Edward smiled widely, as did Mary. Hannah reached across the table and grasped her father’s hand.
“It was
your
telescope to begin with. Without your teaching and encouragement, no instrument on Earth could have brought me my comet.” Now tears really did spring to Hannah’s eyes.
Her father squeezed her hand in answer, and Edward cleared his throat.
“On the subject of Greenwich, and Time, your friend George Bond is obsessed of late with the application of the telegraph.”
“Have you become enamored of scientific progress in my absence? That would truly be shocking. Though with all the changes I noted between the ferry dock and our front door, I shouldn’t be surprised if you tell me you’re to be appointed Astronomer Royal.”
“Things have changed greatly,” Mary chimed in, saving Edward from answering. “After you left there was a rash of property sales: the Hussey house was the first, and there were some half-dozen more, all of which were operating as hotels by the time the first bulbs came up.” Nathaniel nodded.
“It’s been a financial boon for the Island, though perhaps not to the liking of all its residents.”
Edward shot Hannah a look she could read easily:
To say the least.
Hannah sighed, allowing fatigue to settle in her body, the warmth of the room, the company of her loved ones to soothe her.
“I hope we can visit the Continent soon,” Mary was saying. “We’re looking into another expedition. Though of course it won’t be as easy next time.” Her hand fluttered to the top of Moses’ head.
Hannah felt her head nod. The voices of her family engulfed her like soft wings, and her eyes fluttered as Edward helped her from her seat.
“I can help clean up,” she muttered, but she was going up the stairs with Mary at her elbow, and here was her old room, and her bed, and before Mary had even unlaced her boots, Hannah was sound asleep.
hen she woke up it was dark, and when she lit the candle she found that her trunk, which had arrived two days earlier, had already been unpacked in a freshly whitewashed room with a newstuffed mattress and a soft quilt—a hundred squares of fabric in various shades of rose, from dusky sunset to blazing summer bloom. Hannah wondered if Mary, too, had reached the end of her tolerance for Discipline, or whether the quilt had been placed there strictly for Hannah’s benefit. The floors were so clean, they shone. Sighing, Hannah changed into a pale blue dress, enjoying the sensation of the fabric on her legs and the round hooked rug under her bare feet. Then she laid out the carefully wrapped gifts she’d brought home: a pair of German binoculars for Edward, a delicate Florentine teacup for Mary, an iridium- tipped steelnib pen and India ink for her father.
She picked her way along the hall with the ease she’d always had in
the dark. At the foot of the stairs to the garret, she paused. A candle was lit above. Someone was working. Hannah padded up, soft as a cat. Two voices murmured within, and she pushed the door open a crack.
Her father and Edward sat side by side before her wide desk, their heads bent over a logbook. Hannah couldn’t hear what they were saying. The light from the candle showed her the books and charts repopulating their corner of the room, as if they’d never been hidden away in crates, ready to ship; the glint of the Dollond on its stand caught her eye, and though it was as comforting as an old friend, it looked like a relic compared to the instruments she’d seen and used in Europe.
There were other changes: a leather armchair took up a whole corner of the room, and three new shelves held an array of objects she couldn’t make out or recognize. Edward’s old coat and woolen hat were back on the pegs near the stairs; a pile of Hannah’s boxes were stacked in a far corner where the rocking horse used to be. Her gaze traveled to the stairway to the walk.
She imagined the depth of sky she could sweep with the telescopes she’d peered through in her travels. How the old star patterns of the sky over Nantucket—so familiar, she could draw them from memory— would reveal new aspects, things she couldn’t even imagine. It would be like looking at a different sky altogether.
A different world,
Isaac had called it. She wished again that she might have shared it with him. That he could be part of her homecoming now.
Edward looked up.
“There you are,” he said, sliding his chair back. “Come join us.” Hannah hesitated.
“I don’t want to intrude,” she whispered, hesitant to break the pleasant spell that seemed to bind them.
“Intrude? This is
your
room,” Edward said, and snapped his fingers as if to free her from an enchantment. “We’ve only just managed to keep up without your help.”
Hannah smiled at his exaggeration, and pulled up the little stool between them. Her father scraped over a few inches to make room, and Hannah studied his form. He was wearing a suit of what seemed like very fine lightweight wool. It was a dark grey, and cut in a familiar style, but it had a light sheen. That’s why he looked different, she realized: she’d never seen him in anything but the white shirt, dark pants, and buttoned coat that all the Friends wore. Hannah reached out two fingers and, taking the sleeve between them, marveled at its texture and weight, the array of tiny, perfect stitches.
“This is very nice,” she said, glancing up but not wanting to embarrass him with questions. It was the kind of tailored garment that cost a small fortune. Even though he was technically a Philadelphian now, she was shocked that he’d spent the money on it.
“Father’s been contracted by the United States Mint,” Edward said, closing the logbook in front of him. “In his position he’s expected to appear—what’s the word Lucinda used?” He glanced at Nathaniel.
“Like a member of modern society,” Nathaniel muttered. “Are you and Lucinda not members of the Philadelphia Meeting?” “Of course we are,” he said, patting her on the hand. “And she looks
Hannah nodded, still focused on the combination of his suit’s fine fabric and cut, his ruddy aspect and combed hair. Together, they lent him the look of—what? Hannah squinted and cocked her head, trying to figure out what he looked like, exactly, and could only come up with
banker
—which was exactly right.
“In any case, we’ve other business to discuss.” He pushed back his chair farther so that they sat in a semi-circle.
“We do? I’ve only just gotten off the boat. Have you lined up work for me already?”
He rewarded her with a smile, and a warm current of comfort swept through her.
“Now that I’ve secured the contract thy brother mentioned, I’m in a position to do something we dreamed of for many years. I’ve met with Dr. Bache, in Washington, and of course spoken with William Bond and Dr. Hall as well. All are in support of a new observatory. Small, but fully outfitted and able to contribute to all the local and national astronomical efforts.”
“Run by?”
“Run by thee. I’m certain you’ll be able to find work enough to maintain thyself on the Island now, even if thee continues to choose . . .” He paused, fishing for a word. Hannah couldn’t intuit what he was getting at. He cleared his throat. “Even if thee doesn’t marry. And of course I’ll assist as the project gets under way. And thy brother will help, for whatever span of time he decides to grace us.”
Hannah was so shocked by the announcement that her thoughts puddled together all at once.
“You’ll be the sole funder? That’s terribly expensive,” was what she managed to say.
“Always practical Hannah,” Edward said, rolling his eyes and kicking her boot under the desk as if they were ten years old. She tried to kick him back but missed.
“I’m considering various funding options. Dr. Hall has some interest in investing, and there’s a good chance a subscription would be fruitful. There’s a fair amount of labor involved, and Edward has been quite helpful. But Philadelphia is my primary residence now.”
He hesitated as if he wanted to say something else, and she remembered the garret as an empty shell, stripped of their presence down to its planks and beams. Nathaniel sighed and took off his spectacles, then bowed his head for a moment, rubbing his temples, and in that hunched position he looked elderly, and fragile. Hannah felt her throat tighten, a complex array of emotions vibrating at once.
The chance to have an observatory of their own, a place to discover and dream, had been their shared vision as long as she could remember. She imagined a small transit house atop the Bank, living in this house on her own, with the financial means to ignore marriage entirely. She could spend her days ciphering and her nights observing for as long as she wished; perhaps the offer to contribute to the Coast Survey would resurface. It would be the most orderly of lives. It made perfect sense.
But a speck of doubt floated by, light as a puff of pollen.
One must not forsake feeling for fact,
Mary Somerville had said.
Keep your mind open to possibility!
Now it sounded like a warning. Nathaniel and Edward were staring at her, expectant.
“That’s an exceedingly generous offer,” Hannah said, choosing her words with care. “It’s a bit overwhelming. I hardly know what to say.”
Nathaniel blinked at her like a surprised owl.
“I rather thought thee would be more excited. I can understand thy brother’s limited enthusiasm, but is this not what we hoped for?”
Edward looked as shocked as Nathaniel, but for once he remained mute, and she was grateful for the chance to gather her thoughts.
“It’s true that Edward and I could not be more dissimilar in our inclinations and aptitudes,” she said, keeping her voice soft. “These are our natures. I know thee has been disappointed by our choices in the past: Edward for shipping with the
Regiment,
rather than taking a profession, and myself for failing to marry some respectable individual, be it Dr. Hall or George Bond.” She hoped her gentle tone would blunt the effect of what she was about to say.
“But in following the dictates of our own hearts and intellects, I believe we have chosen wisely. Had Edward gone on to University, he would have been miserable. And had I entered into a contract with a man I didn’t love, I would be the same—and in all likelihood I would never have found my comet and gotten the opportunity to pursue my observations. At this exact moment, I’m not . . . I’m not certain of my course.”
Nathaniel didn’t answer for several long seconds, but Hannah felt a swell of relief. Speaking her mind felt like laying down a tremendous burden. The salons of Europe, her audience with Mary Somerville, her visits to the great observatories—everywhere she had gone, people had asked for her thoughts and ideas; she’d witnessed passionate, emotional debates about everything from universal suffrage to the mathematical likelihood of a finite Universe.
“Thy travels have certainly impacted thee,” Nathaniel finally said. “Perhaps after thee has rested, and given the notion more consideration, thee will conclude that this plan is indeed suited to thy nature and circumstances.”
Hannah bit her lip. She had wounded him; it was not what she’d meant to do. But before she could say anything else, Nathaniel sighed and pushed his chair back from the desk.
“In any case, we shan’t resolve the future tonight. Nor the past.” He sat up straighter and clutched both arms of the chair in order to rise to his feet. Edward’s hand snaked out to help, and Hannah’s was still there, but Nathaniel swatted them both away.
“I shan’t topple,” he said. “But I will retire. I’m sure there’s much catching up the two of thee have yet to do.”
Hannah rose to let him by, and as his footfalls echoed away, she slumped into the chair he’d just vacated, warm from his body, and propped her boot on the stool. Edward blew out a huge sigh.
“My goodness, Hannah. I should call the
Mirror
: ‘Great Lady Astronomer Goes to Continent, Returns with Valise, Voice.’ ” He shook his head but his voice was full of admiration. “I’ve never heard you put your feelings into words. Especially in defense of yours truly. I’m touched. Really.”
Hannah shrugged, but her cheeks warmed.
“Heartless Hannah no more, I suppose,” she muttered, wanting to change the subject before she accidentally revealed the true source of her transformation.
Her twin stared at her, waiting, then crossed his arms.
“I’m as perplexed as Father at the moment, though I’ll be delighted if you do decline the offer and decide to move away.”
“That’s charitable.” Cross, Hannah pushed the stool away with her boot, then sat up and folded her arms to match his. “I’ve only just arrived. Why must I decide today what I want to do?”
“You need not. But I’m sure that you of all people can see a hot iron when it’s sitting in front of you.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Hannah!” Edward leaned forward as if she was missing a fundamental point. “You’re famous!”
“So what?” she shot back.
“Well, why would you want to stay here when you could go anywhere on Earth?”
She felt pinned in place by his intense stare, but it grounded her. This was the garret of her youth. Home. Her senses sharpened: old wood and new, the peculiar dust of this room, crumbling parchment and spiderweb and ink. Leather from the books; a hint of linseed oil. She glanced at the desk; someone had recently polished it. Its dull gleam beckoned. Hannah ran a loving finger across it.
“I honestly don’t know if I want to stay or not.” Hannah examined the ragged edges of her fingernails. “Though I’d hesitate to get involved with anything Dr. Hall had a hand in. At least if I remain I’ll be supported by my own industry, regardless of your comings and goings. Or that of any other man.”
“True enough. There’s not a man on this Island right now who won’t be away in a minute’s time, bound for an eastern city or a western farm. But unless you wish to remain shackled to an empty bed for the rest of your days, consider whether you’re willing to end up with a fellow with half your intellect, who’ll expect you to follow him to some factory town or worse. You might have financial independence here, and every instrument at your disposal, but the rest of your life will be boxed in by the boundaries of this place, which you know better than anyone. And as you might have noticed, they now contain thousands of idlers in the summer and a ghost town in the winter.”
“Are we talking about my prospects again? Is that what this is about?” A vision popped into her head like a match struck in the dark: a warm spring day, the windows of the house thrown open to the breeze, green shoots rising in the garden. She would be working; a distant knock would bring her down the steps as it had two years earlier, and she would throw open the door to find Isaac Martin waiting. This time she would waste no time with formality; this time she would go toward him as if propelled by gravity itself. Lost in her imagining, Hannah heard Edward droning on as if through a veil.
“I’m only suggesting that the Island has changed—
is
changing. And you’ve changed, too. I can see it.” His voice dropped to a near whisper. “I don’t want you to stay here out of some misguided notion of loyalty, to this Island or to our father. Or because you’re waiting for something. Or someone.”
Hannah’s face must have revealed her sudden sense of panic that Edward had read her mind, because he held up his hands and shook his head.
“I didn’t mean to— I’m not saying you have to marry. Just that I don’t want you to spend your life in this tiny corner of the world.” He reached for her hand and she allowed him to take it, but she pressed her cheek to her shoulder to hide her face.
“I don’t care about anything that happened here while I was aboard the
Regiment
. You know that. I trust your judgment to be as solid as the Heavens. But I do think there’s a bigger role for you than even a Nantucket observatory could provide.”
There was a gentle tapping, and then Mary came into the room. She was clutching a bundle of papers, wrapped in a ribbon. Hannah sat up.
“Are those for me?” Hannah asked. Her skin tingled into gooseflesh.
“Oh. Yes. They’re yours.” Mary handed them off and glanced at Edward. He rose, dropping Hannah’s hand.
“We’ll leave you to them,” he said gently. “We can speak more later.”
Hannah nodded, staring at the sheaf of correspondence in her hand. She barely heard the door to the garret click shut. What she wanted to do was leaf through the whole bundle immediately, looking for a letter from Isaac. But she forced herself to begin at the top, stretching out her wait. Her hopes would be fulfilled, or dashed. He would have written—or not—and then she would have to face the clear truth of the situation. She had waited this long; she could wait a few minutes more.
The first letter was from Admiral Bache himself, inviting her to join an astronomical expedition to Northern Maine in a month’s time; she quickened at the opportunity, until she got to the bottom and saw that her father had been invited, too. Was she in need of a chaperone? she wondered, and then winced at her own naïveté. It was political, of course. Not personal. She sighed and looked around for her calendar and journal before remembering that they were all downstairs.
The stack of letters nestled in her lap. She plucked the next one from the top: it was postmarked Cambridge and turned out to be a note from George about his latest experiment: photographing the rings of Neptune.
I could use your eye (not to mention your maths) here in Cambridge,
he wrote.
I can’t offer you a paid position (though you know I would if I could), but if you’re inclined to visit, I can guarantee you credit and authorship on anything we publish
. . . Hannah folded it up after scanning the rest and put it with Dr. Bache’s letter to be answered. After that came three requests for articles or appearances and two dozen fan letters from individuals she had no acquaintance with, praising her accomplishments and wishing her, in one young girl’s curling hand, “more extraordinary luck in de-mystifying the Heavens.”
The stack was half-gone. Hannah seized the rest in her hands and was surprised to see, right at the top, her own name, in her own hand. She flipped the letter over:
Isaac Martin, via the Pearl, Pacific Grounds.
Whereabouts unknown,
someone had written across the top in red ink. It had been returned, then; Hannah squinted at it but couldn’t remember when she’d penned it. She’d have to read it to find out. She put it aside and turned to the next one, finding the same inscription across her own handwriting, and then another, and another. Seven of her letters to Isaac in total, all posted from Nantucket before she’d gone overseas. All of them bearing the same angry red scrawl.
Whereabouts unknown
.
She froze, clutching the sheaf of parchment, a record of her desire in black ink. Why hadn’t her letters reached Isaac? Fear coursed through her like blood, and she had to order herself to calm down and think clearly.
It wasn’t possible that the
Pearl
had gone down. When a Nantucket ship foundered, it was in the newspapers. People spoke of it; she would have known. At least a quarter of the crew was Nantucket-born. And none of the letters she’d written from overseas were in the pile. Her hand shaking, she placed the bundle down on the desk. No wonder he hadn’t written: he’d not received her letters. They explained Edward’s comments, too. Hannah felt her cheeks burning; he’d obviously seen these pile up in the mail slot, and knew that she’d been writing to someone who had simply disappeared.
There was only one letter left. Her heart hammering, Hannah reached for it, closing her eyes before flipping it over.
What do you wish for?
she heard herself wondering, long ago in the Atheneum. She answered without hesitation now, clutching the letter, seeing Isaac the way he had once convinced her to see her comet. As if she could conjure him.
Speak to me,
she thought.
She turned over the clean white square. Her heart thudded into her belly, heavy as an anchor.
Miss Hannah Gardner Price
was neatly inscribed upon the front. It was not Isaac’s handwriting. The return address was in St. Lawrence Valley, New York. Hannah tried to recall if she knew anyone there—or where it was, exactly—but couldn’t come up with anything. She broke the seal, hardly caring about the contents.