“Oh, sure. I’ll go sit in one of the chairs over there, give you some space.”
“No,” I say, reaching for his arm to keep him from leaving. “Stay here. Be comfortable.”
The tension in his muscles seems to slowly evaporate as he eases into place beside me. “All right,” he says. “I will.”
Catoctin, Maryland— September 1908
Ora strolled alongthe Monocacy River and tried to retrace her steps—or rather, her words—from the day before, attempting to figure out where she went wrong. Because she must have said something to offend or upset John. That was the only explanation for his strange mood when she arrived at the newspaper office this morning. He’d barely met her eyes the entire time he spoke, telling her stiffly that his business obligations would prevent him from accompanying her on today’s search. Therefore, it was probably best that she try the river instead of returning to the woods, so that she wouldn’t be reliant on his directions.
Or perhaps she was flattering herself that she could have such an effect on him. More likely he was, as he said, busier than anticipated, and it was putting him into a mood. Because he was annoyed he wasn’t able to spend time with her? Ora let out a huff of amused dismissal aimed at herself; there she went again, assuming John Morse’s world revolved around her instead ofaccepting the less gratifying reality that she was simply a visitor here and his regular responsibilities wouldn’t halt on her account.
Ora traveled along the riverbank, scanning bushes and trees as she went. Every so often she stopped and peered through her binoculars to get a better look at some movement she noticed out of the corner of her eye, but while she saw several lovely specimens (including a heron that brought her immense joy), there was no fantastic bird as described in John’s letter.
She spent most of the day following the worn dirt path from the edges of Catoctin’s small downtown to the bluff that marked the beginning of that seltzer magnate’s estate and back again. She completed the full journey six times before her hope and energy faded and she decided to cease searching for the day and get some rest.
To her surprise, though, a message from John was waiting for her at the inn, requesting her company at dinner. It was difficult to decide whether this made up for his abandoning her today or not, until she arrived at the restaurant beside her lodging and spotted him waiting for her at a small table by the front window. Her heart raced with nearly as much delight as when she’d spied the heron earlier, and she decided she could forgive him his inattentions after all.
He greeted her with a “good evening,” to which she replied in kind and then asked, “Did you have as productive a day as you’d hoped?”
“I, uh, yes. I did. And you? Any luck at the river?”
She smiled ruefully. “No, unfortunately. The search continues tomorrow. Hopefully with my intrepid companion by my side so that it isn’t so lonesome?” The solitary nature of fieldwork had never bothered her before, and truthfully, whetherJohn accompanied her next time made little difference in how successful she was likely to be. But some things aren’t purely about success.
John didn’t respond to the question, instead lowering his voice so as not to be overheard. “Forgive me for not saying it when you arrived, but you are an absolute vision this evening.”
Ora glanced down at the slightly formal dinner attire she’d thankfully thought to pack. “I was grateful that I received your message with enough time to change out of my field clothes,” she said. “I will spare you the gruesome details, but I was far from pretty.”
“I find that difficult to believe,” he said. “As lovely as you are in this moment, I fear I’ll be forever haunted by the memory of you yesterday as we walked back from the woods. I fully believe that you’re at your most beautiful when you are fresh from the field. The rosiness of your cheeks, the dewiness of your skin. The thrill of the hunt leaves its mark in the persistent curve of your mouth into a pleased little smile I’m not certain you even know you wear.”
“Oh…” she started, her hand freezing in the middle of straightening her silverware.
John bowed his head and pressed his lips together. “I have been too forward. Forgive me.”
“No. You have not been forward. I just…I’m not used to such compliments.”
“You had a husband,” John said quietly, glancing up again with some curiosity in his gaze. “You said he supported your work. He never said such things to you?”
Ora waited until the server had filled their water goblets and left to retrieve the wine they’d ordered before she said, “Alfred was very encouraging. Only he…well, we were married, ofcourse, and we did…We were husband and wife in every legality. But he thought of me as a valued protégée first and foremost, not an object of affection. His compliments, when given, tended toward the scientific. For example, he liked to say I had the best eyes of anyone he’d ever met. But he didn’t mean the color or some light he saw within them, but rather my ability to identify birds from a distance, even when they were doing their best to blend in with their surroundings.”
John chuckled. “How romantic.”
“At the time it was. Someone—and especially someone who was as distinguished as my late husband—taking me seriously as a naturalist was a dream come true for me. Most girls fantasize about marrying a prince, but I simply wanted a man who would permit me to use my brain as I pleased. Our relationship might not have been what most would consider conventional, but I treasured it. His passing was a great loss to me.”
“I am sorry for it,” John said softly.
“Thank you.”
Later, after the server brought their wine and then their food, Ora felt brave enough to return to the subject. “I admit that I am surprised you’ve yet to marry,” she said. “A man such as yourself is surely considered quite the eligible bachelor in a town such as this. Educated, talented, a business owner…” She paused. “Handsome.”
“Oh, no.” John’s expression was unreadable as always, but she fancied she caught the slightest pinkening of his cheeks. “I am too unpopular a figure in Catoctin. A villain even, to some who find my editorials and cartoons to be especially insulting. I have a stack of threats to myself and my property back in the office that’s growing even faster than young Chester is.” Ora smiled at the comparison as John continued, “And while, yes, I do own abusiness, it is far from profitable. Few ladies are interested in chaining themselves to a man who can promise only to try to keep food on the table and little more.”
“Few, perhaps,” Ora allowed, tilting her head down so she could look up suggestively through her lashes. “But not all. Some ladies do have means of their own and need only companionship, you know.”
“Ora—” John started, his voice somewhere between pleading and warning. Before he could voice whatever was on his mind, they were interrupted by their server coming to see if everything was to their liking.
“You were saying?” she prompted when they were alone again. How she hoped to resurrect the conversation; it seemed to be going in such an exciting direction…
“Ah…” John’s focus narrowed to his plate, where he observed his knife sawing through the pork chop there with as much attention as if he were overseeing the project rather than doing it himself. “Only that I must apologize. I was productive today but there is still much to be done. I’m afraid I won’t be able to accompany you on your search tomorrow either.”
