Chapter
Six

Rose and Bitsy sat, heads together, at the wrought-iron table beneath the arbor in Nora’s backyard. They made a pretty picture—Rose with her blond hair piled into curls beneath a jaunty feathered hat, and Bitsy, not as conventionally pretty as Rose, but with a magnetism that drew people to her. As Nora moved closer, they pulled apart and stared at her with wide eyes. Rose’s even looked wet.

“Whatever is the matter?” Nora asked, rushing to her friend’s side. She tugged a stool around toward Rose, sat down, and took her friend’s hand. “Why are you both here? Has something happened?”

“Oh, Nora!” Rose cried. “Owen told us about India. Are you leaving?”

“Let her explain before you jump to conclusions.” Bitsy arched a brow, then turned to Nora. “India! Just imagine. I had an uncle who was in India with the military. He married an Indian woman, and they had half a dozen children. My family never recovered.” Her sardonic smile told Nora that she was rather proud of her family member’s scandalous behavior.

“I can hardly go to India,” Nora said. “Not with Mother’s illness.”

“Your mother has Lucius.” Bitsy tipped her head. “She’s not your responsibility.”

Rose gasped. “That’s so heartless. Of course Nora feels responsible for her mother. She would never be so selfish.”

“Oh, come now.” Bitsy twirled the pearls circling her wrist. “You must sacrifice your own desires and allow Nora to follow her path.”

Rose pouted. “It’s not selfish to want Nora to remain in Ithaca, safe and surrounded by loved ones.” She withdrew her hand from Nora’s and clasped hers together at her chest. “I promise, Nora, I just want you to be safe. I’m not being selfish.”

“Of course not,” Nora said. She shot a warning look at Bitsy, who only shrugged a delicate shoulder. “Besides, I’m not going to India.”

“Owen is going,” Bitsy said with a twist of her expressive lips.

Owen had made that clear right after Professor Comstock reminded them about the opportunity. He’d rather travel than work for his father over the summer. It fit with his hoped-for adventures. He probably dreamt in Hindi. Or Mandarin or Polish or Russian. Nora felt certain he dreamt of vibrant birds resting in banana trees and sari-clad women smelling of sandalwood. Her face burned.

“Why should it matter if Owen goes?” she asked.

Bitsy shifted her weight toward the front of her chair and leaned against the backrest, one arm draped over it in affected indifference. “I’m sure it won’t matter at all to the trustees when they are ready to choose a scholarship recipient.” She tilted her head. “How will it look when they see Owen went to India . . . and you pursued economic entomology in Illinois’s cornfields?”

Nora stared at her. Was that what Bitsy really thought? That the scholarship could rest on who had the most exciting summer? No, not that. But they would, as Professor Comstock said, look at who had invested the most time and energy in proving their dedication to the science.

Nora buried her head in her hands, and Rose patted her back. “It’ll be okay,” Rose said. “You don’t have to get your master’s. Why, you could get married!”

Bitsy chuckled. “For Nora, that’s not the promise of utopia it is for you. Besides, she’s married to her insects. And nothing would satisfy her greater than thwarting Lucius’s plans for a good match.”

Nora crossed her arms and narrowed her eyes. “It has nothing to do with Lucius. I just can’t think of anything better than insects to commit myself to.”

And she would prove it to the scholarship committee, with or without a trip to India.

On her way out the door the next day, Nora peeked into her mother’s room. Lydia lounged on the floral chaise near the window, a walnut lap desk perched atop her skirt. Sunlight spilled over her, and Nora thought she looked almost healthy.

“Mother, I’m heading over to the laboratory. Do you need anything?”

“I’m quite well. See that Alice comes up before you leave. I need to plan the menu for your dinner.” Her expression became animated, and she clapped her hands together. “Oh, Nora, Lucius told me you’ve conceded to allow Mr. Primrose to join us. I’m so glad. Lucius is positive you’ll like him.”

Nora swallowed a groan. She’d forgotten about the dinner and Mr. Primrose. She wouldn’t dream of asking to cancel the party in honor of her graduation—Mother might grow stronger with the joy of planning it—but she couldn’t think of anything she’d rather do less than make polite conversation with her stepfather’s friends and pretend to be satisfied with the thought of settling down and marrying.

“I will let Alice know.” Nora did as her mother asked and then set off for the school.

When she reached the cemetery, she pushed open the rusting gate and picked her way across the grass. She grimaced as she skirted a newly dug grave, the dirt packed down in a mound. Guilt pricked her conscience. She hated that the quickest route from town to school cut through the graveyard, but it was what all the students did. She avoided looking in the direction of her father’s Gothic headstone, increasing her pace as she passed the gravel path that led to it. She never visited his grave. She couldn’t. Couldn’t imagine him, so full of vigor and life, moldering in a casket beneath the ground.

Head down lest she accidentally see the headstone, she hurried toward the road and bumped into someone standing just outside the gate. “I’m so sorry.”

Owen turned and blinked down at her with a crooked grin that turned shy. “Fancy running into you. Or rather, you running into me?”

Nora glanced back at the graveyard and considered running for real. Hiding behind one of the stones. Climbing the oak tree and disappearing within its branches. Of course, she’d probably fall out.

When she looked back at him, his smile had slipped, and she saw exhaustion in the tightness around his eyes and the deep crevice between his brows. His normally parted and pomaded hair fell forward into his face as though he hadn’t taken the time to properly see to his morning toilette. With a flick of his wrist, he swept back his incorrigible cowlick, then stuck his hands into the pockets of his gray plaid trousers.

“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 fingers 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.