Nora took it, and the student leapt from the stairs and ran back toward campus. She slid her finger beneath the flap, and her heart leapt to her throat. What if Frederic had contacted them? She pulled out a thick piece of stationery embossed with Cornell University’s seal. Skimming it, she saw that President White wanted only to inform her that the board, despite not knowing the reason behind their early return, wanted to take advantage of it and move up the lecture series so that they could award the scholarship in time for the winter term.
Nora inhaled deeply. They were to present in a week.
She should tell the board what had happened. Professor Comstock had asked, of course, wondering why they’d cut their trip short by three months. Nora and Owen had agreed to tell him only that their work was finished and they were no longer needed. But where things stood, she and Owen had equal opportunity to receive the scholarship. If she told them what happened, there would be no chance for her.
She pushed away the conviction and guilt, instead focusing on the most important benefit of the board’s decision—Owen would be returning soon. She wrapped her arms around herself and laid her head against the back of the swing. Soon she’d be in Owen’s embrace, and this would all be over.
Nora knocked on the door of a White Hall apartment. Owen had returned to Ithaca from Manhattan only the day before and planned to stay with his friend until after the scholarship was awarded. He’d stay for another two years if they selected him. Nora didn’t know if he’d stay if she won it.
She smoothed her hands down her burgundy wool skirt and fiddled with the bow at her throat. Would he still feel the same about her? Had returning home changed things? She imagined a man with his wealth and family connections would be sought after by all of New York’s single society ladies. Who was she but a small-town entomologist with nothing but a jeweled cicada brooch to her name?
The door swung open, and Nora found herself swept into Owen’s arms. Her heart stuttered when he pressed his face into her hair. He was clean-shaven, and she was surprised to find she missed his beard.
“I knew I’d miss you, but that was too great an affliction,” he said.
She pulled back and tipped her head, exposing her throat, which Owen stared at. His lips twitched, and she wondered if he wanted to press his mouth to the pulse beating an erratic cadence just beneath her skin.
She swallowed, and he raised his eyes. “I missed you too.”
He trailed his finger around her hairline, tugging out a curl. Then he gently touched his lips to hers.
Too gently. They’d been apart for such a long time.
She pressed into the kiss, her heart leaping to her throat when he groaned her name.
She pulled back and smiled. “How was your visit home?”
He blinked. “I . . . it was . . .”
“Cat got your tongue, Owen Epps?”
His slow grin appeared. “Someone else entirely.”
She laughed and pressed her hand against his chest, forcing some space between them. “Really, how is your family?”
With obvious effort, he answered her question. “My brothers couldn’t be bothered to take time off work, so I didn’t see them. Mother fussed and said I had lost too much weight. It was comfortable and clean, and Cook made sure to feed me well. The only person who asked me about my work or experience was my grandmother. She enjoyed hearing about everything.”
“Everything?”
His smile sparked, and a flame lit beneath her breast. “Everything.”
“What did you tell her about your work and experience and . . . everything?”
“I showed her the specimens I had collected. She particularly liked the red-disc bushbrown butterfly. I told her about William’s obsession with sun protection and Jeffrey’s ‘asthma’ and Leonard’s love of leeches. I didn’t tell her too much about Frederic, but she’s an astute woman, and I’m sure she gathered enough from what I didn’t say to make a fair impression of him. I told her about the spicy food and awful illness and Sita—though I didn’t tell her everything about Sita. My grandmother is wonderful, but the shock of that story might be too much for even her. I told her about Pallavi and your friend Swathi and the monkeys and cows.”
She swallowed and gave a slow nod. Then Owen laughed and tilted toward her, pressing his forehead against her own, his hands clutching her shoulders. They breathed the same air, inhaling and exhaling each other’s presence.
“And I told her about you, Peculiar. All about you.”
“What did you say?”
“I said you are the smartest, loveliest, most infuriatingly stubborn woman I’ve ever met.” He pulled back, and his shoulders drooped. “Then my father walked in and asked about my plans for law school.” He released Nora and raked his hand through his hair. “The few moments he spent with me, he used to demand I choose a school. I’m surprised he hasn’t threatened to disown me if I don’t comply.”
“You’d be a terrible lawyer.”
Owen smiled. “You know me better than my father does.”
She leaned against the doorjamb and sighed. “There’s no winning this. If I’m awarded the scholarship—which is doubtful, but you never know—then you have to leave. If you win the scholarship, I’ll have to leave.”
“Long Island isn’t so far, and it will only take a couple years to finish my degree.”
She straightened with a sudden thought. “You told me in India that you hoped I won the scholarship. If you no longer compete for it, I’ll have a greater chance. Then I can stay here in Ithaca, and Lucius will turn the journal over to me.”
Owen’s mouth dropped. “Nora, I can’t do that now. My father will force me into law school if I don’t get it. Plus, it seems unlikely you’ll be offered it now. Maybe if you still had your notes and specimens . . .”
“If I don’t get that scholarship, I’ll lose any chance to fix everything.” She hated the tears clogging her throat and swallowed, hoping he didn’t notice the warble in her voice. Knowing he had to hear her desperation. “I’ll have failed my father and what he wanted for his work.”
“If I don’t get it, I’ll have to follow my father’s directives. Would you rather have the journal or me?”
The question settled over Nora like a weight. “That’s an unfair question.”
“How so?”
“That journal has been a part of my life for years. You’re a new addition.”
“Nora, you don’t really want that journal.” Owen held up his hand when she opened her mouth to protest. “I watched you come alive in India. Despite the limitations placed on you, you bloomed doing field research. Why would you chain yourself to something you don’t love?”
Heat boiled through her veins. “It’s all I have left of my father. And he wanted me to have it. I know he did.”
“But not if it meant giving up what you really love to do. He loved you more than his publication.”
“He made the ultimate sacrifice for me. Saving it is worth any sacrifice I have to make in order to honor him.”
“Even losing me? I’d like to know what you’d choose.”
“I’m not answering.”
Owen rested his elbows against the door on either side of her and pressed a light kiss to her temple. “Does a publication make you feel the way I do?”
Nora ducked and slipped away from his trap. “It makes me feel useful. It makes me feel a connection to my father.”
He pushed back his cowlick with a snap of his wrist, then crossed his arms. “It isn’t a person, Nora. It’s not your father. It’s just a magazine. Just words and paper.”
Her mouth fell open. Just a magazine? How could she have spent so much time with him and he not know it was everything? “You know what it meant to my father. You know it’s all I’ve ever wanted.”
He winced. “I thought maybe you’d found something else you wanted a bit more.”
Behind Owen, his roommate shuffled around the small, cluttered parlor, pretending to be tidying up
but with his ear toward the open door. Nora lowered her voice, and her words came out clothed in a hiss. “Are you hoping I’ll give up the scholarship? Does loving you mean sacrificing my dreams for yours? Do you really care for me, or are you manipulating me?”
With every word, Owen’s jaw grew tighter and his gaze more distant. She saw the effect of her speech and tried to stop, but her fears bubbled beneath the surface, demanding release. Demanding answers.
Owen stepped into the apartment, his hand clutching the edge of the door. “I’m starting to think India and everything that happened there was a wonderful dream that ended the moment we crossed the Atlantic. How could you think, after everything, I’d expect you to give up your ambitions? But your dream isn’t that magazine.” He huffed a laugh. “I know you better than you know yourself. But it seems you don’t know me after all.”
She watched as the door shut, finality in the click of the lock. What had just happened? She held her head, which had begun to pound with regret, and whispered, “I’m sorry.”
But she couldn’t say it to him. Because when it came down to it, she wouldn’t give up the journal for anyone or anything. Not for her own desires, and not for Owen Epps of Manhattan. No matter what he thought he knew.
Chapter
Twenty-Six
Professor Comstock tapped his pen against the letter on his desk, and the rat-a-tat set Nora’s nerves on edge. He’d sent for her that morning, and when she entered his office, he’d waved a piece of paper at her. She saw Frederic’s restrained signature at the bottom and knew he’d told the professor everything.
Professor Comstock pinched the bridge of his nose beneath his wire-rimmed glasses and peered at her over his fingers. “You understand that sending you to India put my reputation at risk. Science is a difficult place for women, and I wanted you to have every benefit before you launched into your career. Your actions have called into question my professional opinion and work.”
She watched him from beneath lowered lashes, hoping he would misconstrue her anxiety for contrition. But he’d spent his entire life studying the smallest life-forms beneath microscopes. He wasn’t fooled.
He dropped the glasses back into place and rested his hands on the desk. “You don’t seem remorseful.”
“Everyone is telling me I should feel bad about what I did,” she said, “but I just can’t. I helped a child in need. Isn’t that what Christians are supposed to do?”
“But you weren’t there representing the Church. You were there representing Cornell. Me!”
Professor Comstock had been like an uncle to her, especially since her father had died. She hated that she’d inadvertently caused harm to his reputation or career. “What else could I have done? Ignore that a child was being sold into prostitution? What would you have done?”
Nora hated the desperation in her voice. Hated the way her hands fluttered around her waist, like a pair of butterflies fighting for territory. She hated even more that she’d had to choose between Sita’s good and her beloved teacher’s.
He rested his elbows on the desk. “Maybe sending you there was a bad idea. You are so sheltered. You have no experience with the world. Something like this was bound to happen.”
She shook her head. “I’m glad you sent me. Another student would have ignored Sita’s plight. Maybe, in the end, that’s why you sent me. Maybe there was a bigger reason than just advancing my career.”
He picked up the letter and scanned it. “Frederic says you were instrumental in helping him find a few species that will make the book stand out, and he’s grateful, but he suggests I never again recommend you to work with a team in the field. He also says you claim to have discovered a new species, but he’s sure you can’t be trusted in that area. However, despite your impulsivity, you’ve always been of sound mind. Will you tell me about it?”
Nora launched into an explanation of her butterfly, the habits and mimicry she had observed, the similarities but also differences between it and the Delias eucharis. “I have no doubt that it’s an undiscovered butterfly.”
The professor’s eyes had taken on a gleam that grew the longer Nora spoke. He rubbed his hands together and nearly bounced in his seat. “Well, where is it?”
“I lost the first one I collected. Sita’s father destroyed my others, along with all of my notes and illustrations, in a fire.” Nora’s eyes slid shut, and she once again smelled the smoke wafting through the air, heard the crackle and snap of the flames, saw her dreams disintegrate.
“That was rather unreasonable of him. I’m glad you suffered no harm. But a shame about the loss of your discovery.”
“Will you tell the scholarship board about Sita? I believe they would look upon my actions unfavorably.”
His fingers stilled. Professor Comstock was a good man. A fair one. But he also valued truth and responsibility. If he believed her actions wrong, he would not keep her behavior to himself. Her breath caught when he spoke.
“I will not bring it up—”
She reached across the table and grasped his hand.
“But,” he said, warning in his words, “if they hear anything about it and question me, I will have to tell them the entire story.”
“How would they hear anything? Frederic isn’t aware of the scholarship, and Owen won’t say a word. . . .” Nora’s mouth slackened and she blinked. He wouldn’t. No, of course not. But she recalled his despondency when he told her about his father’s plans to send him to law school. He’d hate law school. The only thing he seemed to enjoy was studying insects. Field research. Travel.
Her.
He wanted her to choose between him and the journal, though. And when she couldn’t, he’d shut the door in her face. If he knew he could jeopardize things for her and secure the scholarship for himself, he just might. Because Nora doubted he saw a future with her anymore.
And he couldn’t see a future in law.
Nora sat in the middle of Library Hall behind a woman wearing a high-crowned hat bedecked with silk flowers, ribbons, and a stuffed hummingbird. Nora could hardly see over it to the podium where one of her classmates had just finished speaking. Owen made his way up the stairs and looked out over the crowd. Nora ducked. Surely he couldn’t see her.
She’d considered not attending his lecture, positive he’d find her presence obnoxious after their argument three days prior, but in the end, she couldn’t stay away. She wanted to see him, to support him . . . to appraise the competition.
She’d already sat through two presentations—both men she’d attended school with and who had done field research with Professor Comstock in Illinois over the summer break. Next week she’d present with the other two students vying for the scholarship. Six people, but only she and Owen had a real chance. Both top of their class and having studied overseas.
She wouldn’t present on her butterfly, of course. Without proof of its existence, without notes and field reports, no one would take her seriously. So she’d discuss gynandromorphism in the Vindula erota. It wasn’t as exciting as the discovery of a new species, but it would do.
Owen crossed the stage and took his place behind the podium. He cleared his throat, rustled through some papers, and began his speech.
He spoke about the symbiotic relationship between the ants and the Cigaritis lohita. He spoke well. His confidence and excitement for the subject projected, and with charm, he drew the audience in. He peppered his entomological research with personal stories that drew laughter from the crowd. She had no chance.
From the corner of her eye, she saw Lucius walk into the hall. She frowned. She hadn’t seen him at Cornell since his embarrassing “resignation.”
The audience erupted with clapping, and Nora looked at Owen, who had gathered his papers and was stepping off the stage. When she looked back toward Lucius, he was gone. The lady with the hat stood and stepped aside, revealing Owen talking with President White near the front of the room.
Lucius joined them.
Nora tugged
on her earring. She should find out what they were talking about. Clutching her reticule, she stood, but then President White motioned Professor Comstock over, and two of the men on the scholarship board joined the circle.
“Nora!” Rose skipped toward her, Bitsy following at a more sedate pace. “We thought you weren’t coming. You could have sat with us. We had seats in the front row. Owen did magnificently, didn’t he? I’d be surprised if he didn’t get the scholarship.” Bitsy elbowed Rose, drawing a sharp gasp. “Why’d you—oh. Well, you know what I mean, don’t you, Nora? Of course you’re brilliant and they’ll give you the scholarship. I don’t think for—”
“Stop prattling.” Bitsy rolled her eyes heavenward.
Nora waved her hand to quiet them both, and they followed her gaze to the tight huddle at the front of the room. Lucius gestured with his hands, prodding at the sky and shaking his head like an excited ornithologist.
“What do you think they’re discussing?” Nora asked.
“Maybe how well Owen did.” Rose yelped, and Nora assumed Bitsy had jabbed her again.
“But why is Lucius here?” Nora wiped a slick of sweat from her upper lip. Professor Comstock glanced at her, his expression sad, and nausea unfurled in her stomach, sending grasping talons into her chest and throat and head. No.
President White searched the hall, his eyes coming to rest on her. In his stiff frown and narrowed eyes, she saw censure.
The scholarship vanished, and she groaned. “I’m moving to Long Island.”
She tried to make words out of Owen’s moving lips. She caught her name, maybe the word save, but nothing else. Lucius clapped him on the back, and Nora’s fists curled. She dug her nails into the tender flesh of her palms. Lucius turned and caught her eye, and her legs went numb. She sank onto the chair behind her and pressed her lips together.
“He wants to ruin my life.” Nora had always known Lucius disliked her. But this . . . this was more than a personality conflict. Lucius had a personal vendetta against her. She didn’t know why. Couldn’t fathom what would cause someone to destroy their stepdaughter’s every happiness. But when he sauntered toward the door with light steps, Nora knew he’d somehow found out what had happened in India and realized it would influence their decision. And he wanted her gone.
A Mosaic of Wings Page 28
