Ella had to ask. “Do you intend to stay for the lecture?”
“Oh no.” She shook her head. “I’ve been told this is not a talk for ladies.”
Ella couldn’t help but be surprised, especially given Miss Sutton’s outspoken nature. “But I thought you were an enthusiast of phrenology.”
“I am, but I doubt I’d learn anything new at this point. Besides, I find that a feminine presence just upsets the men. They desire our presence at times, but it is always on their terms.”
Ella pressed her lips together. Miss Sutton’s opinion made her question her own.
And she hated that.
When Ella did not respond, Miss Sutton’s brow furrowed. “Do you intend to stay?”
“I do.”
“Well, then.” Her singsong chuckle was almost condescending. “I wish you luck.”
Was that sarcasm Ella heard in Miss Sutton’s tone? Or disapproval?
Miss Sutton adjusted the reticule around her wrist. “I’m going to meet with Miss Hawthorne and the rest of the ladies for sewing. Since you intend to stay, I’ll depend on you for a detailed account of what I missed.”
Ella bid farewell to Miss Sutton, and her mother’s words of confidence echoed in her mind. But what was the best way to be confident in such a situation? If she stayed, she’d likely be perceived as unruly and obstinate—fodder to support the information in the pamphlet. And if she left and joined the ladies, was she not cowering to their demands? How would that further secure any sense of authority or autonomy?
She returned to her chair in the back of the chamber, fully aware of the scrutinizing stares in her direction. Some seemed amused. Some were disapproving. In that moment it mattered only what she thought of herself, and she refused to give anyone else the power to discourage, for every measure counted.
As the men began to take their seats, Mr. Abernathy came and sat next to her. Ella resisted the urge to recoil. She’d promised her father she’d keep an open mind, but Mr. Abernathy’s lack of support for her could not be forgiven . . . or forgotten.
“I’m sorry if Mr. Bauer upset you.”
She attempted to ignore the insincerity in his tone. “He didn’t upset me.”
“I spoke with him further after you’d left us, and he expressed his concerns a little more completely.”
She batted her eyes. “Concerns?”
Mr. Abernathy shifted stiffly. “He’s uncomfortable using certain terminology with ladies present.”
She could not help but scoff. “Then I am sorry for him if he cannot talk about his craft with more maturity and confidence.”
“You don’t understand.” The pitch of his voice increased. “He—”
“Mr. Abernathy, I know you’re trying to appease everyone, but I must stop you. You’ll never succeed. I suggest that instead of placating those around you, you decide your truths and adhere to them. Mr. Bauer is entitled to his opinions, but given my family’s history with phrenology, I’m convinced that not only do I have a right to be here, but I have a responsibility to be here. You may not agree, but for now I am going to sit right here and listen to the lecture.”
Chapter 17
AS GABRIEL STOODat the long gallery’s west end and conversed with Roger Norton, one of the most long-standing members of the Society, he decided that Mr. Bauer’s lecture could not start soon enough.
“And your father?” continued Mr. Norton, a plump, short man clad in an old-fashioned silk frock coat and breeches. “I’ve not spoken with him in quite some time. Is he in good health?”
The question would be an easy one for most sons to answer, but years had elapsed since Gabriel had spoken to either of his parents.
“I do hate to disappoint,” responded Gabriel, “but I haven’t spoken to my father in quite some time.”
A flash of pale gray fabric shimmered at the heavy, carved door—a sharp contrast to the dark blue, black, and tan clothing in the chamber.
Miss Wilde.
Mr. Norton noticed her as well, narrowing his gray eyes in her direction. “Ah, there she is. Punctual as ever.”
