Chapter
Eight
The oxen’s rumps swayed as they pulled the two-wheeled cart, which the driver had called a mattu vandi when he met them at the guesthouse in Madras. Above his head, Nora watched the dirt road wind into a copse of pine trees. All around them the hills dipped and lifted, disappearing into the hazy blue horizon toward the Nilgiri Mountains in the distance.
Nora raised off the floor a little. She could just spot the large lake thickly fringed by trees. Like jewels strung across a bangle, red-roofed houses crisscrossed the roads leading to and through the Kodaikanal hill station.
The oxen lowed, and the driver clicked his tongue. When the wheel hit a rock, the cart jostled, and Nora tumbled backward. One of the porters following their conveyance, carrying trunks above his wiry body, shouted at her, and her face filled with heat.
“You’re going to fall from this cart like you did from the tree on the inlet if you don’t settle into your seat.” Owen pulled his cap from his face and lifted his head.
“I thought you were asleep.” How he could sleep through the amazing sights and sounds and smells, Nora didn’t know. But he’d spent the majority of the three weeks they’d sailed on the steamship from London to Madras snoozing.
“How can I sleep when you insist on throwing yourself from the cart every time we round a corner?”
She dug her elbow into his rib cage. “Sit up and look. It’s incredible.”
He scooted away from her but straightened in his seat. His gaze arced from right to left, and he nodded with approval. “It’s amazing. Kodaikanal is a beautiful place. And the weather is an improvement over Madras.”
Nora nodded. She’d never experienced heat like Madras. The moment she had stepped off the ship, a thin layer of gray sweat sprang from her exposed skin. Her wool traveling suit had turned into a wet blanket threatening to suffocate her, and she couldn’t get out of the city fast enough. The farther into the hills they traveled, the more lovely the weather became, though. She didn’t blame the American missionaries and British officials for moving their residences to Kodaikanal. It was even more beautiful than Ithaca, and maybe lovelier than paradise.
They passed just beneath a pear tree, small black and orange birds flitting among its branches. The driver shouted, and the oxen stopped. Standing, he waved at the three porters behind them, and they shuffled toward him. After a rapid exchange in Tamil, the porters hustled onto a narrow road disappearing into the Bombay Shola—the woods on the eastern side of Kodaikanal Lake.
The driver looked at Nora and Owen. “I send ahead. They fast.” He sat, and they set off again, following the porters at a more leisurely pace.
Berries hung heavy from the myrtle trees growing along the road, which had turned into a path the farther they followed it. The trees shaded them, casting shadows over the packed dirt and blanketing everything in a hush that whispered ancient stories. Overripe fruit scented the air with spicy incense, and Nora clasped her hands in her lap, compelled to prayer.
A flash of iridescent rose caught her eye. Grabbing the poles supporting the fringed shade of the cart, she hoisted herself to her feet. “Stop!”
The driver smacked at the oxen with a whip, and when she vaulted out of the cart and darted toward a tree, he yelled after her and waved his whip as though wanting to smack her, as well.
“Nora, what are you doing?” Owen called. He huffed and followed her.
“Look at that.” She stood a foot from the tree, watching the progress made by a flower chafer beetle. “I’ve never seen one with cephalic horns in person. Only in illustrations.” She reached a finger toward it and stroked its pitted thorax.
Owen watched her with a smile. “I’m sure we’ll see many more interesting things while we’re here. Come on. Our driver is growing impatient.”
She looked back at the driver, who glared at them from beneath the white cloth wrapped around his head. With a final glance at the insect, she followed Owen to the cart and allowed him to lift her into it. “Do you think I should collect it?”
“I’m sure they’re endemic to this area. You’ll have another chance.” Owen’s voice sounded tired, which Nora couldn’t fathom, given how much he’d slept on the journey. “Besides, I’m hungry, and I want to meet the team.”
As the sun dropped behind the hills, they rolled into a neat camp on the edge of the shola. A ring of white tents circled a clearing, a rough cabin holding court in the center. Four men clustered outside a tent. The porters crouched beside a fire, where an old Indian woman rubbed sand into the bottom of a pan. Nora saw her trunks stacked near the tent closest to the cabin.
A slim man sporting a feathery mustache and dark circles beneath his eyes separated from the group and sauntered toward them, flicking a cigarette. Owen clambered from the cart and held a hand toward her, which she clutched as she climbed out.
“I’m Frederic Alford, lead researcher. You must be the two sent by Professor Comstock.” His mustache twitched along with his left eye.
Owen introduced himself, and then Mr. Alford looked at Nora.
“Nora Shipley,” she said, releasing Owen’s hand.
A curse slipped through Mr. Alford’s clenched teeth. “I asked John to send me his two most promising students. He assured me he would.”
“And he did,” Owen said.
Mr. Alford stared at Nora and sucked at his cigarette. “What will I do with you? The only woman in camp is Pallavi, and she hardly makes an acceptable chaperone. She goes home at night.”
The woman near the fire looked up at the sound of her name. She used her sari to wipe at the corners of her eyes, then turned her attention back to the pan she was cleaning.
Nora ran her hand over the wisps of hair puffing around her temples, pushing them down and bidding them to obedience. “I don’t need a chaperone. I’m a scientist, and my sex is irrelevant.” She drew herself to full height, which did little for her confidence.
“Of course you need a chaperone. You are an unmarried woman under my care. How John thought this was a good idea is beyond me. I always thought him to be a pragmatic fellow, but this bit of foolishness shows otherwise.” Mr. Alford put his hands on his hips and scowled at her. She met his gaze and refused to break eye contact. She had done nothing wrong, and she wouldn’t be bullied by a British man with outdated notions.
“Nora will be an asset to the team,” Owen said. “And I’m sure Pallavi will be a suitable chaperone.”
“I don’t need a chaperone.” Nora pierced Owen with a sharp look. How would anyone take her seriously if she was trailed about by the cook?
Mr. Alford spun away. “Come eat some dinner.”
He stalked toward the khaki-clad men who sat on camp stools, scooping bits of sauced rice from tin bowls with their fingers, and muttered words Nora couldn’t hear. Owen and Nora followed him, and one of the men offered her his seat. She sat in it, grateful for the chance to get off her shaking legs.
Another man nudged a bowl of water nearer to her with his foot. Nora dipped her fingers into it and let the cool water remove the journey’s dirt and grime. She wiped her hands on the scrap of fabric Mr. Alford tossed to her.
Pallavi offered her a bowl of something that smelled heavily of spices. Eager to prove her mettle, Nora tried to use her fingers like the men, scooping bits of rice and sauce into her mouth. Most of it fell back to the dish before she managed to get it into her mouth, but she smiled at Pallavi anyway. “Delicious.”
Owen settled cross-legged beside her and dug into his dinner, having no problem with the lack of utensils. Soon the other men went back to their meals, no longer staring at her with curiosity.
She’d eaten only a few bites, not nearly enough to quell the hunger biting her belly, before Mr. Alford motioned to the man who’d given up his seat for Nora. “Leonard, you may as well tell them how our days are run. I can’t very well send her back home. There are three rules governing life here—do your work; if you’re going more than half a mile from camp, take someone with you; and don’t cause any problems.” He smacked a palm against his neck. “Blast these mosquitoes. Blast dysentery. Blast it all.” He threw his dish to the ground, glared at her, then stalked into the weeds rimming camp, his feet stirring up dust and his curses stirring up anxiety.
The food in Nora’s mouth turned as thick as glue, and she forced it down her throat.
“Ignore him.” Leonard unfolded himself from the ground and took Mr. Alford’s camp chair. “He’s only discouraged that so many on our team have succumbed to illness.”
“And my arrival last month didn’t help matters.” The youngest man, a boy, really, shrugged. He had a wide pleasant face made pink by the fire, and a shock of blond hair. “My welcome was no warmer than yours, Miss Shipley.” He grinned at her. “I was raised in India, and we summered in Kodaikanal. I was an obvious choice to join the team.”
The third man, sitting outside their circle, snorted. He puffed on his pipe and rubbed at his scruffy mustache. “You are no more obvious a choice to join us than Miss Shipley, you upstart pup. You being here has everything to do with the fact that your father is close to that gibface leading the missionary alliance in town.”
The younger man shrugged, and his grin grew in width. “Come now, old man, you’re only jealous you had to work hard your entire life for the advantages I have just for knowing the right people.”
“Let’s not give a poor first impression. I am Leonard Taylor.” Leonard pointed to the pale young man with the infectious smile. “This is William Abbott, and the one over there is Jeffrey Steed. He’s always puffing on that pipe. If it bothers you, tell him, and he’ll put it out.”
“I’ll do no such thing. It’s medically necessary for my asthma.” Mr. Steed took a deep draw.
Mr. Taylor shook his head. “We each have our own tents. Make yourself comfortable, for it’s the only private space you’ll have. Mr. Alford currently has us searching for a Papilio buddha.”
“A Malabar banded peacock. I never dreamed I’d see one in person.” Nora glanced at Owen, and he smiled. “Professor Comstock will want to hear our observations.”
“Be sure to wear appropriate clothing tomorrow,” Mr. Abbott said.
Nora raised an eyebrow and looked down her nose at him. “I always wear appropriate clothing.”
Owen coughed to hide a laugh, and Mr. Abbott went red. “I only meant that the sun is bright. You’ll need to wear a wide-brimmed hat and something comfortable for hiking and climbing.”
Mr. Taylor slapped his hands against his knees. “It’s been a long day, and you must be tired from your travels. We usually relax a little before turning in. Pallavi serves breakfast at”—he looked over at where she sat, scouring a pot beneath a tree—“well, whenever she feels like it.” He stood and looked down at Nora. “I don’t care what sex you are as long as you are able to withstand disease and carry a rucksack. I, for one, am glad to have both of you on our team.”
Nora’s tent held only a cot and her two trunks. Near the flap, which could be opened and pinned up or released to close the tent in darkness, she had wrangled a slab of wood over two upturned crates, creating a sort of desk that sported her microscope, jars, boxes of pins, and other accoutrements.
She flipped onto her back and tapped her feet against the cot’s frame. Even though she’d turned in right after dinner, sleep hadn’t come. Owen, no doubt, had nodded off while chatting with the men around the fire. She’d been lying in bed for an hour, but the unfamiliar night sounds wouldn’t allow her to rest. Monkeys chattering, parrots squawking, a cicada of some type joining with its family in an otherworldly chorus.
The men sat outside her tent, discussing the day’s work in elegant British accents. Mr. Alford’s voice set her on edge.
Nora stiffened at the sound of footsteps at her tent flap. “Nora,” Owen whispered.
“One moment.” She stood and grabbed her calico wrapper from the end of the cot. Donning it, she quickly did up the buttons and settled back down. “Come in.”
Owen ducked beneath the flap, then pinned it up so that the doorway framed the men, the dancing fire casting shadows on their faces. Mr. Steed peered into her tent, squinting to see through the inky blackness of the night separating them. Nora ignored him.
Owen grabbed the upturned bucket she had set beneath her desk to use as a stool and dragged it toward the cot. He set an oil lamp on the floor beside him before sitting.
She tucked her legs to the side. “Is it okay that you’re in here? It’s highly unusual.”
“Everything about this is unusual, Peculiar,” he said as amusement bloomed across his face. “I think we’ll have to relax convention here. While the other men are just outside your tent, in full view, I believe it should be acceptable. I wanted to see how you’re doing. You were so quiet at dinner, and then you disappeared.”
“I don’t believe my presence is agreeable.”
He folded his fingers and rested his chin atop them. “You’ll win them over. They won’t be able to ignore your brilliance as soon as they see you in the field. Just give it time.”
“Prove myself.”
He nodded. “You will.”
She raked her hands over her scalp, disrupting the braid she’d woven earlier. Prove herself. Again. Over and over, in every part of her life, forever and ever, she’d have to prove herself. The thought sometimes seemed daunting. Would there ever be a time when she wouldn’t have to prove herself? When her accomplishments would be validation enough? “I wonder if Mary Davis Treat had to prove herself to Darwin when they began corresponding. Or when she had insect species named after her. It seems very unfair that I have to prove myself when dozens of women before me already have.”
Owen crossed his legs and wiggled his foot. He bit his lower lip, studying her in the flickering light of the lamp. “It is unfair. But it’s unfair that I don’t have a father who supports my endeavors, and it’s unfair that the men who worked with the team previously had weak constitutions and became ill, and it’s unfair that Pallavi is spending her dotage scrubbing pots for foreigners instead of napping beneath a banana tree.” He shrugged. “We all have handicaps we have to overcome.”
Nora took a deep breath of honey- and cumin-scented air and looked at him. Really looked at him, past the handsome face and expensive clothing and cavalier charm. She’d come to realize over the past weeks that he wore his don’t-care attitude as a measure of protection. Because occasionally he said something so profound that it couldn’t possibly have passed through Owen Epps’s lips.
“You aren’t as apathetic as you would have us believe,” she said.
“Sometimes people see what they want, never looking deeper than the masks we all wear.”
“What mask do I wear? A Blattellidae?” She held her index fingers over her head, wiggling them like antennae.
Owen leaned toward her, and she was grateful for the dim light that hid the color filling her face at his nearness. A very masculine scent drifted across the small space between them and brushed her nose. She dropped her hands to her lap and licked her lips, her throat going dry when the action drew his attention.
What was this? She’d never responded to Owen in such a way. She didn’t want to now. It’s the exhaustion of travel. Being in an exotic country. The strangeness of him sitting so near me. She cleared her throat and scooted toward the fabric wall, not quite believing her arguments.
“I saw through your mask a long time ago, Nora. You pretend you don’t care. That your blood is ice in your veins, and you have no room for anything in your life but insects and education. But I see.” His voice dipped. “I see you.”
For a moment Nora felt exposed, as though she’d forgotten to don her wrapper. As though she stood before Owen, vulnerable and unclothed. She didn’t want him to see her. Didn’t want him to notice there was anything more to her than insects and education.
Raucous laughter erupted from the men outside, and one of them cursed.
Owen tossed a glance over his shoulder. “Gentlemen.”
With a few sighs and huffs, they settled down, but Nora could sense some antagonism still. She shook her head. “I don’t believe this is going to end well.”
“Don’t give it another thought. Do your work. Discover something interesting.” He chucked her beneath the chin. “Keep that mask up for a while longer. Until the day when you feel safe enough to take it off.”