Chapter
Twenty-Seven
Nora stumbled over a branch covered in decaying leaves. She kicked it out of the path and forged ahead toward the only place she knew that would offer solitude and comfort.
Cascadilla Falls in autumn smelled of age and wisdom. The water, rushing over ancient sandstone, smoothed everything in its path. Nora hoped it would smooth away her worries.
She’d held out hope that the board would reconsider their decision to cut her from the line of students vying for the scholarship, but the next lecture series came and went, and Nora sat in the chair beside her bedroom window, twisting the fringed edge of a pillow between her fingers.
Today, when she’d sat down to toast and boiled eggs for breakfast, she saw Lucius with his nose buried in the morning paper. Emblazoned across the front page was a headline that declared Owen had been awarded the scholarship.
She would have been thrilled for him had it not meant the end of her own dreams. Had he not betrayed her to get it.
A breeze carrying the scent of winter rustled the remaining leaves clinging to the trees. She wrapped her arms around herself. Only wanting to get away from the dining room where she had to read about Owen’s success and witness Lucius’s gloating, she’d forgotten her shawl.
Instead of veering left toward the creek bank, feet from where the water plunged down a giant staircase of stones, Nora hiked up the overgrown incline. She reached the top of the falls, huffing and pinching the stitch in her side.
She stood next to the tree. Its limbs still hung over the falls, but its branches were no longer spindly. Now they looked as though they could hold the weight of a man. Its heavy trunk sank into the ground, a stalwart reminder of Nora’s poor choices.
When she ran her hand over its brittle bark, chunks fell into her hand, revealing tunnels and holes in the wood. She flicked at some sawdust-like frass, and a few brittle pupal skins tumbled to the ground.
It seemed a borer would be the end of the tree that had been the end of her father.
She leaned her forehead against the trunk and wished for a different outcome. If only I had obeyed. If only he hadn’t followed. If only, if only, if only.
Nora pushed herself away from the tree, knowing the falls would bring her no peace today. Her mind and heart were too bruised and wretched to receive any balm. Tripping her way down the incline, she raised her arms above her head and let a scream tear from her throat. It bounced around the gorge before being drowned by the pounding water. Again and again, she released all her pent-up frustration and anger and brokenness in short, forceful shouts. Her feet propelled her down, and by the time she reached the bottom, she had nothing left to offer the sky, trees, and water. She’d sacrificed her dignity and composure, finding blessed release in letting go.
The moment she stepped onto the narrow path leading back to Cornell, though, she found herself wound tight again.
“I thought you’d be here,” Owen said, standing at the foot of the path. Dark circles made crescent moons beneath his eyes, and she thought he looked tired. Guilt, maybe?
She pulled a brittle leaf from the sloppy knot she’d wound her hair into that morning. It had rained the night before, and the air was heavy with residual moisture, making the curls around her face frizz. Nora imagined she looked a fright.
But not quite as bad as Owen.
“Are you going to say anything?” he asked.
Nora quirked her brows, the only movement she allowed to break her stoicism. Her chest tightened, forcing her heart into a canter that sent blood rushing to all parts of her body. But Owen didn’t have to know that beneath her flat expression and nonchalance, everything squirmed in turmoil.
“I shouldn’t have put you in the position of choosing between me and the journal,” Owen said. “I haven’t declared myself to you, and it wasn’t fair. But, in my defense, I’d hoped we’d reached a point in our relationship where you valued me over a magazine.”
“Is that why you colluded with my stepfather to convince the board to exclude me from the scholarship?”
Owen shook his head, and a deep wrinkle appeared between his eyes. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Someone told Lucius what happened in India, and he told President White. Only four people here knew about it. You, me, Professor Comstock, and Anna. I hadn’t even told Bitsy and Rose. Because of my indiscretions, the board decided I was no longer a candidate.”
“Why would I speak to Lucius about it?”
Nora stared at him.
“Okay. I can see why you’d think that. But I didn’t. I have no idea who told him.”
He seemed so earnest, and she knew he valued honesty. But if he hadn’t, who? “I saw you follow him after your lecture. You spoke with him.”
“I did talk with him, but it wasn’t about India or the scholarship.” Owen dropped his head and toed the dirt path, worn thin by years of trampling undergrads. “I only asked how you were. Told him to tell you hello. He asked if I was going to release him from the burden of managing you. I said you didn’t need managing. Then he laughed and walked away.”
Her face burned, and she was a panicked student batting away roaches all over again. Exposed. Vulnerable. “You said nothing at all to Lucius—to anyone—about what happened?”
“Lucius did tell the board, and they questioned me.” His shoulders drooped, and he shoved his hands into his pockets. “I couldn’t lie, Nora. I confirmed the story.”
Her hope flashed like a lampyrid, one moment bright and the next snuffed out. She swallowed hard and dropped her eyes to the ground. He had large feet, and they almost touched the hem of her gown. She stepped back, her skirts swishing, then settling a hairsbreadth farther away. So much more than that, really.
The space wasn’t enough to keep him from grasping her shoulders. She jerked her head up, surprised by his pained stare.
“What choice did I have? Professor Comstock himself answered affirmatively. Would you hold me to a different standard than him?”
She pulled away, surprised when the urge to pound against his chest lifted her arms. She clenched her fists and forced them down by her sides. What had loving Owen done to her? Her composure was gone, and her flaring temper made her want to cause him pain. It was too much.
“I shouldn’t have expected anything at all from you.” She tried to step past him, but he blocked her way.
“That’s unfair. You were told, repeatedly, to stay out of cultural matters. You didn’t listen. Just did what you wanted, the consequences be—”
“I wouldn’t have been able to live with myself had I ignored Sita’s plight. What choice did I have?”
“You’re allowed to make that argument, but I’m not? When forced to choose between two difficult options, you chose the moral one. So did I!”
“How is divulging a story you knew would disqualify me from the scholarship the moral choice?” She stomped her foot, regretting her childishness the moment she did so. Taking a deep breath, Nora smoothed her fingers over her hair, pushing the errant curls around her temple beneath her hat. She pressed her lips together and silently counted to five. Hold it together. Nothing is worth behaving unhinged. “I know the scholarship was your way to escape your father’s plans for you. To get out of having to go to law school.” Her throat thickened with tears. “But you have so many choices open to you, and it was my only one. The only thing standing between me and saving my father’s legacy was that scholarship.”
“You can do anything you want, Nora. It’s just a magazine, after all.”
The tightness around her eyes sent sharp pain shooting through her temples. She sighed. “There are other options when you’re an educated man with family connections. It’s not so hard for you to do what you want. But what about me? I’m a woman trying to forge a path through a man’s world. I’m not wanted, Owen. Lucius would have given me the journal if I’d gotten that scholarship. With a master’s degree, I could have taught like my father. I could have made a difference. As it is, I doubt I’ll be able to find a position in science. Be able to support myself.”
Owen took her by the waist and pulled her toward him. “Why do you have to support yourself? Let me do so.” The tips of his ears turned red. “Marry me, Nora. I can take care of you.”
She took a few steps away from him on shaky legs and stretched out her arm, hand up, when he attempted to follow her.
“Let me help you.” His voice cracked.
Nora shook her head. “How can I trust that you’ll help me when you believe your dreams are more important than mine?”
“That’s not fair.”
“Not much about life is.”
Nora sat on the French walnut chair in the parlor, a book on American spiders open on her lap, and watched the flames in the fireplace dance up the chimney. She tried to return her attention to the illustration of Lactrodectus geometricus, but her eyes wandered.
Lucius sat on the nearby settee, swirling amber cognac in a snifter. Her mother had left for bed only minutes earlier, unable to pry from Nora the reason for her discontent.
Nora uncrossed her feet and shut her book. Before she stood, though, Lucius cleared his throat.
He sipped from his glass, then settled against the back of the settee, crossing one leg over a knee. “You’ve never liked me.”
It wasn’t phrased as a question because there had never been any question. Nora hadn’t liked Lucius since the day he stopped by their house when she was heading out the door with her father to hunt beetles. He’d asked her father why he wasted time teaching a girl the things he taught men at the university. She had been eight, and she’d known then, just as she knew now, that Lucius didn’t compare favorably to Alexander Shipley.
She looked at the fire, holding her hands toward it. The almost-winter wind shook the windowpanes, and a chill seeped into the room despite the leaping flames.
“You don’t have to answer, but I know it’s true.” There was no sadness in Lucius’s voice. No desire to be accepted or loved.
“You are nothing like my father.”
He gave a short laugh. “Not many men are.” He shifted his bulk and sighed. “Your father was the best of men, and life was good to him.”
Nora turned disbelieving eyes toward him. “He died too young.”
“But until then, his life was good. He had the heart of your mother, a promising career, and the devotion of a child. It seems unfair that one person should receive so much.”
The floorboards creaked above them as her mother readied for bed, and Nora wondered, for the first time, if she ever compared her second husband to her first. “My father worked hard and was honest. He gave to people—his time, education, and friendship. Life didn’t just hand him respect and love. He earned it.”
Lucius studied her as he ran his thumb over the rim of his glass. Nora didn’t turn from him, knowing he was testing her mettle. Finally, his lips turned up in a crooked smile. “I’ve always been weak. Your mother could have had another man—a decent one. I’m not sure why she chose me.”
Nora knew she’d never have a loving relationship with her stepfather. Most of the time she managed to be polite, if distant, and that was enough. But tonight, her heart fractured and her spirit bleeding, she thought she might as well submit to the recklessness that so often tore from her mouth. “Probably because you took advantage of her grief while other men allowed her time to mourn.”
Lucius didn’t look surprised or angry. In fact, no emotion at all colored his expression. “You may be right. I’ve never thought I was worthy of her, but I have tried to make her happy. My only goal has been to shield her from anything that might weaken or hurt her. Your mother isn’t like you, Nora. She is fragile and easily overwhelmed.”
Nora glanced away, unsure what to do with his almost-compliment.
The glass clinked as Lucius set it on the table beside him, and he clasped his hands together, resting them against his stomach. “You know, I loved your mother long before your father met her. I introduced them, in fact.”
Nora frowned. She hadn’t known that. And something about it didn’t sit right with her. She pinched the bridge of her nose and looked into the fire.
“I told him,” Lucius said, “that I had every intention of pursuing her. But she fell in love with your father instead.” He laughed without humor. Everything he did seemed backward somehow. His laugh, his love, his goals. It was as though he fought through life, not realizing no one else joined in his battle.
A jolt of recognition shot through her middle. Maybe she and Lucius had something in common, after all.
Nora stood. “It seems as though, in the end, you got what you wanted.”
“Thanks to you.”
Ice doused her. She rubbed her throat, needing to force open the airways that had closed so suddenly. “What?”
He couldn’t know. No one had been at the falls that day. The only witness was God.
Lucius gave her a quizzical look. “If she hadn’t had a child, your mother would never have remarried. She adored Alex and knew he couldn’t be replaced, but she also didn’t want you growing up without a father.”
Nora sucked in a breath and sank back into her chair. She clutched the heavy book with white fingers and rolled her dry lips inward, moistening them. “You were a poor substitute.”
He lifted his glass in agreement. “I won’t argue that. All I wanted was to see to Lydia’s happiness, and for some reason she believes you are instrumental to keeping her happy.” He picked up the decanter of cognac and poured another glass. “It seems I’ll be the one who most disappoints her, though.”
His hand shook as he brought the glass to his lips, and Nora wondered if he’d been drinking away their money as well as gambling. She shook her head, not understanding how her mother had thought this sorry man could fill her father’s place.
She stood again, wanting nothing more than to shed the pins pricking her scalp and the day’s heartache. To climb into bed. Hopefully her dreams would give her a measure of escape.
Lucius held up a finger, indicating his desire that she stay. She sighed and waited.
“She will soon know how I’ve hurt her. Everyone will know. I’ve done something I promised her I wouldn’t, and there is no way of hiding it from her anymore.” He swirled his glass, the alcohol capturing his attention. His words came from very far away, as though he’d disassociated himself from them. “Do you know Mr. Primrose is headed to Long Island? He’s part of my sister’s social circle. There still might be a chance you can recover what you lost. What I lost.” His eyes snapped up from the glass and caught her gaze.
“I’ve lost my chance at everything I’ve ever wanted professionally. I’m not willing to lose my personal life so you can escape the consequences of your poor decisions. I know you’ve gambled, Lucius, and lost our house.” Rancor filled Nora’s mouth with bitterness. This was her home. Her parents’ home. Lucius had only been a guest—an unwelcome one—and he’d managed to steal it from them. She wasn’t going to let him steal anything else that belonged to her, and her choice of a husband might very well be all she had left.
Lucius frowned but didn’t question how she’d come into that knowledge. His eyes held only resignation. He took another sip of cognac. “If only that were it, Nora, but there are some things worth more than a house. And I’ve managed to lose it all.”
Nora had only met Martha Farnesworth, Lucius’s sister, once—at Mother’s wedding. Soon after that, Martha’s husband, a prominent Long Island doctor, fell ill, and Martha spent all her time caring for him.
Which was why Nora stood confused, hand on the front door, blinking at the imposing woman who smiled at her from beneath the brim of a wide hat.
Martha pulled Nora into her ample bosom. “It’s so nice to see you again! My, you’ve grown.”
“Aunt, you’ve come,” Nora said blankly. She pulled back and glanced behind Martha at the carriage but saw no one but the driver standing beside a large trunk. “Where is your husband?”
Martha’s smile slipped, but just a little. “Poor Frank. He died two weeks ago.”
Nora stared. “We had no word.”
Martha waved a hand as if to say not to worry and lifted two small cases from the porch. She bustled inside past Nora. “I sat down to write after the funeral but then thought, Why not just visit? I haven’t seen you since the wedding, and I had a letter from your mother”—Martha turned, and her voice dropped to a whisper—“which led me to believe all is not well.”
Nora held the door open for the driver, who had hoisted the trunk onto his shoulders. He stomped his feet before entering the house, then followed Martha into the hall. “Where should I take this, ma’am?”
Martha looked at her in expectation, and Nora inhaled, trying to center herself in the whirlwind of her aunt’s arrival. “The guest room is at the top of the stairs, third on the right.”
The driver followed her directions, and Martha removed her hat. “Well, where is my brother?”
“He and Mother are in the back garden.”
Nora led Martha through the house and out the back door. Lucius walked the gravel paths of the rose garden, Mother’s hand in the crook of his arm. Nora had encouraged her mother to go outside, the weather today being much milder than mid-November normally produced. It couldn’t be healthy, staying inside all day, inactive and closed off from the world.
Martha marched across the lawn, her stiff skirts flapping with every step. Nora followed her.
Lucius halted, his eyes growing wide when he saw Martha. “Sister?”
“I have come to set things right.” Martha planted a kiss on his forehead, then patted his cheek as one might a child.
“Set things right?” Lucius plucked at Mother’s sleeve, sending her a hesitant smile that didn’t reach his eyes.
Martha planted her hands on her hips and rooted herself to the spot. An immovable boulder standing in the face of poor management and disorder.
Nora quite liked her.
“I am under the impression,” Martha said, “that there are some concerning problems afoot. You didn’t tell me you’d lost your position.”
Lucius’s eyes shot to Nora, and he pulled his lips back, revealing a grimace of large, straight teeth. “Why must you involve yourself in things that don’t concern you?”
Nora held up her hands. “I had nothing to do with this.”
She had never heard anyone speak to Lucius the way Martha did—a no-nonsense tone that caused Lucius’s mouth to snap closed. “Leave that poor girl alone. She did nothing wrong. Lydia wrote to me and hinted at trouble.”
Lucius looked at Mother with a wounded expression. She dropped her eyes to the ground, and her chin quivered.
“Where is your husband?” Lucius asked, turning back to his sister.
“In his grave, and it’s about time.” Martha huffed. “That stubborn man refused to die when the good Lord called for him.”
Lucius sputtered. “Martha!”
The corners of his sister’s lips turned up for just a moment, as though she knew her words were shocking and she reveled in her ability to ruffle Lucius’s sense of decorum.
Goodness, Nora really liked her.
“Lucius,” Martha continued, “the man was ill in bed for five years. Five years of fetching things for him, reading to him from his dreary medical books, listening to him complain and whine. He was a terrible husband when he was well. Unbearable when he was ill. The only consolation was that he couldn’t raise his hand against me for weakness.”
An unnatural quiet descended on the garden. Of course, spousal abuse wasn’t rare, but no one talked about it. For Martha to divulge the ugliness of it in the light of day, so unvarnished, seemed ill-bred. Why, though, Nora didn’t know. Why shouldn’t people discuss it? Maybe abuse happened because the secrecy allowed it to flourish.
Nora touched Martha’s arm. She didn’t offer pity because her aunt didn’t seem like the type of woman to take kindly to that, but she hoped her touch offered understanding. Solidarity.
“I didn’t know,” Lucius said, his words abnormally gentle and soft.
Martha patted Nora’s hand. “It is done. Now, why don’t you have tea made for me, Lucius? I’m quite famished.”
She turned toward the house, and that was when Nora saw it. The green-and-yellow ribbon pinned to the lapel of Martha’s fine woolen cape. “You’re a suffragette!”
Lucius coughed and choked, his face draining of color. “Please tell me you’re not.” He looked so horrified, Nora didn’t know whether to gloat or pity him.
Martha fingered the ribbon and said with a self-satisfied smile, “Of course I am. I joined the day after Frank died. It is my new mission to fight for women’s rights—both civic and personal. If there is one thing Frank taught me, it’s that women need to rise up and stand against injustice.”
“I’ve learned,” Nora said, “that when women do that, we suffer tremendously.”
Martha threw back her shoulders and raised her head. Nora couldn’t help but compare her to her mother, who seemed drawn into herself, probably still worried that she’d overstepped in writing to Martha about their problems. Martha—vibrant, stout, and forthright—wasn’t worried about offending.
“The suffering is worth it if we’ve caused change.” Martha eyed Lucius. “Don’t you agree?”
Something passed between them—a secret understanding—that caused conflicting emotions to cross Lucius’s face. He stiffened beside Mother and wrapped his arm around her—hiding her within the safety of his bulk—as though trying to shield her from whatever he and Martha knew. He turned to her and said, “Darling, I believe you’ve spent enough time outdoors.”
Lydia didn’t question him. She pressed a kiss to his hand and hurried toward the house.
“It is a good thing you came,” he said after she’d disappeared inside. “I’ve been meaning to contact you about a situation that has left us unable to remain here in Ithaca.”
Not live in Ithaca? Nora knew he’d lost the house, but there were other, smaller houses. Why did they have to leave?
Lucius didn’t meet Nora’s eyes. He gazed at his sister as though she were a lifeline. “I have heavily mortgaged the house. In order to pay my debts, I’ve been forced to make difficult decisions. I’ve done the best I could.”
Nora forced her frozen lips open and formed words she didn’t want the answer to. “What have you done?”
He ignored her, instead speaking to his sister, as though Nora didn’t deserve an explanation for why he’d destroyed the life her father had worked so hard to create. “We will need somewhere to stay until I’m able to secure a new position in a different town. And moving will incur expenses I’m currently unable to support.”
“What have you done, Lucius?” Nora’s breathing grew shallow, and the cold air, which only a moment ago had felt brisk and refreshing, paralyzed her lips. Unable to form any more words, she wrapped her arms around herself and rocked.
She knew about the house and the money. Knew he’d sabotaged her chances for the scholarship. But he’d said there was something else, something that would break Lydia’s heart. And the only thing Nora could think of was his losing the one thing she wanted most in the world.
“I have significant debts, outside of the house, which must be paid.”
“From gambling!” Nora’s accusation hung between them, full of vitriol and years of contempt. “You gambled my father’s money and house. You’ve ruined everything.”
Martha sighed, and it contained more than just disappointment over her brother’s actions. “I expected more from you, after everything I sacrificed to give you a better life. I thought you’d learned from Father’s example. What have you done?”
Lucius pressed his white lips together, and his jaw went rigid. He turned on Nora, and his words, spilling over with accusation, hit their mark. “This is your fault. You ruined our chance when you insulted Primrose. If you had kept your mouth shut, I wouldn’t have had to sell the journal.”
Her limbs stiffened, and she repeated his words, not sure she believed she’d heard correctly. “You sold it?”
“It isn’t final, but it’s practically done. There’s no going back on it.”
Nora threw her head back and stared at the sky, her gaze tracking a formation of geese flying south. She swallowed hard, wishing she could sprout wings and join them. Escape the terrible knowledge that she’d never have the chance to save her father’s journal. That she’d never have the chance to prove she was worth his belief in her. To make up for her part in his death.
“Your impulsive words destroyed my chance to keep it going.” Lucius’s words this time held less confidence. They were devastating in their blow, but the effect was minimized by his shaking voice.
Martha drew Nora close, the weight of her arm offering comfort. “Do not accuse the child. This is your fault, just as surely as our predicament when Father died was his.”
Lucius ignored her chastisement. “Whoever’s fault it is, the journal is as good as gone. And I can’t say I’m upset. The only reason I kept it going as long as I did was because I promised Lydia I’d hold on to it until Nora was old enough to take over. It generated little income and used too much of my time.”
“But you didn’t honor that,” Nora said. “You broke your word. The journal was mine.” Why had her mother never told her it was meant for her the whole time? “Why didn’t you turn it over to me when I asked you months ago? You knew I wanted it.”
“I needed to pay off my debts. Threats were being made. I hoped turning it into a commission publication would make money, but it was too late. I needed to sell. At least I turned a small profit on it.”
“You said I could have it if I proved myself and finished my education.”
“And you met my expectations. I wouldn’t have made you that offer if I believed you capable of attaining it. I mainly wanted you out of my house.”
“Father’s house, you mean. The journal was self-supporting until you ruined it. I could have helped you turn a profit.”
“Like I said, I had debts that needed to be paid. After I lost my teaching position, that was the only money coming in. I tried extending credit with the printer, but you know how that went.”
“There are other printers!”
Lucius turned his back on them and walked away, showing as much care for her grief as he’d shown to the promise he’d made her mother.
Nora looked at Martha, gleaning a measure of comfort from her stalwart presence. “There are other printers in town.”
Martha shook her head. “Not for someone known to be a gambler. I doubt any of them would have offered him credit.”
Nora’s eyes watered, and she blinked to clear them. It had all been for nothing. Going to India, trying for the scholarship, choosing the journal over Owen and refusing his proposal.
“It wasn’t his to lose.”