Chapter
Twelve

Nora sat hunched over the detested table that held her work. Elbow resting on the splintered wood, chin in her palm, she tapped her fingers against her cheek and watched as Mr. Alford prepared to leave camp without her yet again.

She’d hardly done anything but paint pretty watercolors and sketch diagrammed butterflies since arriving in India a month earlier. The monotony was broken only by Sita’s almost daily visits. After the men left in the morning, she’d come into camp, avoiding her aunt’s pinching fingers and glares, and watch Nora work. Then they would run into the shola, Nora’s rucksack bouncing against her hip.

Nora had never been so grateful for a friend, even though that friend was much younger than she was. She’d always appreciated time spent alone, but here, loneliness stalked her, peering from the fringe of forest and waiting until her defenses were down to overtake her at the strangest moments. Even when surrounded by the others, she couldn’t shake the sense of not belonging. Mr. Alford had made no secret of the fact that she didn’t.

But with Sita, Nora had found purpose that extended past the need to produce illustrations of other people’s discoveries. With Sita, Nora found relief from the loneliness and isolation.

Sita had told Nora the day before that she wouldn’t be visiting today, and Nora found herself missing the young girl. It had taken nearly half a year to develop the kind of friendship with Bitsy and Rose that most women seemed to take for granted, but when Sita stumbled into her life, she’d bypassed all of that and found Nora’s heart. The thought set Nora on edge, making her wonder if they’d become too close, too quickly. Good relationships took time, and this one seemed to have exploded into being.

Thankfully, Mr. Taylor and William were staying in camp today, distracting her from uncomfortable thoughts. Mr. Taylor because he wanted to dedicate a little time to his own project—studying the habits of leeches—and William because he’d been banished from Mr. Alford’s presence after accidently shattering a collection jar and losing a specimen.

Because of that mishap, Nora had nothing at all to keep her busy today. She’d taken some time before anyone awoke to write to her mother and Anna. She tidied up her tent, gathering the items Pallavi would wash later that day and folding her lightweight blanket into a perfect rectangle. She trimmed her nails with a small pair of scissors.

William had brought the table outside for no reason other than it had become his habit, and she now sat at it for the same reason. There were no boxes of butterflies or tray of paints on the table. Only a paper fan she’d bought the last time she’d been to town.

Pallavi slid a plate of papaya slices onto the table, and Nora sighed. She loved the fruit, but eating it without a fork was a messy process. “I’m going to get a napkin.”

When Nora returned to the table, a handkerchief tucked into her sleeve, the plate was gone. Her jaw stiffened when she saw Mr. Steed holding the empty plate, a sticky grin the only evidence of his crime.

“That was mine.” She crossed her arms and tapped her foot. She’d grown up never once wishing for a sibling, and now that she felt as though she lived with a troop of brothers, she knew she’d been right.

He shrugged. “You weren’t there.”

“That doesn’t mean I wasn’t going to eat it.”

He burst into one of his interminable operettas, his eyes flashing with mischief that wouldn’t have looked out of place on the face of a child. Her fingers itched with the urge to slap him. Instead she yanked the fan from the table and flapped it at her face. The heat made her impatient and waspish.

“Enough, Jeffrey,” Mr. Alford interrupted, and for once Nora was glad for his shrill voice. “Let’s get going. Owen, you take the supply bag William usually carries.”

With that, the three men set off, Owen sending Nora a small smile that held no joy, only contrition and guilt.

Mr. Taylor dumped the remaining bit of his tea into the grass and handed the cup to Pallavi. He disappeared into his tent, and Nora watched the flap with interest. A moment later, he reappeared wearing cotton duck gaiters above his boots and carrying a stuffed rucksack over his shoulder.

“Where are you going?” she asked.

“Collecting leeches. There’s a swamp I believe will yield a bounty about half a mile from here.”

She sat up straight and worked to keep the eagerness from her voice. “Can I join you?”

“No.”

She slumped back down, and he patted her shoulder.

“I prefer to work alone, Miss Shipley, and I rarely get the chance to enjoy my own company. If you have no work, you might consider doing the same.”

“Mr. Alford said there are tigers in the area.”

“There are, but not this close to camp. You’ll be fine as long as you don’t go too far into the forest.” He checked his jacket pockets and the clasp on his rucksack, then jerked his chin at something behind Nora. “Why don’t you go with William there? He’s near useless most of the time, but he’ll make a good distraction if you’re confronted by a big cat.” With a small smile breaking his stoic expression, he left.

“I heard that,” William called after him. He turned to Nora and grinned. “Do you want to do some exploring? Don’t worry about Frederic’s warning about tigers. I’ve been here for months, and I’ve not seen evidence of even one. The scariest animal about this area is the gaur, but they tend to run the opposite direction if they hear you coming. Oh, and the snakes. There are elephants too, and they aren’t afraid of anything, so you have to steer clear of them. And—” He pasted a bright smile on his face. “You know what, let’s just go. Everything will be fine.”

Nora’s eyes had widened during this speech, and her stomach clenched. When she’d been left in Kodaikanal by herself and walked back to camp, she hadn’t known the forest had been full of deadly animals. She’d thrilled in her lonely exploration, happy in her oblivion. She had no wish to be trampled by an elephant or bitten by a snake. But she also had no wish to return home having made no discoveries or done anything of importance.

She eyed William’s lanky frame. He was tall but not broad. And likely not able to protect her from anything with teeth or claws. But she had no choice. She stiffened her spine and willed her heart and stomach to settle. She’d stay to the perimeter of the forest, near the wide grasslands that quilted the hilly landscape. Hopefully she wouldn’t need to rely on William’s questionable bravery and strength to stay alive.

They gathered their supplies, each of them stuffing a rucksack with kill jars, field examination kits, and tweezers. Nora pulled a water-filled canteen over her head, then secured her broad-brimmed hat with pins.

Laden down, she nodded at William, who wore an eager grin and his own hat, a monstrous one that promised to shade a small village. “Ready?”

Setting off, their feet crushing the overgrowth, Nora felt a loosening in her chest. The thick, moist air that had clotted her lungs released, and she drew a deep, purging breath. Sometimes she felt she could hardly breathe in India. She didn’t know if it was the weather or the stifling atmosphere Mr. Alford created, but here, stepping beneath the canopy where ferns as tall as trees closed them off from the open grassland and shaded them from the sun, her body relaxed.

“What are we looking for?” William asked, already covered in a fine sheen of sweat.

“Anything.”

“It’d be easier to find it if you narrowed your prospects. Lepidoptera? Hemiptera? Araneae? Odonata?” He slapped away an overhanging branch. “Or are you more interested in insect ecology? The relationship between insects and diseases? If that’s it, you’d be better served going to one of the bigger cities like Calcutta or Madras.”

Nora trailed him through the brush and brambles. She stared at his narrow shoulders swimming in an oversized linen jacket. “I didn’t realize you knew anything about entomology.”

He threw a glance at her. “Then why do you think I’m here?”

She tilted her head. “I don’t know. Mr. Steed said you’re only here because your father knows people. I just assumed you wanted an adventure.”

“I was born and raised in India. This isn’t an adventure for me.” He held out his arm and welcomed her beside him when the path widened. “I want to go to school in England and work in the field. My mother hasn’t been able to release me, though. My brother died last year, and she’s holding the rest of us closely. My father thought this would be a good way to ease both of us into the separation.”

“And your parents are missionaries?”

“Yes. In Bangalore.” He pointed out a bee-eater fluffing its vibrant yellow and green feathers in a nearby tree. “I don’t think the birds in England come in those colors.”

“From what I’ve heard, the only thing in England that isn’t gray are the ladies’ gowns.” She shrugged. “Those are black.”

He laughed, and they pushed forward until the trees thinned, the ground grew steep, and their breathing labored, and they crossed into open grassland. Ahead of them, something brown flashed, and a powerfully built deer galloped toward the woods.

“It’s really beautiful here. There’s so much diversity in the topography, flora, and fauna. I don’t think I’ve ever seen so many species of insects in one place.” Nora looked out over the tapestry of stitched-together land. Sholas and grasses and hills and, in the distance, the Western Ghats disappearing beneath a mantle of mist.

“You should see the rest of India. Kodaikanal is beautiful, but it’s not really representative of India. You’ll find more British and Americans here than Indians, and the culture is decidedly European. If you’re able, you should travel to Kerala and see the backwaters, or Jodhpur, the blue city, or Hampi, which is littered with ancient temples. India is an amazing country. It would be a shame to only see this little corner of it.”

Nora shook her head and smiled at the idea. “No. I’m just here for this one trip. Traveling isn’t really for me.”

“Really?” He cocked his head. “You seem exactly the type to enjoy traveling.”

She laughed. “Everyone keeps saying that. I’m beginning to think I don’t know myself as well as I thought I did.”

Something buzzed past her ear, and her hand shot toward it. The large beetle escaped her grasp, bumbling toward the forest line just ahead. She lifted her skirts and tore after it, her heart beating to the tempo of discovery.

William’s steps pounded after her.

Nora lost sight of the insect but continued running, hiking her skirts even higher and exulting in the freedom. In cutting through the wet air and sucking in deep breaths. In knowing nothing would stop her in this quest—as futile as it was.

The beetle was long gone. And still she ran.

When she reached the forest, sliding over damp earth and decomposing leaves, she slowed to a walk. William kept pace with her, pinching his side and grinning in his enthusiastic way. “What was the hurry?”

“I saw something interesting and gave chase.” She stopped in front of a spindly tree and bent to brush the silky purple petals of the orchid growing at its base. “This entire place is full of interesting things to see. I’ve spent too much time in camp. I’m glad I came out today.”

William knelt and snapped the orchid halfway down its stem, then stood and tucked it behind her ear, his face as red as the berries hanging from the tree’s branches. “That’s exactly what someone who enjoys travel would say.”

Nora laughed as Sita surged ahead and broke through the tree line into the grassland where camp had been set. After painting an especially beautiful crimson tip, Nora had grown bored and decided to step into the forest.

She hadn’t forgotten William’s words from two weeks earlier. “That’s exactly what someone who enjoys travel would say.” She’d taken every opportunity to explore, discovering beautiful flora and fauna, sketching everything, rebuilding her collection with the specimens she found beneath logs sprouting with mushrooms or collecting nectar from showy flowers. She didn’t want to take this opportunity for granted. When the trip was over, she might never leave New York again.

“Do you want to come explore with me?” Nora had asked Sita when the girl crept into camp, sidling past her aunt, who was taking a nap near the cabin, her arm thrown over her eyes. Of course Sita had agreed.

They studied the ponderous movements of a green beetle and watched a brilliant blue flycatcher eat a dragonfly and tripped over moss-covered rocks that made stepping-stones across transparent creeks.

Being with Sita and enjoying the diversity of this foreign wood felt familiar and comfortable. But soon the sun had begun to fall from its peak, and Nora knew she needed to return.

She hiked up her skirts and trailed after Sita, who was poking her head into each of the tents.

“What are you doing? Come sit with me and help me finish my work.”

Nora pulled out the little stool at the table and ushered Sita to it. Dragging a camp chair up next to her, Nora sat and pulled one of the boxes forward. She removed the lid and pulled the canvas she’d been working on toward her. This particular butterfly had been giving her problems. She couldn’t quite replicate its iridescent blue hind wings that faded to black.

“Why is she here again? I thought I told you weeks ago to send her away.”

Nora lifted her eyes and looked at Mr. Alford, who stood only paces away, staring down his aristocratic British nose at Sita.

Sita wiggled in her seat and kicked her foot against the table leg. Nora had spent enough time with the child—had listened to her chatter on about school and family and friends—to know she became restless when confronted. But she’d also realized that Sita’s quick defenses and ill-mannered expressions, her squirms and impulsivity, hid a girl with a sensitive heart.

Nora reached across the divide between their chairs and rested her hand on Sita’s. She wouldn’t deny the satisfaction she experienced when her touch settled Sita. Set her at ease.

“Sita visits nearly every day, and she is quite helpful while I work.”

Mr. Taylor and William stumbled into camp, clutching their stomachs, and made beelines for their tents. Owen and Mr. Steed followed at a slower pace, stopping when they reached Nora’s table.

“What are you doing back this early?” she asked.

Mr. Alford crossed his arms, and his long fingers tapped out a tempo against his sleeves. “Leonard and William are unwell. Owen, Jeffrey, and I will head back out. Please tend to our patients.”

Nora stared at him. “You don’t expect me to . . .”

His expression pinched, and he ran his hands through macassar-oiled hair. “What is your purpose here if you can’t help where I need it?”

Mr. Steed coughed and slunk away, but Owen mouthed the word pleasant.

Nora pushed back her chair and stood. She flicked away stray shavings of pencil from her bodice and tucked an errant curl behind her ear. All the while she looked at Mr. Alford, took his measure, forced her pulse to stop galloping beneath the thin skin at her wrists and temple. His brow furrowed. He looked around at the tents, Pallavi stirring lentils over the fire, and the shrubs circling everything, as though they offered refuge from Nora’s steady gaze.

“I came,” she said in her best pleasant schoolmarm voice, “to work with a team of dedicated scientists on a book for the Crown. My expertise lies in entomological research, not nursing.”

His eyes narrowed, and he looked past her. A sardonic smile curled his lips. “Evidently you also have little expertise when it comes to children.” He jerked his chin toward the table.

Nora whirled and saw the back of Sita’s head, bent low over Nora’s canvas. Sita’s arm slid back and forth over the table as she rubbed something over Nora’s painting, her tongue poking from between her lips, oblivious to Nora and Mr. Alford’s attention. She sat back and studied her work a moment. Picking through the pastels, she chose one and ran it over Nora’s mediocre rendering.

Mr. Alford chuckled behind her, and Nora nearly lost her grasp on the calm demeanor she’d forced her expression into. Because of him, not the child. It wouldn’t take long to replicate her work—she’d not gotten to the challenging part—but Mr. Alford, with his hubris and self-satisfaction, made her vision narrow.

She touched Sita’s back. “What are you doing?”

Sita turned and flashed a dimple. She lifted the canvas, holding it aloft with all the pride a child of eleven could muster. “Do you like it, Akka?”

Nora gasped, then snatched the picture from Sita. “Oh my.”

She’d expected scribbles. Inappropriate colors. An immature likeness.

But this . . . Sita had perfectly replicated the butterfly’s magnificent color. Somehow she’d managed what Nora had struggled to do—the blue looked dusted on, blending seamlessly with the black. Thin black markings, highlighted with white, shot through the wings as though painted on by a fairy’s pen.

“How . . . ?” Nora turned to Mr. Alford and blinked up at him.

He smirked. “That bad?”

She shook her head, too flabbergasted to take his delight at her possible downfall personally. She turned the canvas around. “It’s perfect.”

Owen whistled, and Mr. Alford plucked at a piece of dry skin on his lips, his glance skittering from Nora to Sita. “You did that, Sita?”

Sita gave a slow nod. “I thought I could help.” She scrunched up her nose. “I’m sorry.”

Nora set the picture on the table and touched Sita’s shoulder. “It’s a wonderful thing. How did you do it?” She brushed a fingertip over the blue wing.

“The watercolor was the right color, but not the right . . . I’m not sure how to say it, but the butterfly wing glowed.”

“Saturation.” Nora nodded. Sita was right. The blue watercolor was the perfect hue but didn’t display the wing’s dimension.

Sita continued. “I thought, if I used the blue and white pastel over the blue watercolor, it would look more like it.”

“Clever.” Nora bit her lip, then smiled. “It’s perfect, and I love it.”

Sita glowed beneath Nora’s praise.

“Mr. Alford,” Nora said, “I want to apprentice Sita.”

“What?” He laughed. “Why would I allow that?”

She turned, careful to arrange her expression into one of neutrality. “The child is interested in entomology and displays a rare artistic talent. I insist.”

He sputtered. “You can’t insist on anything.”

“Really? Because as far as I can tell, you have no other illustrator. Do you really want to wait another month or two for one to arrive? I’ve allowed you to dismiss my education and experience, to underestimate and devalue my work. Despite Professor Comstock’s belief that I would be a useful part of this team, I’ve been asked to illustrate and shop and nurse. I will train Sita, or I can go home.”

Owen crossed his arms and winked at Nora. “If Nora leaves, I’ll have to escort her back to the States.” He moved to her side and slung his arm around her shoulders, giving her a squeeze. “We’re a team, she and I.”

Warmth spread from Nora’s belly to the tips of her fingers and toes. She touched her fingers to his, as light as a hummingbird, and then fisted the side of her skirt to keep from slipping her hand into his. It seemed she had to travel halfway across the globe to learn the depth of a man she’d spent three years dismissing.

Mr. Alford tossed his head. “Fine. What do I care? Just keep her away from my work. We leave in ten minutes, Owen. Be ready.”

As Mr. Alford sauntered away, heading toward Pallavi and haranguing her over yet another meal of lentils and rice, Owen dropped to the stool beside Sita. “You’re talented.” Sita grinned and turned her attention back to her work. Owen looked up at Nora. “She’s really been here every day while we’ve been working?”

Nora shrugged. “I’ve been bored. You’re all gone all day, exploring and discovering. I needed to do something other than draw, or I’d go crazy.” Pallavi and Mr. Alford’s arguing grew louder. “Anyway, if you hadn’t returned early, he’d never have found out. She’s always gone before you come back.”

“We had just discovered a strange symbiosis between an ant species and some sort of lycaenid when William began . . .” Owen’s face went a bit green. “Leonard soon joined him, and they were so weak, we needed to see them back. Frederic wants to get back to the site as soon as possible so we can continue our observation.”

Nora bumped Sita to the corner of the stool and perched on its edge. She clasped her hands and leaned toward Owen. “Tell me what you found.”

He shook his head, and his brow wrinkled. “A caterpillar was resting on a leaf, and ants were swarming it. We expected them to carry it away, or at least kill it, but after a while, it appeared they were protecting it.”

She blinked and leaned against Sita’s shoulder. “Why?”

“I’m not sure. But when a hornet tried to attack the caterpillar, the ants chased it off.”

Nora reached for a piece of cast-off paper and a pencil. She pushed them over to Owen and said, “Draw the larva. While you’re gone, I’ll look through the books and see if I can find any mention of it.”

He took the pencil and bent his head low. His hand made quick, broad strokes, leaving a basic rendering of a brown caterpillar sporting haphazard setae. He gave her a wry smile. “It’s not as good as yours or Sita’s would be, but it’ll do.”

She took the paper. “It’s fine. I’ll find it if there is anything in the literature about it.” She traced the drawing’s bold lines with her finger.

Owen reached out and touched her hand, startling her. “I wish you could come with us. This is the kind of thing you most love.”

The sadness in his voice touched her. She’d never thought it possible, but she’d come to think of him as a friend. And especially in the absence of Rose and Bitsy, she appreciated that. Needed it.

He gave a surreptitious glance around and squeezed her hand while leaning closer. “When everyone is asleep, let’s sneak out. I’ll show you where we found the caterpillar. It’s not far, and I don’t think it’s going anywhere, at least not until its next instar.”

“I’d love that,” Nora said, not knowing if she was more excited about studying an interesting species or spending time with Owen.

Oh, heavens.