A Mosaic of Wings

by Kimberly Duffy

  Nora unpinned the cicada brooch from her bodice and turned it over in her hand. She ran her thumb over the jewel-encrusted insect and felt the smooth chill of its rounded thorax before pressing a kiss to it. Then she snuggled it into the crate beside the book. Sita had done more for her than the brooch, and Nora’s memories of her father weren’t attached to any one thing.

  Not a piece of jewelry, nor a magazine.

  Once everything was packed up, Nora carried the crate outside, intent on seeing it delivered safely to the post office. She breathed in the scent of decaying leaves and the promise of winter. It smelled nice. Familiar.

  But a sense of homesickness pricked her.

  Which was odd, because Ithaca was home.

  Maybe because she’d just spent hours putting together Sita’s package, but Nora found herself hoping to catch a sniff of jasmine. Of spiced tea and sandalwood.

  She shifted the crate, easing the pinch of it against her arms, and hiked through the cemetery, skirting her father’s grave. But from the corner of her eye, she saw a movement. She stopped and squinted in the direction of the headstone. Someone knelt there, head bowed, and Nora tightened her grip on the package.

  She needed to get to the post office, but she shuffled off the paved path and down the dirt one she hadn’t walked since the funeral. The man—she could tell from his low voice—murmured words. A prayer, maybe? She couldn’t make them out. She inched toward him, craning her neck forward, trying to hear.

  But he heard her first and turned.

  “Owen?” Nora knit her brows together. “What are you doing?”

  He stood and brushed bits of dirt from his knees. Offering her a sheepish smile, he said, “Only visiting.”

  She shifted the crate in her arms, so many words twisting together in her mind, refusing to leave her mouth. “The trustees . . . I . . .”

  His lips twitched before transforming into a smile. “You’re welcome.”

  “Your father will make you go to law school now. Why did you give it up?”

  “I like entomology, Nora, but I like you a lot more, and you love the science. It’s everything to you.” He rubbed his hand through his hair, making the cowlick stand straight up. “It didn’t seem right that I should take something that so obviously belongs to you. But I will take that box. Are you headed to the post office?”

  She nodded. “But to President White’s first.” She slipped her hand beneath Owen’s jacket and into his vest pocket. He inhaled a quick breath as she pulled out his pocket watch. “I have to go,” she said, tucking it back where it belonged.

  He held her hand over his middle for a moment and leaned his forehead against hers. “You can’t just do something like that and then leave.”

  “But my meeting.” She drew her lip between her teeth to keep a smile from breaking free.

  He sighed and stepped back, took the box from her, and jerked his chin toward the cemetery gate. “I’ll accompany you.”

  They walked in silence for a few minutes, giving her time to settle her nerves. To get used to walking beside Owen again. “Why were you really at my father’s grave?”

  His eyes skittered toward her, then away again. “I was just thinking.”

  “About what?”

  They were passing a copse of oak trees, its canopy shading the sidewalk, and he put a hand on her arm. “Wait.”

  He looked at her. Really looked at her, his eyes, she was sure, seeing everything. Seeing deep into her heart. She dropped her lashes and looked at the buttons on his coat.

  He tipped her chin up with his finger. Once he’d recaptured her gaze, he trailed his finger up the ridge of her jaw, all the way to her temple and into the mound of hair above her ear. He tugged, pulling out a curl. “I was wondering if I’d ever be the sort of man you could respect as much as you do your father.”

  Nora remembered the male Prioneris sita and its unfailing bid to win its mate. It danced as most Indians did—with a passion and urgency that embarrassed Western sensibilities.

  Owen hadn’t given up.

  Her knees trembled, and she leaned into him. Owen let go of her hair and cupped her face. He shifted the crate onto his hip so he could pull her closer.

  “I know I can’t make my father happy, and if I’m being honest, getting my master’s won’t make me happy. But you, Nora . . . I could make you happy. It’s your happiness I want more than anything.”

  Goose bumps rose over her arms and legs and every inch of her skin. He kissed the tip of her nose, but nothing more, and Nora resented the carriages and carts and people in the street. She wished for the leafy branches of a cluster fig tree and the stillness of a humid night. She wished she didn’t have to meet President White and could tell Owen that she’d fallen even more in love with him than she had her career.

  This wasn’t the place, though. So she settled for something less romantic but more necessary.

  “I’m sorry. I’m sorry for getting angry at you without even finding out what had happened. I’m sorry I held you to a higher standard than I’d even hold myself. I’m sorry I’ve been distant when I’ve only wanted you near.” She chanced pressing a kiss to his mouth. One that was too brief. “You are every bit as wonderful a man as my father, and I couldn’t respect you any more than I already do.”

  She just made her appointment. With Owen shooing her on and promising to meet her afterward with her crate, she held a hand against her hat and ran the rest of the way to President White’s rambling home.

  She sat in his well-appointed office, gripping the armrests of a carved chair and forcing shallow breaths that fit beneath the corset compressing her lungs. If nothing else, she wanted to return to Asia so she could shrug off the odious thing and run without risk of fainting.

  She pulled the creased note from her reticule, smoothing out the wrinkles with her fingertips as she reread the brief message.

  Please come see me this afternoon at 2 p.m.

  Pres. White

  Nothing about why he wanted to meet. No indication of the topic he wanted to discuss. She forced her back straight, off the chair, shoulders low and chin high. If she didn’t feel confident, she could still look the part.

  President White entered the room with a throat-clearing cough, and she slid the note back into her bag. “Nora, how wonderful you came.”

  He circled the desk and sat behind it, smoothing his hand over his long, scraggly muttonchops. Nora thought his kind face looked rapturous today. His wide smile settled her jumping pulse. Surely he wouldn’t offer her terrible news with a grin.

  President White settled his folded hands atop his neat desk. “The university has acquired The Journal of Eastern Flora and Fauna.”

  Nora’s ears buzzed, and she gave a slow shake of her head. “I’m sorry?”

  His voice floated toward her as though coming through a dense fog. “Your father was a much-beloved member of the Cornell community. When we discovered Lucius was selling the journal, we decided the school would purchase it and turn it into a student-run magazine. Everything was finalized yesterday.”

  Nora released a silent prayer of gratitude on a soft sigh. “President White, I generally don’t care for surprises, but this is the best type of unexpected news.”

  His smile softened, and he dipped his chin. “Your father was a great friend and one of the best teachers we’ve ever had here. We are honored to keep his legacy going. We’d like you to take on the role of chief editor. There is no one who will love it like you, and we know you’ll see it is successful.”

  Nora pressed her hands to her chest, and a smile pushed at her cheeks. Then she laughed, relief spilling from her tense shoulders and wrinkled brow. “I’d be thrilled to accept that position. But I’d like to propose something.”

  “I’m listening.”

  “Cornell has a proud history of accepting female students from the very beginning. My father, too, believed in educating women. He instilled in me a passion for science that has grown during my years here a
s a student. I think we should make his publication the first female-run scientific journal. And I would only run it while pursuing my master’s. In fact, I’d like the role of chief editor always to be awarded to a woman pursuing an advanced degree in science. As soon as I graduate, I’ll hand it over to whomever you feel would best replace me.”

  And then she would be free to do what she loved best—explore and discover.

  President White folded his hands and pressed his lips to his knuckles. Nora could imagine his thoughts. It had never been done, but Cornell was notorious for doing things that weren’t done. Would there be enough women in the science program to run a periodical? Maybe this would draw more to the university. Could the magazine survive a constant revolving management? Of course, who else would pour more effort into it than someone whose career rested on its success? Nora silently countered each of the arguments she projected onto him.

  Finally, after she’d exhausted herself in her one-sided debate, he nodded. “I believe your father would approve of that.”

  “Thank you, President White.”

  Already flipping through a stack of files, he offered her a distracted smile, and Nora knew his mind was elsewhere. She scampered from the room, her feet tapping out a happy tune against the wooden floor.

  Owen waited for her on the front step, the crate nestled beneath his knees. When he heard the door open, he craned his neck to look behind him, then jumped to his feet. “Well?”

  He stood two steps below her, and she was able to rest her hands on his shoulders and look straight into his face. “They bought it. The journal. Cornell bought my father’s journal, and they asked me to run it. I told them I would, but only while I’m at school. Then it’ll be time to pass it on to someone else.” She patted his cheek, then danced down the steps. “There’s so much to do! I’ll have to find some women who will help me get it back to where it needs to be. Rose and Bitsy for sure. Then I’ll need to contact those scientists who have previously submitted and let them know about the change in ownership. Definitely address the issue of selling commissions. That’s going to stop right away.” She ticked off her tasks on her fingers.

  Behind her, Owen laughed. “One thing at a time. Let’s go to the post office first so I can put this down. What’s in this thing, anyway?”

  “Mostly art supplies for Sita.” She still hadn’t told anyone about Sita—not even Bitsy or Rose. She didn’t know if she ever would. Her memories of India, of Sita and Pallavi and Swathi, were shrouded in an otherworldly haze, as though it had all happened decades ago and not months. She didn’t want to tear the veil away and see everything in sharp clarity. It felt right—looking back as though at a dream. But she was glad to talk to Owen about it all. Glad they’d shared it together and he understood.

  They crossed the street and walked up the post office steps. Please let this package bring as much joy to Sita as she brought to me.

  Owen opened the door for her and allowed her to enter before following and setting the crate on the counter.

  “Nora,” Mrs. Brackett said, her wide smile flashing, “I have a letter for you that just arrived this morning.” She turned toward the cubbies lining the back wall and pulled an envelope from one of them. “Here you go.”

  “Thank you.” Nora rubbed her thumb over her father’s friend’s flowing script and the Filipino postmark. The envelope was too small to contain a specimen. Nora slipped her finger beneath the corner of the flap and edged it open.

  Owen took the envelope and studied it with interest as Nora opened the letter.

  “It’s from Mrs. Martín, Father’s old friend. She says her husband—he’s a Spanish diplomat—connected her with a university in Spain that wants her to compile a collection of Filipino insects, including observances of their habits.” Nora scanned the letter, then gasped and looked at Owen. “She wants me to join her.”

  His eyes widened. “In the Philippines? Nora, what an excellent opportunity for you.”

  She drew him out the post office door, away from Mrs. Brackett’s curious eyes and ears. They walked for a few moments until they had passed the worst of the town crowds and their steps had taken them to campus. Except for the occasional tardy student hurrying between buildings, they were alone.

  Nora looked down at the letter she still held, the invitation seared into her thoughts. You could go.

  And she’d love it. She knew that. But so much had been given to her here. Everything she’d thought was lost. And the Philippines would be there when she graduated, as would all the insects waiting for discovery.

  “I can’t go.” Her heart ached at the confession. It wasn’t so difficult this time around to imagine herself wearing linen and chasing butterflies on foreign soil.

  They found a bench beneath a maple tree, its fiery leaves clinging to their last moments of glory like faded debutantes. They sat close to each other, hips and thighs touching, an intimate position that sent heat through her despite the layers of clothing.

  “Can you not go because of your mother?” he asked.

  “No.”

  “Because of the journal?”

  “No, though I am glad for the chance to turn it into something that will make my father proud.”

  He moved his leg so that his foot disappeared beneath her skirt and slid against her boot. “Because of the scholarship?”

  “Not entirely, but don’t think I take your sacrifice for granted.”

  “I never would.” He took her hand, twining his fingers through hers. “You love fieldwork, Nora. You thrive on it. Why would you pass up this opportunity?”

  “Two reasons. One, it’s an opportunity that will be offered again, but I may never have the chance to obtain my degree if I give up the scholarship. And two . . .” She stared straight ahead, her eyes feasting on the line of trees that held a sunset in their branches. If only she had her paints, she could capture the essence before it slipped from her, turning into morning mist and barely remembered dreams.

  “And two,” he prodded.

  She faced him, and his fingers found the tender place behind her neck. They stroked the words from her. “Two is . . . you.”

  “I’m going home, though.” He teased a curl free and pressed his lips to the spot it hung from.

  She suppressed a shudder. “I don’t think you should. Go home, that is.”

  “What do you think I should do?”

  “Stay here. Get your master’s with me. You can work on campus in exchange for tuition. Professor Comstock did it.”

  “And room and board? My father’s made it clear that he won’t pay for me to get an advanced degree in anything other than law.”

  “My room and board are covered through the scholarship.”

  He thrust his fingers into the hair at the nape of her neck and leaned so close, his warm breath fanned her face. “That’s progressive even for you, Peculiar.”

  “It’s not progressive if we’re married.” She closed the space between them—it didn’t take much—and pressed her lips to his. “Marry me,” she whispered against them.

  “I’m supposed to ask you that.”

  “It didn’t take the first time. And you know I’m unconventional.”

  He pulled back. “Are you sure?”

  She pressed her fingers to her lips and nodded. “More sure than I am about anything else I’ve decided.”

  “We’ll marry and go to school together, and in two years we’ll go back into fieldwork? Either in the Philippines if your friend needs help or elsewhere?”

  “Yes. I’d much rather travel with you than alone. I’d rather do anything with you than alone.”

  Owen grinned. “I think you just need someone to keep you from falling out of trees.”

  “Is that a yes?”

  “Yes, Percipient, I’ll marry you. And I’ll stay here with you or go there with you. I’ll defend you against priggish Brits and mating cockroaches and Asian wrestlers. You,” Owen said, cupping her cheek, “are the only thing I’ve e
ver wanted with desperate, wholehearted, can’t-ignore-it passion. And maybe that’s why everything else seemed so dull and uninspiring. You stole every bit of my interest and attention with a frantic dance on a classroom chair.”

  She leaned forward and kissed him again.

  Nora lifted the cardboard box from the top drawer of her dresser. She carefully removed the lid and found the bee she’d been able to save from Lucius’s inferno all those months ago. Her last tenuous link to the joys and beauty of her childhood. She tipped the bee into her palm, and its fuzz prickled her skin.

  “Little Bumble Bea, look at me.”

  Nora tore her eyes from the bee she’d just finished mounting and, sticking the end of one braid in her mouth, obeyed him.

  He tilted her chin and smiled, his eyes crinkling in the corners. Nora sucked at her hair, tugging strands between her teeth. “Bees are interesting creatures. They work hard and are dutiful. But do you know what’s most interesting about them?”

  She shook her head.

  “Bumblebees will travel miles from their hives in order to do what they need to do. They don’t stay close to home.” He gave her a sad look Nora didn’t understand.

  But now she thought she did. “You thought I might leave Ithaca one day, didn’t you, Papa?”

  “That’s not what your mother has told me.”

  Nora closed her hand around the bee at Lucius’s voice. She turned and pressed her back against the dresser.

  He stepped into her bedroom. “She said President White has offered you the scholarship after all.” He crossed his arms and cleared his throat, the sound rumbling from his chest. “It has all worked out in the end, though, because my sister just informed me that she won’t give me the money I need to reestablish myself. Instead she will have us move in with her. She knows the head of a private school for the wealthy. It seems he supports the suffragettes”—Lucius grimaced—“and he is looking for a science teacher.”