A Mosaic of Wings
Page 2
Nora shook her head. “That’s what he said, but why? Mother’s inheritance will last years.”
Professor Comstock ducked, but not before Nora saw dismay in his narrowed eyes.
“What is it?”
“It’s nothing. Just speculation and rumors.” He patted her hand. “Even if Lucius does ruin the journal, you have other talents. You’d be a wonderful researcher. And India beckons. Imagine the insects you could collect there.”
“If Lucius insists I meet this Mr. Primrose he’s always going on about, I might have to go to India just to escape.” She swiveled toward the table and rested her chin in her hand. “No, I mostly want the journal. It’s all I have left of my father. I’m not ready to let it go, and I think he’d be proud of me if I saved it. Helped keep it alive.”
“You made him proud the first time you caught a Lampyridae. He was thrilled when you mounted your first coccinellid. You inherited his passion for nature and insects, and he loved that.”
Nora heard his words and recognized the truth in them. But a child’s interest in lightning bugs and ladybird beetles wasn’t going to save her father’s legacy. His journal could be around for decades, and people would know her father’s name and work. Even in death, he could claim recognition. And she would do anything to make that happen.
A light rap sounded at the door, and the tapping of heels against the wood floor followed. Anna Comstock entered the room, her stride efficient and her expression serene. Nora stood and smiled at her mentor, glad to put her attention on something other than the web of thoughts spinning in her mind. “Anna! I didn’t think I’d see you until our session on Thursday.”
Anna smiled, full of warmth and quiet joy. “I’m glad you refuse to admit you’ve surpassed your teacher’s skill and still want art lessons.”
Nora laughed. “That will never be true. And I wouldn’t admit it anyway.”
“Excellent. After my wood-engraving class, I’ll have something new to share with you. The teacher need only be one step ahead of the student.” Anna turned to her husband. “President White wants to see you in his office.”
“Of course,” he said. “Nora, if you have some time, would you mind mounting a few of my Apis mellifera? They’re already prepared.” He motioned toward the long table in the middle of the room, and Nora saw a trio of kill jars, a fuzzy yellow-and-black honeybee in each one.
She nodded, and when they left, she closed her eyes, inhaling the musty scent of books, solvents, and memories. The sun spilling through the bank of windows warmed her face, and for a moment, here in this place she loved, things didn’t seem as awful as they had that morning.
If only she could spend the rest of her life in the laboratory.
Chapter
Two
Nora gathered tools from the large, glass-fronted cabinet at the far end of the lab, then grabbed a stack of cork mounting boards on her way back to the table. A moment after she settled into her chair, just as she’d lifted one of the bees with a pair of small tweezers, the door slammed open.
With a yelp, she dropped the insect. It bounced before settling into a gouge created long ago by a student bored with a lecture.
“So sorry, Nora.” Rose Keller rushed across the room in a rustle of skirts. “I didn’t mean to enter so loudly. My mother would be horrified. But that door is just so heavy.”
“It’s fine. I was only surprised.” She nodded at the bee lying on its side.
Rose scooped it into her hand. “How lovely. I just adore honeybees.”
Nora used the tweezers to pluck the insect from Rose’s cupped palm. She placed it on the mounting board, careful to display it in a way that showed off its fuzzy thorax and the spread of its wings.
“Let Nora finish her work, Rose,” Bitsy Templeton said, gliding across the room without a sound. Her words were draped in a cultured English accent and spoken in an even tone, so different from Rose’s rapid and breathless speech.
Pulling a pin from the box beside the board, Nora worked it just left of center of the honeybee’s middle. She finished the next two in the same manner while Bitsy watched from across the table, her wide mouth relaxed and a placid expression in her blue eyes. Rose inched ever closer as Nora worked, shiny blond curls framing her sweet face, and just as she seemed about to tip over, Nora straightened and put a hand to her lower back.
“All done.”
Rose sank onto the stool beside Nora and sighed, as though holding her words in had proved too difficult a task. “We were hoping to find you here. Bitsy wondered if we should walk to your house, but I reminded her that it was Tuesday, and why would you be at home when Professor Comstock is in his lab, doing whatever he does? I know you prefer to spend your time helping him.”
“Indeed. Where else would I want to be? Does that make me peculiar?”
The girls laughed. They’d heard other students whispering about them as they climbed the ranks in their classes, made honors, and out-tested their classmates. Someone began calling them Peculiar, Percipient, and Phenomenon. Nora knew the names were probably meant as an insult, and she didn’t know who was who, but she rather liked them. They fit.
“You’re right, though. This has become my second home.”
Bitsy gave Nora a shrewd look. “Because you love being here, or because you hate being at home?”
Rose covered her mouth with her fingers. “Bitsy! What an awful thing to say.”
Bitsy raised a brow, but the movement did little to break her stoic expression. “It’s not awful if it’s true.”
Rose’s fingers tapped their way across the table until they met Nora’s. “You don’t have to answer Bitsy’s question.”
“Don’t be so dull, Rose. Interesting things lie in what people don’t want to say.”
Nora looked between the two of them and shook her head. She couldn’t have made two such disparate friends if she’d set out to. She imagined most things seemed dull to Bitsy, with her staggering intellect and capacity to remember anything she’d read or heard. Rose was smart in a different way. Her mind worked like a hummingbird, always flitting to the next thing. Rapidly absorbing her lessons, she retained only that which interested her—mainly in the subject of zoology.
“I don’t mind answering,” Nora said. Bitsy inclined her head, a self-satisfied smirk curving her beautiful lips. Even Rose sat up straighter and looked more interested. “I prefer the laboratory because everything I love is here.” She spread her arms wide, encompassing the tables and insect display and scientific tools of their trade. “My insects, my teachers, my friends, the opportunity to learn and discover. . . . But more than that, I feel my father here. Hovering over me, guiding me, teaching me. And he’s no longer at home.”
They grew quiet; even their breathing slowed.
Then Rose, never comfortable with prolonged silences, jumped to her feet. “Enough of this. If you’re done with your bees, Nora, I suggest we go for a row on the inlet. The rain has stopped, and the day is perfect for it.”
Nora sent a longing glance at the now-mounted bees. She’d rather spend the afternoon with her insects.
Rose bounced on her soles before grabbing the front of her floral-sprigged skirt and darting toward the door. Nora bit the inside of her cheek to stem a laugh. Rose’s enthusiasm couldn’t be contained, and Nora knew she wouldn’t be allowed to hide in the lab. No matter how much peace she found there.
The little white rowboat smelled of fish, but the sun sent dappled light through the tall oak trees, creating flickering patterns on the water of the Cayuga Inlet.
Nora’s breathing slowed to match the whispering breeze. Bitsy steered the boat around a pebbly beach, and Nora ducked beneath the branches of a Juneberry tree. As they slipped forward, she reached up and snapped a twig from a branch. “This was a perfect suggestion, Rose. I needed to get out and enjoy myself.”
Bitsy wiped her forehead with the back of her hand and shoved the oars into the water. “Why don’t you take a turn rowing, Nora? M
y arms are about to fall off.”
“Do stop complaining. You’re ruining the quiet,” Rose called over Nora’s head from where she sat in the bow.
A damselfly flew nearby, and out of habit, Nora reached for it, waiting to see if it would land on her finger. It had only happened once, when she had been about eight. Her father had told her damselflies represented change, and when one visited, you should expect a shift in perspective. The damselfly’s wings beat the air, and the light movement brushed her hand. She held her breath. Hoping.
She needed a change in perspective. She needed a change, period. The animosity at home sent her outside so often, she sometimes wondered if she should burrow into a hollow tree and make a den like a fox. She didn’t think her mother would miss her. Lucius would help her dig.
The insect’s luminous cobalt body trembled and darted away. Nora sighed, dropping her hand to the peeling wooden seat. She fiddled with the twig before tossing it into the water. “If you pull off, we can rest, and then I’ll row back home.”
Nora’s comment renewed Bitsy’s vigor, and she put muscle into her rowing, causing the boat to shoot forward. It soon floated into shallower water, and Bitsy shoved the oar deep into the rocky bank, leveraging it until they pulled onto the narrow beach, pebbles scraping the hull. She climbed out and shook her elegant striped skirt. Nora and Rose joined her on shore.
Nora snapped open the blanket she’d grabbed from the bottom of the boat and laid it on a grassy knoll just past the beach. She sat down, tucking her feet beneath her, and stared at the water lapping the shore. The little rowboat creaked and moaned as tiny waves bounced it. A hint of rain hung in the air, and she wondered if she’d shut her bedroom window. The last time she’d forgotten when it stormed, Lucius had lost his temper, threatening to sell her collection and use the proceeds to replace the ruined curtains.
Bitsy settled beside her. “What are you so distracted by?”
Rose sank to the ground and pulled a chocolate bar from her skirt pocket. She peeled back the gold foil and snapped the bar into three pieces to share.
“My stepfather has turned The Journal of Eastern Flora and Fauna into a commission publisher.” Nora nibbled the corner of the chocolate, giving the girls time to digest her news. They’d understand how serious—how awful—it was.
“Oh no,” Rose said, her words skipping past a groan. “That’s not right.”
Bitsy touched Nora’s shoulder. “Didn’t you expect him to hand it over to you after graduation?”
Nora nodded and swallowed a bite of chocolate, hoping to dislodge the lump in her throat. “I assumed . . . Lucius always complained about the work involved. The writing, editing, gathering, hiring of artists, paying the printer, mailing them out. It never made much money—our readership doesn’t exceed a thousand—and it is a lot of work. I figured I could just take over when I finished school this term.”
“I’m so sorry,” Rose said. She tucked the rest of her chocolate into Nora’s hand, as though confections could soothe the defeat eating at Nora’s peace.
Nora took a bite, knowing Rose only wanted to make her feel better. She didn’t think anything could make the situation right. The chocolate stuck to the roof of her mouth, and she flopped backward onto the ground.
“We could dress as businessmen and buy it,” Rose said with a giggle. “Doesn’t that sound glamorous? ‘Hello, I’m Rose Keller, editor of The Journal of Eastern Flora and Fauna.’” She stuck out her hand, and Bitsy shook it.
“How would we buy it? You spend all the money your parents send you on chocolate and ice cream sodas.” Nora wrinkled her nose and squinted up at the sky. “I’ve used nearly all of my inheritance on school, and Bitsy has nothing except what her aunt gives her.”
“That sounds so somber,” Bitsy said. “But I do believe Rose could buy all of Ithaca if she stopped eating chocolate.”
A cloud in the shape of a butterfly scuttled across the sun. Nora turned toward a bent silver maple shading the inlet, its thick tangle of branches arching over the water in a graceful pose. She pushed herself onto her elbows. “It wouldn’t matter. Lucius doesn’t believe women should work. Especially me. He keeps harping on making a match with his dreary business acquaintance.”
Bitsy made a growling sound. “He’s so conventional. Why your father started the journal with him is beyond me.”
“I’d like to know why your mother married him.” Rose sighed.
“In Lucius’s words, ‘You needed a father, Nora. Your mother knows a strong male figure is important to the raising of children.’ Not that he’s ever been a father to me. He could never be that.” Nora’s chest clenched. He’d tried once or twice, too soon after her father died. She hadn’t wanted him to pretend to love her then. And when she was ready, their relationship had already soured. “Anyway, Mother said he was different when Father was alive. We all were, I guess.” She jumped to her feet, tugged the blanket from beneath Rose and Bitsy, and wadded it into a ball. “I’m ready to go. Enough of this depressing talk.”
“As long as you’re rowing,” Bitsy said.
Nora stomped over the rocks, the blanket smooshed beneath her arm. A black-and-orange blur stopped her. She followed the monarch’s ascent as it fluttered toward the silver maple, disappearing behind the trunk. “They’re early this year.”
Bitsy came up beside her. “Who is?”
“The monarchs.”
Nora shoved the blanket at Bitsy, then backtracked and rounded the tree. At the base of its trunk, roots shot out and clung to the shoreline, which pitched steeply over the water. She peered up through the lacy blanket of spring buds, and her breath caught at the sight of hundreds of monarch butterflies resting along the length of the trunk. She skirted back around the tree and held her finger to her lips. Rose and Bitsy stopped their approach and looked at each other with bewilderment until Nora drew the back of her skirt between her legs and tied it to the front in a tight knot.
“What are you doing?” Rose screeched. “You look like a harem girl.”
“Shush, Rose. I need to get up in that tree.”
Nora positioned herself on the opposite side of the tree as the butterflies and considered her climb. She already had a monarch in her collection, but she didn’t want to pass up this opportunity. It would be magical. Her hands began to tingle at the prospect. She lifted her foot to the lowest tree limb, hooked her boot heel over it, and with a suppressed huff, lifted herself into the tree. She paused and gazed up the trunk, making sure she hadn’t startled the butterflies. Satisfied they hadn’t noticed her, she climbed to another branch.
“I don’t think this is a great idea,” Rose called.
Nora glared down at her. Bitsy, her hand shading her eyes, said, “Just let her do it, Rose. You know she won’t be dissuaded.”
Nora climbed until she thought she’d reached the height where the monarchs had gathered. Then she inched forward, pressed her body against the tree, and swung her foot to the next branch over. With her feet firmly planted on two different branches, she piano-keyed her fingers around the trunk until she could shift her weight fully to the second branch. She ignored Rose’s gasps punctuating the silence and repeated the process until she stood only inches from the kaleidoscope of butterflies.
She wished she had her sketchbook. Instead, she committed the visual to memory, their brilliant segmented wings reminding her that her father often said nature displayed the artistry of God. She couldn’t disagree. She didn’t think any museum held a more beautiful display of creativity. Every insect she studied, every bug she duplicated in watercolor and pencil, pointed her toward a God who loved beauty. And she loved being outside admiring it.
If you take over the journal, you’ll spend too much time at a desk.
Nora ignored the thought and reached to brush her fingertip across one silken wing. Her father’s dream was worth the sacrifice.
“Nora!” Rose’s shout pierced the silence. “Get down here before you kill yourself!”
For a moment, Nora didn’t move. Her arms still raised, she listened to herself breathe and followed the flight of the butterflies as they disappeared from view.
“Did you see that?” she called to Bitsy and Rose.
“Incredible,” Bitsy answered, shielding her eyes and looking up at her.
Rose wrung her hands. “Please, now, won’t you come down? There’s someone coming.”
Nora looked past the tree and saw a rowboat making a lazy path toward them. She sighed and began her climb down. When she reached the halfway point, someone called out to them. Nora strained to see over a tree branch obscuring her view. Standing on her toes, she just made out the little boat and a man’s straw hat.
She didn’t know how it happened. She’d been climbing trees since she could walk, but for the first time in her life, she found herself slipping off the branch that snugged her against the trunk. She flipped over, scraping her cheek against the rough bark. With only enough time to recognize Rose’s shriek, she dropped through the air.
Chapter
Three
Nora landed in a heap, bottom in the water, one leg stretching from her still-knotted skirt onto the muddy earth.
Rose splashed through the water toward her. “Oh, dear. Are you all right?”
“She’s fine,” Bitsy called from the shore. “She didn’t fall that far.”
Rose put her hands beneath Nora’s arms and, with a grunt, tried to lift her.
“Goodness, Rose. Let go of me. I’ll be fine if you give me a moment to collect myself.” Nora pressed her hands into the soft earth beneath the water and pushed herself to her feet, sending pain through her right ankle. When she groaned and sank back down, Rose attempted to hoist her by the elbow, releasing her only when Nora smacked her hand away.