Chapter
Five

Even though Lucius had taken ownership of the library, Nora still thought of it as her father’s room. Everything about it, from the long banks of windows—which her father had insisted on, though they weren’t the style—now hidden behind fussy brocade and lace draperies, to the wood-paneled walls and tiled fireplace, reminded her of him.

She rarely entered it—the memories the room evoked were too painful—but she found herself unwilling to wait another moment without Lucius’s word that he’d turn the journal over to her. She’d given him a week. That was plenty of time.

She rapped at the door, entering at Lucius’s impatient, “Come in. Come in.”

He set down his newspaper when she crossed the threshold and began tapping his fingertips against the polished surface of the desk. She nearly reconsidered her mission but raised her chin and strode across the room, the clicking of her heels giving way when she reached the plush carpet. Well, what used to be a plush carpet. Nora noticed its fraying edge and worn patches as she crossed it.

When she reached the desk, she pushed all thoughts of carpet and curtains from her mind and clenched her fists at her sides.

“Yes?” Lucius said after she stared at him for a moment.

“I wanted to talk with you about the journal.”

He heaved a long-suffering sigh. “I haven’t decided yet if I agree to your terms.”

“I’d like you to know how much this means to me.”

His fingers stopped their rat-a-tat on the desk, and he rested one hand on top of the other.

“The journal reminds me of my father. I’m his daughter in every way, and I believe I can keep it from folding while staying true to its origins as a publication that has garnered the respect of scientists and naturalists.”

Nora had always thought Lucius a cold man, and his eyes seemed to reflect his frigidity, but at the mention of her father, the chill thawed and the tight corners of his lips softened. “It reminds me of him, as well, and I want to honor him with it. I know that’s hard for you to believe, but he was my closest friend.” His chair creaked beneath his weight when he leaned back against it. “But do you really think you will be able to run a periodical? You have no idea how much work is involved. You are only a young girl. And despite your headstrong ways, I do know what’s best. Marriage and motherhood never made any woman unhappy.”

Her spine stiffened, and a vise gripped her head. She rubbed her temples, trying to ease the weight of resentment that took residence beneath her scalp.

His voice dipped lower and became velvety. “Will your husband want you spending your time running a periodical? What about when you have children?”

Nora’s knees weakened. “I will gladly live my life without the joy of family if it means I can honor my father’s memory and pursue the work he set out to accomplish. He meant it to be a place where rigorous scientific work could be shared. You’re changing it, and I don’t understand why. Why would you do that to his memory?”

Lucius stared past her, his eyes going toward the open door, which framed the stairs leading to the bedrooms. “I’ve done everything I can to take care of your father’s family. I’ve loved your mother and tried to guide you, though you make that challenging. I’ve maintained his home and supported his dream of making the journal successful. I’ve been around longer than you, and I know how the world works. It’s not easy for a woman to make it in a man’s world. Why won’t you take my advice?”

She swallowed and backed up a step. Away from his vulnerability, which left her feeling as though the world had tilted on its axis. Away from his demands that she bow to expectation and deny her dream. “I don’t want to go to Long Island after graduation. I want to get this scholarship and continue my education. I want the journal.”

His eyes darted toward her, and she felt like an insect, trapped beneath his critical gaze. “Your mother isn’t strong. She wants to see you wed and taken care of.”

Nora clasped her hands behind her back, hiding the nervous picking of her cuticles. She avoided his gaze, which seemed to pierce her exterior like a mounting pin. After her father’s death, Mother’s health had taken a downward turn that she’d never recovered from. And no amount of Nora’s love or attention could fix that. Nora could shield her mother from worry and ugliness, but, in truth, Nora knew she was culpable.

She shook off the traitorous thoughts. “I need an answer, Lucius. If I’m offered the scholarship, will you give me the journal? I agree to your terms. I will not fuss if I have to go to Long Island. And I’m willing to meet Mr. Primrose. Invite him to my graduation dinner. I’m trying to meet you halfway.”

Lucius stared at her for a moment before giving a tight nod. “Fine. I don’t want it said that I wasn’t fair to you. I still think it would be a mistake for you to have the journal, but if you prove yourself by obtaining an advanced degree, then I guess I’ll have no reason not to give it to you.” He turned his attention to the ledger lying open on his desk.

Dismissed, Nora backed from the room, knowing she had to do everything in her power to make sure she was offered the scholarship. Even if that meant joining Professor Comstock’s friend in India. Because losing the journal didn’t just mean going to Long Island. It meant losing the only way she could make everything up to her father.

Nora preferred pencil to watercolor. She liked the precise control it allowed her, creating thick or thin lines, shading, feathering, outlining. Watercolors bled and often disobeyed dictates, but Anna Comstock told Nora she should practice using the medium since she so often neglected it.

Nora swirled her brush over the moistened magenta cake and traced the green wings of the Luna moth she was working on.

Anna lifted her head from her canvas and inspected Nora’s. “Nicely done. I know watercolors aren’t your favorite, but you work so well with them.”

Nora stepped back from her work, glancing from the mounted moth on the table between them to her painting. “It’s tolerable.”

Anna laughed. “You’re too hard on yourself. After only a few years of instruction, you’ve surpassed my ability. I’m not sure why we continue to meet. I can’t teach you anything else.”

“Because I value our friendship and enjoy your company. Painting or drawing with you in your garden gives me great joy.”

Although Anna was only a decade older, she bestowed a maternal smile on Nora. “I’ll have Katie bring us some refreshment. It must be nearing three.” She disappeared into the house through the back door, and Nora closed her paint box.

When Anna returned, they settled into a pair of wicker chairs nestled beneath the maple tree at the corner of the garden. Katie, the Comstocks’ Irish maid, tripped across the yard, carrying a tray. She set it on the iron table between them, poured steaming cups of tea, then, with a clumsy curtsy, skipped away.

Anna shook her head and gave a little sigh. “She’s an odd girl, but she has such a lively outlook.”

“I’d love to bottle some of her joy and release it at home. Maybe it would drive away some of the tension.”

Anna clucked her tongue in sympathy. “I’m sorry. Lucius is a difficult man.”

“Very unlike Father. Our house was a place of happiness when he was alive. I miss him, but perhaps I miss that most. He made life pleasurable and interesting.”

“You mustn’t allow the atmosphere of your home to decide how you respond to life. That will make you miserable. You may already know that Mr. Comstock’s childhood was anything but comfortable and joyous. He decided long ago that he, not his circumstances, would be master of his own happiness.”

Nora lifted her teacup and sipped. It was true—she did occasionally surrender to melancholy. When she compared her life now to before her father’s passing, she couldn’t help but notice the broad contrast. If—when—she was awarded the scholarship, maybe she’d move onto campus. She could stay with Rose and Bitsy at Sage Hall. Rose had another year of school, and Bitsy planned to obtain her master’s degree, thanks to her aunt’s largesse.

Nora set down her cup and plucked a cherry from the dish on the tray. She enjoyed its tart sweetness as she considered living among the one hundred female students in Sage Hall. It would be a drastic measure, leaving her home to live only a few blocks away. She wasn’t sure she could convince her mother it was a good idea. What reason could she give?

She shook her head. She couldn’t avoid conflict if she were to be master of her own happiness, as Professor Comstock had done. She’d just tell her mother it was what she wanted. That would have to be enough.

Satisfied, Nora smiled at Anna, who fiddled with her hair, tucking a lock of it behind her ear. It kept falling forward, though. “I’m growing it out,” Anna said.

“I see. It looks nice.” Anna had kept her hair in a short bob after losing it during an illness a few years earlier. “Why aren’t you keeping it short anymore?”

Anna’s eyes crinkled at the corners. “Mr. Comstock suggested one of us should have long hair. Either him or me. I thought growing out my hair would be a much less painful process than if he grew out his.” She fingered the ends and released a wistful sigh. “I do like it short. It’s so easy to care for. But long hair is a sacrifice I’m willing to make for Mr. Comstock. He asks for so little.”

“You don’t think short hair is too masculine?”

“Of course not.” Anna’s face twisted into a scowl. “Believing our hair makes us feminine is absurd. Just like believing an interest in nature makes us masculine. Mr. Comstock would say all people—women included—are created in the image of God, and our interest in nature, the living world around us, is divine.”

“Do you think so?”

Anna gave a firm nod. “Your father thought so too. Why, he encouraged your love of insects, didn’t he?”

“He did.” Nora couldn’t remember a time he wasn’t taking her on expeditions through the gorges and woods, intent on allowing her the discovery of all the interesting families of insects at work—spinning, flying, weaving, mating, growing, changing. When they stumbled upon some flying or creeping creature, Nora would grow quiet as she watched it. Her father would stand beside her, anticipation setting his hands twisting and waving—much the way Owen’s did, now that she thought of it.

Anna reached across the table and cupped Nora’s cheek. “You are who you are for a reason. You can ignore it, but that would be no way to chase happiness, would it?”

Nora leaned into Anna’s touch. “I believe I’d be very unhappy, indeed, if I neglected my work. Or worried overmuch about my hair.” She blinked, then sat up straight against the cool seat. Her words mimicked Owen’s. She had censured him when he spoke of his desire to travel and explore, but she knew that if she ignored her aspirations, she’d be just as unhappy as he would be working for his father’s publishing company or a law firm. She pressed her hand against the center of her chest where a small lump had formed. She should apologize to him.

“Are you all right?” Concern colored Anna’s words.

“Yes. I just recalled something I need to do at graduation this afternoon.” Nora took another sip of tea, then stood. “Will you be there?”

Anna followed Nora back to their easels. “Of course. I’m looking forward to hearing your speech—Cornell’s first female valedictorian. I’m proud of you.”

Nora smiled before turning to study the Luna moth on the table. It was a lovely green, the color of limes. “It’s a shame we have to kill them.”

Anna glanced at the moth. “Sometimes one dream needs to die before another can be realized. He wouldn’t have lived much longer anyway, and his death benefits science more than anything else he could have done.”

Just as Nora lifted her brush from the easel, the back gate smacked open. “Miss Nora!”

Nora whirled and saw Alice running across the yard, her white apron strings flying behind her. Nora’s heart slammed into her ribs. She dropped her brush and paints and flew to Alice, who met her, huffing out wheezing breaths.

“Miss Nora, your mother had a terrible spell. She fell down the stairs, and Mr. Ward couldn’t wake her. The doctor’s been sent for, but you must come home.”

Nora dashed into the house, grabbed fistfuls of her skirt, and took the stairs two at a time.

Lucius paced outside her mother’s bedroom door. He stopped when he saw her, scrubbed his hands through his salt-and-pepper hair, and sighed. “I couldn’t stop her fall, Nora. I heard her cry out, then saw her tumble, but I didn’t make it in time. I tried. I swear.”

Nora pressed her back against the wall, horrified by the tears in his eyes. They signified a much worse situation than she’d expected.

“The doctor is with her now,” Lucius said. He lifted his hand toward the door, then dropped it. “She was so pale.”

A tremble began in Nora’s legs, spreading up her body until she shook like a spider web caught in a hurricane. She made her way to the oak chair outside her mother’s room and sank into it. She avoided looking at Lucius, whose frenzied pacing made her think the worst.

A moment later, Dr. Johnson slipped from the room, sporting a black medical bag and a grim expression. Nora jumped to her feet, and both she and Lucius converged on him.

“She will be fine, I believe,” the doctor said, “with adequate rest. She cracked a rib in the fall, but she’s lucky that was all. More disturbing is the reason she fell.”

Nora held her breath captive, trapping it between her chest and throat. Willing it to stay put until the doctor told her something that would set it free in an exhale of relief.

“She’s been weak since she lost the baby after Nora, but the fainting spells have increased. They alarm me. Her blood pressure is low, her heart rate fast.” Dr. Johnson shook his head. “She’s not a healthy woman. I want her abed for a week at least. Feed her lots of rich broths, puddings, and fresh milk. And, above all, keep her calm. Don’t allow her to become stressed.”

Nora and Lucius nodded in unison. “I’ll see you out,” Lucius told the doctor. “Nora, please go sit with your mother.”

When they descended the stairs, Nora crept into her mother’s dark room and perched on the edge of her bed where she slept, her long lashes resting on pale cheeks. Nora brushed wispy hair from her mother’s brow. She looked so small. Nora realized with a start that she’d stopped looking up at her mother years ago, before her father had died. Her mother was small. And frail. She’d always been sickly. So unlike Nora.

Lydia’s lids fluttered, and she blinked before focusing on Nora. “Oh, darling.”

“Mother, are you feeling all right?”

She smiled. “I’m better now that you’re here.”

Nora slipped to the floor and rested her head on her mother’s chest. “I’m so sorry I wasn’t here.”

“What could you have done? Lucius wasn’t even able to help me. It happened so quickly.” Her hand grazed Nora’s shoulder before resting back on the bed. “I’m glad you’re home, though. I do so rely on you.”

Nora’s stomach clenched, all thoughts of moving into Sage Hall extinguished at her mother’s words. What had she been thinking? She couldn’t leave her mother with only Lucius to care for her. And India! What a ridiculous notion. She’d just have to make do with the research trip to Illinois Professor Comstock would be leading this summer. Perhaps Owen wouldn’t be able to go to India either.

The clock downstairs struck the hour, reminding Nora that she had to get ready for graduation. She stood to go to her room to prepare for the moment she’d been working toward for three years. The moment that made all the demeaning insults and patronizing comments worth it. The moment she’d dreamed of with her father as they trekked over Ithaca’s hills.

The moment she would never get back.

But her mother gave Nora’s hand a weak squeeze, and a sigh of contentment whispered from her lips. “Must you leave so soon? I love when you’re near.”

Nora sank back onto the cushions and raised her free hand to her throat, careful to conceal the movement from her mother. A lump had settled there, and she eased it free with her fingers. She couldn’t miss her graduation.

She couldn’t leave.

“I’ll stay,” she whispered. “As long as you need me to.”

Owen, as salutatorian, would have to give the address while Nora sat in a dark bedroom, trapped beneath her mother’s fine-boned hand.

A delivery boy stood on the front step, a box in his outstretched hands. “Got a package at the post office for you, miss.”

Nora glanced in the mirror and tucked a lock of hair back into her chignon, then reached for her reticule, which hung from the hall tree. She dug through it, locating a penny, and exchanged it for her package. Seeing the return address, she squealed and sat on the front porch swing.

Before she could pull at the jute string holding the box closed, Owen ambled up the walk, his hands shoved deep within his pockets.

“Professor Comstock sent me to see if you want to come to a picnic with the class.”

Nora’s stomach growled, and she realized she hadn’t eaten today. She’d skipped breakfast in favor of reading to her mother, who still, nearly a week later, remained confined to her bed. But Lucius sat with her now, and Nora hadn’t left the house since her mother’s fall. Nesting birds chirped in the oak tree at the corner of the yard, and the sun, though high and bright, shone through a blanket of white clouds. It was a lovely day for a picnic, and she needed to get away from the house for a while.

“I’d love to.” Excitement about her delivery made her feel generous, and she patted the seat beside her. “Sit with me a moment and see what Mrs. Martín sent me. She is a respected entomologist and an expert on Lepidoptera, specifically moths. She’s been working on a catalogue of Tortricidae for over a decade, and she occasionally sends me a specimen she believes I’ll find interesting.” She opened the box, finding a folded note and a smaller box tucked inside. She opened the note and read, “‘Dearest Nora, this is the Amata huebneri, or the wasp moth. It is a Batesian mimic I’ve only found a few times. I have never seen the larva.’”

Nora glanced at Owen and mirrored his broad smile. She pulled the smaller box into her lap and set the other near her feet. With gentle movements, she pried off the top and pulled the tissue-thin paper away. “Oh!”

Nestled inside sat a moth that more resembled a child’s fanciful drawing than an actual creature. Fuzzy dark blue and orange stripes marched down its abdomen, and its black wings were peppered with white spots.

Owen poked at it. “Incredible. I’ll never cease to be amazed by the variety in the insect world.”

“On that we agree.” She closed the box and stood. “I’ll let my mother know I’m leaving.”

When she rejoined him a few minutes later, Owen led the way off the porch.

“Where are we headed?” she asked. She paused at the gate, securing a serviceable hat to her head with a pin. Owen offered to take her shawl, which he draped over his arm.

“Professor Comstock’s. They’ve taken the liberty of hosting the entomology graduating class. No one has seen you in a week. And you missed graduation.”

“My mother took ill. I’ve been staying close to her.”

“I’m sorry. Will she be all right?”

“She’s never been strong, but she’s been having dizzy spells lately. This time she took a tumble down the stairs. She’ll recover, but I’m not sure if this is going to progress. . . .” Nora didn’t like the direction her confession had taken. She couldn’t lose her mother, the only person left in her small family. “Will you be returning home soon?”

To Owen’s credit, he allowed her to change the topic. “Next week, unless I decide to go to India.” He smirked. “I’ll be back, though, to give my lecture, and I’m sure I’ll end up staying . . . after they offer me the scholarship.”

She laughed. “It’s unlikely you’ll need to stay. But we’ll all miss you.”

“If I don’t come back, I’ll miss Ithaca. I’ve enjoyed living here.”

“Thinking about giving up your vagabond ways and settling here?” She meant to tease him, but his expression turned serious, a sight she wasn’t used to.

“If I ever have the chance to travel and I grow tired of it, I would consider settling here. I love Ithaca. The waterfalls and gorges. The constant growing and flexing. The people.”

Nora understood his sentiment. She hadn’t traveled much, but she imagined there weren’t many places like her hometown. Everything she could possibly want perched on the edge of the Finger Lakes. Ever since Professor Comstock had brought up the possibility of research in India, though, she’d begun to imagine the insects she could study in their natural habitat. Sliding mounted or dissected pieces beneath a microscope surely couldn’t compare to in-person observation.

She huffed. Ridiculous. She couldn’t leave her mother. And fanciful daydreams didn’t make a thing practical. Or even possible.

“Here we are.” Owen opened the Comstocks’ gate and allowed her to precede him around the house to the backyard.

Scattered around the lawn, twenty students sat on blankets in groups. Professor Comstock held court in a wicker chair while Anna and Katie passed out glasses of lemonade.

“Our valedictorian has arrived!”

Professor Comstock waved Nora over, and the knot of students at his feet opened to welcome her. She settled on the blanket, and when Owen sat beside her, she scooted over a few inches. He seemed to have no concept of personal space. She didn’t think he took up more room than necessary on purpose, but it made her uncomfortable, all the same.

“We’re talking about our plans now that school is over,” Thomas Nichols said. “I’ve secured a position with a textbook company in Boston. I heard you’re both trying for the scholarship.”

Curtis Wiggs, who sat beside him, nudged Thomas in the ribs and guffawed.

Professor Comstock scowled at them. “I believe you’re placing bets on who receives it.”

“It’s only a bit of sport, Professor. No harm done.” A silly grin tugged at Thomas’s thin lips when he looked at her. “Odds are on you, Nora.”

Owen snorted beside her, and she ignored him, pleased they considered her the top choice. Wouldn’t that irritate Lucius.

Thomas continued to gaze at her until Professor Comstock coughed, breaking whatever spell had captivated him. Thomas looked at Owen. “We all know it’s going to be one of you two.”

“If I don’t come back, I guess I’m going to law school. That’s my father’s plan for me,” Owen said. He didn’t mention anything about travel or adventure.

“When the scholarship is mine,” Nora said, “I plan to obtain my master’s, then maybe go into teaching. I might even teach at Cornell.”

“Do you think they’ll hire a female teacher, Professor?” Thomas asked.

“One day. Cornell has been inclusive since its beginning. I imagine it will happen sooner than later.” The professor regarded Nora, his forehead puckered and his heavy mustache drooping low beneath his frown. “I’m not sure if you should be the one to break that barrier, though, my dear girl.”

Nora’s mouth fell open. Heat climbed her neck when she realized the entire group had grown quiet and was sending furtive glances in her direction. Owen shifted beside her, closing the gap between them, and his fingers brushed her hand. She withdrew, drawing in tightly. How could Professor Comstock be so unkind? He’d been a reliable source of encouragement and affirmation since her father’s death.

His gaze softened. “Don’t be upset. I only meant that I don’t believe teaching to be a good fit for your skills.”

“But my father was a teacher.”

“And an excellent one. But you . . . I believe you will shine elsewhere.”

She swallowed against the lump in her throat. “Where?”

“You need time, Nora. And space. Time to explore and discover and study. Space to think, draw, and create. Teaching would stifle your natural gifts.”

Nora drew her brows together and shook her head. He made her sound like Owen!

When Anna approached and pointed out the table laden with a spread of sandwiches, pickles, fruit, and cakes, Nora leapt to her feet, eager to escape the awkward discussion. The pitying looks of the others. Owen’s too-close and physical sympathy. As she filled a plate with food she knew she wouldn’t be able to eat, she kept her head tucked, not wanting to meet anyone’s eyes.

Settling in the bower of a weeping willow, she picked at her food, hardly tasting anything. Too soon, the branches parted, and Owen joined her.

She pursed her lips and stiffened when he sat on the ground beside her.

“You look so sour, Nora. I’m sure he didn’t mean anything by it. I think you’d be excellent at anything you chose to do.”

“It’s okay that I’m upset. You don’t have to fix it.” She set her plate on the ground and sighed.

He nodded. They looked at each other, and Nora wondered if she should ask him to leave. She wanted to be alone with her disappointment and hurt.

He must have seen it on her face, because he stood. “I guess I’ll go.”

Before he could, though, Professor Comstock stepped through the branches. Nora stifled a groan. How could she process her thoughts surrounded by chatty men?

“I’m glad you’re both”—Professor Comstock looked around the hideaway, delight apparent in his toothy grin—“in here. This is very nice. I’ve never been under this tree.”

Nora pressed a hand to her head while the men discussed the merits of what was supposed to be her quiet refuge from them. Finally they noticed her and grew quiet.

Professor Comstock cleared his throat. “Yes, well, what I wanted to say, Nora, is that I hate to see you isolate your talent to our fair—but tiny—city. I expect you to do great things in our field, and I don’t believe you can do them stuck here.”

“Isn’t becoming the first female professor at Cornell a great enough thing?” Nora asked.

He nodded. “I suppose, but there are greater things waiting for you. Do you recall discussing the possibility of India?”

“I don’t recall discussing the possibility of it.” A cheer went up from the students gathered outside their tree, shouts of “Ice cream!” drawing Owen’s attention for a moment. Nora stood and brushed off her skirt. “I considered it, but after Mother fell, I realized I’m needed at home. With her.”

Professor Comstock rubbed his hands together. “Frederic has lost most of his team to dysentery. He’s desperate for help, and he’s exhausted his pool of entomologists willing to go. He needs to rely on students, and he trusts my judgment. This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity for both of you.” He bounced on the balls of his feet and clapped his hands. “You couldn’t do any better. Just think, in a month you could be collecting your own exotic insects to send back to me.”

Her refuge beneath the tree had grown too tight, bursting with the professor’s excitement and plans. Nora crept toward the swaying curtain of leafy branches. “I plan to join your short trip to Illinois next month with the seniors. It will be enough. And I’d only have to be away from Mother for a couple weeks.”

Professor Comstock shook his head. “Imagine the opportunity. You’d be in India, working with an experienced field researcher. You might even have the opportunity to discover a new species. What do you think that will do for your chances of being offered the scholarship? The position is only six months long, Nora, but he needs you right away.” Using his arm, he swept the drooping branches aside. “Think about it.” He left.

Owen looked from Nora to where Professor Comstock had disappeared and back to Nora again. His eyes glinted, and a slow grin spread across his face. “I don’t have to think about it,” he said. “I’m going.”

Nora couldn’t help but feel he had just issued a challenge.