“But . . .” Chrissi prompted.
Alis took in a long, deep breath. The sort of breath that preceded unpleasant news.
Something that tasted like dread settled into her throat.
“It is just . . .” he began, eyes studying their joined hands on the seat. “The publisher was not willing to permit a woman’s name to be listed alongside mine on the publication.”
Chrissi blinked, her eyelids drifting up and down, and she listed toward him.
Or perhaps it was merely the sense of her entire world tilting on its axis.
“What do you mean?” She tugged her hand free of his.
“Precisely what I said. The publisher will pay handsomely to print the article, but he insisted on my name being listed as its author.”
“But . . .” Chrissi wrapped her arms around her middle. “Surely you explained . . . the writing is all mine—”
“Not all,” Alis protested. “Ididhelp.”
“A sentence here and there!” Her voice rose.
“Let us not forget my illustrations.”
“Yes, and they are lovely. But the ideas, the research, the insights, the very tenor of the argument—those were all my own. What did the publisher say when you told him as much?”
“Chris—” Alis began, voice so very weary.
She sat back against the carriage squabs, her heart a frantic, rabbity thing.
“You didn’t tell him.” She could hear the heartbreak in her voice.
“Who wrote what or how much . . . it simply didn’t come up.”
“Didn’t come up?! Women writing academic articles is not a place conversation naturally leads, Alis. You must direct the conversation there—”
“And what would ye have had me say, Chris?!Oh, see here, sir. My betrothed actually wrote this, and I insist her name be on it as well?”
“Yes! Yes, yes, yes! That ispreciselywhat I would have you say!”
“And what then? Be made to feel like a laughing stock? That I am so henpecked, my betrothed directs all my endeavors?”
Chrissi was appalled to feel tears pricking her eyes.
“No,” she choked. “You would say such things because you are proud of my accomplishments. Because you are honest. Because you wish my work to be acknowledged. Because you see me as more than chattel or a mere possession that—”
“What does it hurt to work together under one name? When we marry, we will become one under the law. What is yours will become mine regardless.”
“Yes! Underyourname. I will cease being a legal person entirely!”
“Ye ken well that isn’t how it is, Chris. Not between yourself and me.”
“But the world is not just you and me, Alis. You delude yourself if you think it is anythingbutthat. You know myfeelings on this matter—how important it is for me to retain my sense of self, even within marriage. To have you trample on my wishes like—”
“There is nothing to be done at this juncture. The publication is done and dusted.” Alis threw up his hands. “I already signed a contract under my name and—”
“You what?!”
“I already signed the contract,” he repeated, exasperated.
