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 different 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.”
“Nora!” her mother said on a breath of shock. “That’s enough.”
Nora glanced around the table. Lucius’s neck had mottled, and he clenched his fork with white-tipped fingers. Mr. Primrose stared at her with his mouth open and redness infusing his face, as though her insult had been a physical slap.
The dining room, which only moments ago had been filled with the scent of celebratory food, the sound of clinking glass and china, the presence of friends wishing her well, had now turned into a mausoleum—quiet, the air growing thin and smelling of regret.
The curls piled atop Nora’s head and dripping down her neck offered nothing but exposure. She couldn’t hide from the shocked expressions on her guests’ faces, the censure in Lucius’s eyes, the disappointment in her mother’s.
“This is what happens when a woman is overly educated. It gives her all kinds of odd notions.” Lucius’s booming words filled the silence, and he shook his head, his expression twisted into a parody of compassion. Nora saw the heat flash in his eyes, though.
Her face burned. Her mother turned sad eyes toward her, her hands fluttering above the table like the wings of an injured butterfly before settling at her waist. Something else peeked from behind the veil of disappointment, though. Anger? A cold fist gripped Nora’s throat. She couldn’t remember another time her mother had been angry with her. Perplexed, yes. Even frustrated. But this . . . this rigidity in the gentle slope of her jaw . . . it spoke of something more than embarrassment at a breach of manners.
Nora scraped back her chair and stood. “Please excuse me. I’m feeling unwell.”
She darted from the dining room as fast as her unwieldy skirts allowed. In the hall she met one of the hired servers, who carried a large tray heavy with platters of chicken Lyonnaise. Nora pushed past him in her rush to the stairs, ignoring his shout as the tray fell and sent poultry, sautéed onions, and china crashing to the tiled floor.
Through her bedroom window, Nora saw the last guests leave. The buggy’s wheels crunched across their gravel drive, and she watched until the light from the lamps wavered, then disappeared.
She dropped the curtain and sank onto her bed. She’d done it again. And she didn’t even know why. Yes, Mr. Primrose had been boorish, but she had encountered similar people many times before and hadn’t felt the need to put them in their places.
She pulled a satin pillow into her arms and hugged it to her chest. Maybe it had been misplaced anger toward Lucius and his plan for the journal, but she had hurt her mother and offended a guest celebrating her in the process. Mr. Primrose’s behavior had been deplorable, but so had hers. Lucius had every right to be angry. And so did her mother, even though that had been surprising.
She set the pillow aside when she heard heavy footsteps in the hall. They paused outside her room before Lucius entered without knocking, her mother trailing behind him.
“You have no idea what you’ve done.” His quiet voice held back the rage Nora could see in his eyes.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t think—”
He sliced his hand through the air. “No, I don’t suppose you did. Which is ironic, given your little speech.”
Nora sank against her bedframe, and the turned spindles bit into her back. “I will see him tomorrow and apologize.”
“Yes, you will,” Lucius said, “but that may not be enough.”
“Enough for what?”
He looked at her mother, whose face had turned pasty. She crossed the room and sat beside Nora. “Your stepfather was hoping Mr. Primrose would offer him credit. That he would continue to print the journal for us at a substantially reduced rate until we began turning a profit again. Mr. Primrose was offended, Nora.”
Nora saw Mr. Primrose’s red face. The way he sat, frozen to his seat, grasping his lapels as though they alone would redeem his wounded pride. “How long has the journal been in trouble?”
Lucius tugged at his cravat, loosening it. Nora wished she could pull the ridiculous lace from her throat. Maybe then she could breathe again. “That doesn’t matter,” he said.
“Of course it does.” She jumped to her feet. “You’ve dragged my father’s magazine into the mud. You’ve turned it into a rag not worthy of the paper it’s printed on. And now you’re telling me you don’t even have the resources to continue printing it?”
Lydia tugged at Nora’s sleeve, her trembling fingers tangling in the ribbons at Nora’s elbows. Nora jerked away. “Mr. Primrose had been considering you as a prospective wife, Nora. He’s seen you and thinks you’re beautiful. He so wants to marry, and Lucius had been speaking about you for a long time. That would have solved everything. It could have meant more than an extension of credit. It could have meant a forgiveness of debt.”
A vein in Lucius’s neck throbbed. “I had it in hand. You, with your need to prove yourself, have caused our current dilemma. Your bitterness at not being allowed to behave like a man has possibly destroyed everything. You are merely deflecting your mistakes.”
“My father would have never allowed this to happen.” Nora dropped her eyes to the knotted fringe edging the rug, unable to meet her stepfather’s gaze. She’d been so wrong. Had succumbed to her wounded pride. But Lucius, with his poor management and arrogance, had brought them to this place. “And I’d never agree to marry a man who doesn’t believe in me, no matter what he offered you.”
Lucius crossed the room, the tips of his fashionable, two-toned shoes coming into view. She focused on the buffed leather, even as his words lobbed stones at her conscience. “You have spent years comparing me unfavorably to your father. Do not do so again. I am tired of defending myself against a dead man who so obviously failed at parenting.”
Nora’s mother choked back a cry, and Nora looked up to see her pressing a fist to her mouth. But Lydia said nothing, and Nora saw every tear dripping down her cheek as a silent betrayal of her father’s memory.
“The only thing my father failed at was trusting and befriending you. If he could see what you’ve done to his work, his family . . .” Nora shook her head. “You couldn’t have been half the father he was. Just like you’re not half the scientist. And if my mother is honest, you aren’t half the husband either.”
Lucius released a guttural cry, and spittle flung across Nora’s face. She jerked her head away and stumbled back a step, her legs hitting her bed. Lucius turned and kicked her insect cabinet, setting the glass plates wobbling. After he stormed from the room, Nora and her mother stared at each other.
“He’s never been this angry.” Lydia curled into a ball atop Nora’s bed, making her silk-draped figure as small as possible. “Why must you say such things? He really tries. He’s not a terrible husband, and he’s had no experience in parenting. You can’t expect him to fill your father’s shoes.”
Nora sank down beside her and patted her back. “Don’t be too upset. He’ll calm down.”
Lydia lifted a tear-stained face and shook her head. “I think you’ve pushed him too far. He knows he can never please you. Why have you never been able to give him a chance?”
Nora ignored her mother’s cynicism and questions. Lucius didn’t care a whit about her opinion, just as Nora didn’t care about his. But her mind whirred with ways to make everything right. She hated that her ill-timed words may have caused harm to the journal. She’d apologize to Mr. Primrose, of course, but once that task was accomplished, she’d find a job. If she received the scholarship, she’d work through school and use every penny to save the journal. Maybe she could talk Lucius into turning it over to her now, before he destroyed it past redemption.
Alice appeared in the doorway, wringing her hands.
“What is it?”
“Miss, I’m afraid Mr. Ward has—” she darted a glance behind her, then moved in closer—“lost his mind.”
“Why do you say that?”
Before Alice could answer, Lucius pushed in behind her and, without looking at anyone, pulled open Nora’s insect cabinet drawers and removed four cases. He stacked them in his arms, then left.
Nora leapt off her bed. “What are you doing?”
Lucius didn’t answer. His footsteps thumped down the back stairs. Nora dashed after him, and as she exited the kitchen doorway into the backyard, she could see flames licking the sky. Her stomach dropped as Lucius threw the first case into the bonfire.
“No!” Her cry reverberated across the yard and was caught up in the flames. She ran toward him, but Lucius ignored her as he tossed the cases onto the burning logs. Glass shattered, sending off popping sparks as it expanded in the heat. A groan slid past Nora’s slack lips as light bounced off the metallic blue and green wings of a dozen beetles. Her Calosoma scrutator slid from its base as the pin melted.
Her first mounting.
Her father stood behind her, his arms, thick with muscle and blond hair, wrapped around her shoulders as he helped arrange the beetle’s legs just so.
“You must pin it slightly off-center, Nora. That’s how to keep an insect completely intact.”
She nodded and slid the pin through its thorax as he kissed the top of her head.
Every insect, most bound to memories of her father, burned. Her life’s work, her father’s life’s work, turning to ash.
Nora shrieked and reached for the corner of a case, but the fire crackled and sent out a spray of sparks that nibbled her forearm.
Lucius, his chin showing hardened determination, turned and walked back toward the house. Nora tore across the yard, and she didn’t look back as she overtook him. She pushed past Alice, who stood in the kitchen with her hands covering her mouth, and raced up the stairs.
She slammed her bedroom door shut and twisted the lock. “He can’t do this.” Tears clogged her throat. How could he? He knew she saw her father’s collection as her legacy, a thick cord that linked her to him forever.
Lucius slammed against her door. “Alice!” His shout boomed across the house, and Nora heard Alice join him. “The key.”
“But, Mr. Ward—”
“The key if you want to keep your job.”
Nora gasped and sat in front of the door. She pressed her back against it, her feet braced against the cabinet. The lock clicked, and despite her straining muscles and the desperation making her legs tense, Lucius slid her forward enough that he could enter the room.
“Please, don’t. I’m so sorry, Lucius. No more.” She threw her arms over the cabinet, pressing her face into its gleaming, lemon-scented top. Please, God, don’t let him.
But God paid no attention. Lucius flung her away, gathered another four cases, and disappeared.
Nora sank to the floor, tears dripping from her nose into her lap. Her mother, ineffective in most things and completely useless in this, buried her head beneath Nora’s pillow, her slender shoulders shaking.
After Lucius had gathered her entire collection and destroyed everything she held dear, Nora made her way outside. The clear sky canopied their yard in stars, and Lucius stood before the dying flames, his hands clasped behind his back.
She crept through the soft spring grass. It tickled her ankles through her stockings. Such a mundane thing to notice. The charred remains of her cabinet poked from the embers, pointing toward the heavens that housed a God who’d ignored her pleas.
Beside the fire, a Bombus bimaculatus lay prone in the ash and dirt. Nora sank to her knees and scooped it into her palm, running her thumb over its prickly fur.
“Little Bumble Bea, come gather with me.”
“Papa, my name is Nora.”
“Your middle name is Beatrice, after your grandmother, and she loved walks in the woods. Let’s go find something to honor her by.”
Nora closed her fingers around the bee and pressed her hand to her cheek. This is all that’s left, Papa.
Her words clawed past the pain and emptiness swirling in her chest. “I will never forgive you.”
In a voice so soft it would be mistaken for tenderness coming from another man, Lucius said, “I will not be compared to your father again.” Then he left her alone.
Nora watched as the dwindling fire licked at the remains of her beautiful collection and said nothing until her mother joined her on the ground. Lydia choked on a cry and touched Nora’s arm, brushing against the burns that throbbed almost as painfully as her heart.
Nora pulled away and lifted her chin. “Mother, I’m going to India.”