“I’m going to see Professor Comstock,” he said, a foreign gravity in his tone.
“Why?”
“I need to discuss the position in India with him. I’d like more details. I spoke with my father yesterday.” He wagged his brows, but the gesture seemed false. “He’s not pleased.” A carriage rolled by, and Owen guided her to the side of the street, away from the churning dust and spray of pebbles. “I want to catch him before he leaves for lunch. Walk with me.”
He took long strides, and Nora trotted after him. A block later she was puffing heavy breaths.
He glanced at her and slowed. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m excited to tell Professor Comstock my plans.”
“What did your father say when you told him your intention to go to India?”
Owen stared ahead, his jaw working. “He said he would not finance it, which doesn’t matter, as I imagine I’ll be fine on my stipend. And, of course, I won’t have to cover travel expenses. Then he told me he expected I would fail, and when I did, to come home so he could put me to work before I head off to law school in the fall.” He gave her a sad smile. “Maybe if I hadn’t been shown up by a female, I could have become valedictorian and won his approval.”
Nora stepped nearer to him, closing the gap. They weren’t so different after all. She touched his arm and offered him a small smile, a peace offering. “I know how impossible it is to win someone’s approval when their mind is closed to it. Even being top of your class wouldn’t help.”
Owen stopped at the foot of the steps when they reached White Hall. “Thanks for walking with me.”
She preceded him up the stairs and into the building. “I’m actually headed toward the lab too.”
He jogged after her. “Have you made a decision about India?”
Nora nodded.
“I hope you’ve decided to join.”
“Really?”
“Of course. You’re the smartest student at Cornell. Talented and adventurous.”
She looked away, her face flushed. Owen, with his love of travel and interest in novel experiences, thought she was adventurous? She knew he meant it as the highest compliment. He offered his elbow as they climbed to the third floor, and her heart tripped when she tucked her hand into his arm.
Professor Comstock wasn’t in the laboratory, but they found him in his cluttered office next door. With his legs stretched out, feet resting on his desk, the professor slept in his chair. His arms dangled from his sides, and he snuffled, causing his head to loll off the headrest.
Owen chuckled. This wasn’t the first time Professor Comstock had fallen asleep while working. Nora ignored the urge to stay in the doorway, her fingers trembling atop Owen’s coat sleeve. Remain in the glow of his praise and presence.
You’re being absurd.
She dropped her hand from Owen’s arm, shook it as though trying to release the memory of his warmth imprinted on her palm, and picked her way over crates and towers of books. She jostled the professor’s shoulder. “Professor.”
He startled awake and blinked owlishly. The fog in his gaze parted, and he gave her a slow smile. “Nora. What a delight.”
Owen stepped into view. “We’ve come to talk with you about India.”
Professor Comstock swept his legs from the table. “Excellent. Come, have a seat. Tell me what you’ve decided.”
They cleared stacks of paper from the green upholstered club chairs and sat.
“I’m going to take you up on the offer. I have no doubts,” Owen said in a rush. He leaned back against the chair, and Nora thought he looked relieved.
The delight in Professor Comstock’s eyes was unmistakable. “Wonderful choice, Owen. This is an opportunity not many your age have. I expect you’ll learn and grow while there.” He turned to Nora, expectation written all over his face.
She hated to disappoint him. “I’m sorry, but I must decline. I can’t leave my mother.”
Professor Comstock crossed his foot over his knee and pressed his mouth against his steepled hands. “Are you sure? There likely won’t be another opportunity like this one.”
She fiddled with her cicada pin. Tension ran up the back of her neck—a wave of pain that crested the top of her head and forced her eyes closed. She knew not going might mean losing any chance of being offered the scholarship, especially when Owen was going. And losing the scholarship meant losing the journal. But her mother’s pale face and Dr. Johnson’s worried expression forced her back straight. She couldn’t allow the fear of missing out to dissuade her from her duty. She’d just have to figure out a different way to ensure she topped Owen’s summer.
She opened her eyes. “My mother is my first priority.”
“She’s married. She’s your stepfather’s first priority,” Owen said, sounding so much like Bitsy that Nora wouldn’t be surprised if they’d discussed it.
“I also don’t care to traipse across the world. I have no desire to escape home. I’m happy here. I don’t need adventure to fill my life with meaning.”
She’d only wanted to convince herself—try to forget the daydreams she’d been having of wearing white linen, pushing through dark forests and studying some ancient, undiscovered insect. But Owen drew back as though he’d been slapped, and Nora saw the hurt in his eyes.
Professor Comstock’s mellow voice filled the silence, drawing attention away from her hastily spoken words. “Nora, I’ve known you a long time.”
“Since I was a child.”
“In all of that time, I’ve never known you to be anything but an adventurer. Always seeking out another thrill. Maybe not a physical thrill, but knowledge. You’ve always been insatiably hungry for knowledge. You thrill at the discovery. For you to act the homebody comes across as inauthentic.”
And I learned my lesson a long time ago, Professor. Sometimes the quest for knowledge could be just as dangerous as risky behavior.
The professor shook his head. “I agree with Owen. Don’t let your dedication to your mother keep you from pursuing your own path. She is a married woman and, as such, is Lucius’s responsibility. You have a rare gift. It would be a shame to bury it.”
Owen stood and shook the professor’s hand. “Thank you for offering me this chance, sir.”
Nora watched as he left the room with stiff steps, his back straight. He stopped at the door and offered them a wooden smile before disappearing.
“That was in poor form.” Professor Comstock’s voice held compassion even though his words battered her conscience.
Nora couldn’t meet his gaze. How embarrassing that he’d witnessed her thoughtlessness. His opinion of her meant the world to her, more than anyone’s, except maybe Anna’s.
“Owen was only trying to help you see past your ill-placed sacrifice. He meant no harm.”
“I know.” Her whisper barely escaped her lips. “I will apologize.”
He regarded her with a sad expression, his eyes drooping along with his mustache. “I won’t send a telegram until Monday. I can’t wait too long because my associate hopes to receive help by the beginning of July. If you don’t tell me otherwise, I will ask another student to take your place.”
She nodded and left the office, feeling his gaze on her as she walked away. As she passed the laboratory, she saw Owen standing at the insect cabinet, a few drawers pulled out.
She stopped. “Owen?”
He turned and leaned against the cabinet, his feet crossed at the ankles, his arms across his chest. If she hadn’t seen his wounded expression after she insulted him, she would assume his stance channeled anger or arrogance. But now she knew better, and she wondered how many times her impulsive words had caused him to look like that. How many times she ascribed character flaws to him that weren’t really his.
She skirted the tables and drew close to him. So close she could see the circle of cognac rimming his pupils, bleeding into the blue pierced with silver. She’d never noticed how interesting his eyes were. She turned from him and ran her fin
gers along the drawers of the cabinet. There. She pulled the drawer open to reveal a collection of South American butterflies resting inside glass cases.
“Look,” she said, waving him closer.
He peered over her shoulder, giving her another glimpse of his extraordinary eyes. She pointed to the blue morpho. Morpho achilles. “Your eyes, in Nymphalidae form.”
He smiled at her, the silver in his irises shining and streaking like silverfish.
“I’m sorry,” she said.
“I forgive you, Percipient.” He looked like he was about to say something else, but he wavered, his face drawn into a mask of indecision.
“I won’t insult you again, Owen. Please tell me what you’re thinking.”
When he bit his lower lip, she wondered how a man, all angles and planes, could have such a soft mouth. He grasped her elbows. Had any other person as tall and commanding as Owen done the same thing, she would have been afraid. Intimidated. But Owen made the gesture seem almost protective.
And he looked so earnest. “I hope you consider how this trip could impact your career. If you go to India and make a discovery, it could guarantee you the scholarship. Maybe even attention from the scientific community.”
Nora laughed. “What type of discovery?”
“I don’t know, but you could make one. You . . . you could be the next Amelia Phelps. Be elected fellow to the American Association for the Advancement of Science. Lecture, teach, discover, write. There are so many incredible female scientists who have shaped our field over the last century. You belong with them.”
The fervency in his voice set off a spark in her belly she knew could be fanned into something that might burn her. Or it could set ablaze a new course.
“I’m just telling you,” he said, bending so close that she could see the silverfish swimming, “that this could be the thing that makes all of your dreams come together. Don’t allow another’s expectations to hinder you.”
He squeezed her arms, then released her and trotted from the room as though pursued by the passion in his words.
Nora blinked at the empty space he’d filled, then looked back at the blue morpho. Go to India? Leave everything familiar for the unknown. For the sticky heat of the tropics. For the possibility of scientific discovery.
The blue morpho’s wings shimmered in the sunlight piercing through the window, and Nora wondered what Owen’s eyes would look like beneath an Indian moon.
Chapter
Seven
Oh, darling, you look beautiful!”
Nora took her mother’s outstretched hands and allowed herself to be twirled. Lydia’s eyes were bright, and her cheeks were pink for the first time since her fall. Nora didn’t have the heart to tell her mother that she hated the dress made for the graduation dinner. She looked like a tiered wedding cake, dripping with ribbons and lace flounces.
She lifted her gloved hand to her cheek and ran one finger over the ridge of healing scabs. Every smile and frown caused her skin to pull, and she had avoided looking in the mirror while Alice arranged her hair. Nora did have some vanity. But this dress . . . Nora took comfort in knowing only her stepfather’s and mother’s friends would be present at dinner. Invitations hadn’t been extended to Nora’s friends, and for this reason alone, she was grateful. Mother had invited John and Anna Comstock, but Nora knew they would pay little heed to her gown.
“I’m so pleased that Mr. Primrose is joining us tonight, darling.”
“Don’t get your hopes up, Mother. I’m not interested in marriage right now.”
Mother pinched her lips together, a mulish expression that didn’t bode well for Nora’s chance of a low-key evening. “Lucius only has your best interest in mind, and you can’t remain single forever. Your beauty would be wasted on spinsterhood. Mr. Primrose is well-respected, successful, and handsome.”
Nora took another glance in the mirror. Beauty? What did beauty have to do with anything? “I’d rather my mind not be wasted on marriage to a man I have no interest in marrying.”
Mother patted Nora’s arm. “Maybe you will be interested once you meet him. Give him a chance.”
Nora huffed. The last person she’d choose as a possible spouse was someone Lucius thought suitable. But there was no reason to take that out on her mother. She smoothed her expression before offering her arm to her mother. “I will engage him in conversation.”
Mother smiled brightly, looking almost healthy, and Nora thought, as they made their way to the parlor where guests awaited them, that she’d almost be willing to allow Mr. Primrose to court her if it meant her mother got better.
Nora engaged in small talk with the guests, something she didn’t hold in any fondness, until dinner. Lucius approached her, an attractive man about fifteen years older than her by his side.
“Nora, I’d like to introduce you to Carlton Primrose. He owns the printers that publish our humble journal.”
Nora held out her hand, which he bowed over, and took in his straight nose, the slight graying at his temples, and the deep-set eyes that sparked with intelligence and interest. Mother had gotten a couple of things correct. He was handsome. And successful. His business provided nearly all the printing in Ithaca and the surrounding areas. And in a college town, there was a lot of printing to be done.
She let Mr. Primrose lead her into the dining room, where they sat across from Professor Comstock and his wife. By the time the hired staff had set the first course before them—a vibrant roasted beet soup drizzled with cultured cream—Nora found herself drawn into a conversation regarding photogravure, a new photograph printing method.
“I believe, one day,” Mr. Primrose said with a self-important air that needled her, “magazine illustrations will become a thing of the past.”
Nora laughed. “Surely photographs cannot capture the details a skilled artist can, though.”
Mr. Primrose snuck a wink at Professor Comstock. Nora slid her spoon into her soup and brought it to her lips, waiting for an answer she hoped wouldn’t diminish her opinion of him.
“It may astound you, young woman, but things rarely stay the same.” He patted her hand, and when it remained there a moment too long, Nora pulled away. “Don’t spend a moment worrying on it, Miss Shipley. Just know that, though illustrators aren’t facing an immediate redundancy of their work, technology is leaping forward exponentially.”
She patted her lips with her napkin. “Very unlike society’s expectations of women, which appear to be inching backward.”
Anna gave a light cough, but Nora kept her attention fixed on Mr. Primrose. He tugged at his ear, and a wrinkle appeared between his brows. Then his expression cleared, and he laughed. “Tell me you’re not one of those ‘new women’ Henry James writes about.”
“You know about James?” she asked.
“I’m a printer. I see all manner of alarming notions.”
“What’s alarming about a woman taking control of her own life and doing something more than marrying and having children?”
“Do you not want to marry and have children?”
“I do. But I don’t see why one precludes the other. My father, the best parent in the world, was successful in both his career and personal life.”
Mr. Primrose sat back while a server took his bowl. He didn’t take his eyes off Nora, and they held a calculating gleam she didn’t care for. “I understand this dinner is in honor of your graduation.”
“Yes.”
“And you’re valedictorian.”
“I am.”
“Tell me, do you believe you earned that honor?”
“Yes. I worked very hard to obtain my degree, and my scores reflect that.” She allowed a server to place a plate before her. She eyed the trout blanketed in mousseline sauce, wondering why her mother would put something on her dinner party menu that Nora held in such distaste. Then she glanced at Mr. Primrose and knew it was because Lucius preferred trout. Everything, from menus to company, revolved around Lucius’s wants. So diff
erent from her father, who constantly sacrificed his own well-being for Nora’s happiness.
“Mr. Primrose,” Anna said from across the table. She nibbled at the fish speared onto her fork, waiting for him to turn his attention toward her. “What are you insinuating? Cornell University isn’t in the habit of handing out undeserved accolades.”
“Do you think it fair that a woman is given something that would, in all actuality, be of better use to a man? What will you do with the honor of being valedictorian, Miss Shipley? With your degree in general? Don’t you feel you are stealing what could make a man’s career in order to, what, stroke your own vanity? Women cannot be good wives and mothers and work. It’s not possible.”
Nora met Anna’s eyes, and they had an entire, silent conversation, debating the merit of putting this oafish man in his place. Anna lost.
Nora turned back to her would-be suitor. “It’s amusing that Lucius thought I’d entertain the idea of aligning myself with someone who displays such a disparate ideology. You’re quite modern with your views on photography and business. But that interesting trait is tempered by your myopic view of society in general and women in particular. Cornell University—and the printing business, evidently—have marched forward with time, but you have been left behind. You suppose the university is placating me, but I’ve worked just as hard as any other student, maybe harder.”
Mr. Primrose gave a brittle laugh. “Or maybe your brain is an anomaly. Perhaps you have lost every trace of feminine virtue.”
The dozen people around the table had grown quiet, and every head swiveled in their direction. Heat rose to Nora’s face, and the flush made her head spin. “That’s a possibility. But I think it more likely you’ve forgotten what it means to be a gentleman. You’re successful in business, it’s true, but you profit off the printing of other people’s ideas. Your income stems from their creativity and intellect. And that threatens you, doesn’t it? Because you’re incapable of an original thought. You’re an insignificant man. One who will never deserve the hand of any woman, because all of them are more worthy than you.”
A Mosaic of Wings Page 7
