. But the victory felt shallow. The Bonds were like family, but they weren’t family. Hannah ached for her father, for Edward. They should be here with her. In the next instant she thought of Isaac’s wonderful eyes, the warmth of his body, the comfort of his faith. She wished, above all, that she could savor this moment with him.
She shook her head to rid it of longing. Had she not spent the last few years trying to unbind herself from the strictures placed upon her by men? Yet her shining moment paled without their validation. It was a weak showing at best. Surely she owed herself a bit more enthusiasm.
Energized, she hopped to her feet beside George.
“All right. What now?”
“That’s better,” George said. “We’ve arranged a viewing party. You’re to become a part of history twice in one day.”
“We’re to crack open the Heavens, dear,” William whispered, leaning toward her. “Today we shall finally see if our Great Refractor was worth its trouble and expense!”
Five hours later, Hannah stood in a hushed semicircle of important men. Edward Everett, the President of Harvard College, was to her right; to her left stood Dr. Asa Gray, the Secretary of the American Association of Arts and Sciences, and Professor Joseph Henry of the National Institute. Even Mr. Whittle, the haughty observatory assistant George had introduced her to earlier that evening, looked suitably grave. Hannah suppressed a rare urge to giggle at the absurdity of her own presence at such a seminal event, and put her hands at her sides, then behind her back. Lamplight flickered on the somber faces of the men as they gazed up at the open dome and the sky beyond.
It was a liquid midnight, the moon bright as a silver fish in a dark sea. William had ascended the throne-like observing chair, and shouted directions to George, who was up on a pedestal at the foot of the mount.
Hannah heard William gasp as he leaned into the monolithic instrument. Two minutes later, he descended as if dazed and then swept his arms up toward the sky.
“Gentlemen! And lady! The Great Refractor is hereby in service.” Then he swiveled toward Hannah.
“Might I suggest that the lady astronomer be the first to ascend the throne of progress?” he said quietly.
All those present nodded in agreement.
Flushed and unnerved, she took William’s hand and allowed him to guide her onto the first step. There she paused, but tugged her elbow free, and took the rest of the steps on her own, blood drumming in her ears and palms so slick she had to wipe them on her skirt for fear of harming the instrument. Below her, the pale crescent faces of the assembly peered skyward.
She leaned into the lens.
24 June, 1846. Cambridge, Mass. Tonight a slice of the Universe was offered to me, and I devoured that part of the Heavens that had been apportioned me with a rabid hunger. I was given the Moon; I have looked upon her with a clarity and closeness I never imagined possible. It was magnificent, seen through the great telescope at Cambridge, its luminosity pocked by shadow from the mountains and craters. I imagined that I could feel its power working upon my very blood, pulling me like a tide, great and fearful; and thoughts of tides led me to thoughts of Isaac. How he would be moved by its beauty, and how much better he would be able to describe it, in his language or mine.
I’m to be assigned a job computing the tables of Venus for our nautical almanac. I fear the contract speaks more to the influence of the Bonds than my own mathematical prowess—the ink is barely dry on the publication of “my” comet’s orbit. I cannot as yet write of it without that coy punctuation, in spite of the confirmation. It is Comet Price that shall be recorded.
Dr. Henry from the forthcoming Smithsonian Institute came to supper with us on my final day at Cambridge and said he’s certain I’ll be awarded the King of Denmark’s prize. All of which suggests that I might remain on Nantucket after all until the end of my days. Yet I still feel as if there are two Islands: the one Before—before the comet, before Isaac— and the one After. And they are not the same.
I imagine him upon the deck of the Pearl, lit by the same Moon with which I am now intimately familiar. This thought soothes me as I prepare to sleep.
. 27 . Recognizable objects
By the flickering light of
a candle, Hannah examined her reflection: with her dark hair flowing loose around her face, the taut geometry of her cheekbones and jaw was softer, making her look less severe. More womanly, she thought. She squinted at the tiny lines etched into her forehead. They seemed to have expanded, like a root system. Maybe the candlelight made her look older. Or maybe twenty-seven was old. It was certainly close enough to thirty. In spite of a few grey hairs, though, and the lines in her face, she felt clearer than she had in years, and even she could see that her eyes seemed brighter than they once had, as if the intensity of her work now lit them from within.
She glanced over at her medal, which she’d hung on a peg right beside the mirror. It had only recently arrived, a full three months after she’d learned it would indeed be hers. The gold gleamed in the orange candlelight. The disc was the circumference of a crab apple; she stared at her name, which was inscribed on the front, then reached out and flipped it over.
Not in vain do we watch the setting and rising of the stars. Every time she looked at the sentence, her mind hovered and lingered on the same word: we. It had once seemed as impossible as a hailstorm of diamonds, yet here it was, inscribed in gold. And in ink: notices of her priority had made their way into newspapers up and down the eastern seaboard, resulting in a swell of sudden interest in her company.
You’ ll hardly believe that your famously unsocial twin has become something of a “celebrity,” she’d written to Edward. I’ve four invitations a week to dine here or there, speak at this or that function, or attend this or that lecture. I’m certain this will delight Mary, but I find it exhausting to even try and decide what to do, much less to do it. I’ve had to hire Millicent Rotch as an assistant, which might be the smartest thing I’ve done in years. Though her mother won’t speak to me and now I have to go elsewhere to buy bread. It’s a small price to pay for Millicent’s help and company, though. Poor Mrs. Riddell has had to assign me an entire cupboard for the mail! As you can imagine she was less than happy about it. A girl wrote to me from California, and another from England; mostly the letters are from ladies in New England, telling me about their own observations. I admit that I quite enjoy reading them, even if I haven’t the time to answer every one. It seems I’ve unwittingly inspired hundreds of members of my Sex—from schoolgirls to wives to widows—to take up their telescopes with due diligence, in hopes of spotting a wanderer of their own. Taken all together, it’s quite unbelievable—and wonderful—if timeconsuming.
