Chapter 8
As Nathaniel pulled the gig he’d rented up to the curb, he was pleased to see that Kit was ready and waiting, a stack of drawing pads clutched in his hands.
He waited while Kit climbed up and found a spot to tuck his oversized sketchpads. “Ready?”
“Ready,” Kit confirmed.
Nathaniel clucked to the horse, and they started forward.
“Although I am eager to observe those badgers, it’s not the only reason I asked you to join me tonight.
I thought it would be a good opportunity for us to practice working together.
That way, there will be fewer surprises when we embark on our special project next month. ”
Kit sat up eagerly. “Can you tell me more about our expedition?”
Nathaniel steered the gig around a wagon parked by the side of the road. “We’ll be traveling to the Isle of Lewis to observe golden eagles. I’m given to understand that there are a number of nesting pairs on the cliffs above Loch Raonasgail.”
“Golden eagles.” Kit’s eyes had a faraway quality. “That’s very exciting.”
“I think so, too. We’ll be spending most of our time on Lewis, but I’ll see if we can stop by a few other islands on our way up.” He nudged Kit with his elbow. “There’s a type of vole that’s particular to Orkney.”
Kit laughed. “Be still, my heart. Joking aside, it sounds delightful.”
Nathaniel steered the horse into a turn. “If it sounds delightful, I take it you are not prone to seasickness.”
“Oh!” Kit looked up at him, eyes wide. “I honestly don’t know. I’ve never traveled by ship before. Have you?”
Nat laughed. “You could say that.” At Kit’s confused expression, he continued, “I was born in Jamaica.”
“Ah! I’ve been struggling to place your accent. On some words, you have a Scottish lilt, but on others, not so much.”
Nathaniel inclined his head in acknowledgement. “I’ve been in Edinburgh for nine years. I suppose it’s to be expected that my accent would change in that time.”
Kit laughed. “I suppose so. Not that I would know. I’ve spent twenty-two years living in a tiny village in Yorkshire.”
Nat couldn’t help but gape. “Twenty-two years? How old are you, Kit?”
His cheeks had turned magenta. “Twenty-two. I’ll be twenty-three this summer.”
“Gracious.” Nat shook his head. “I had assumed you were one of the younger students in your class, maybe sixteen or seventeen.”
Kit muttered something under his breath that Nat didn’t catch. “What was that?”
“Nothing! Nothing at all.”
They had reached the outskirts of town, and traffic was starting to thin. Nathaniel loosened his hold on the reins, giving the horse a little more leeway. “You said you were from a village in Yorkshire. Whereabouts?”
Kit waved a hand. “Trust me, you’ve never heard of it.”
“All right.” After a few beats of silence, Nat said, “I’m curious—why did you not attend university once you turned eighteen?”
“We didn’t have the money. But my sister recently married, er…” Kit trailed off, biting his lip before continuing, “A man of some means. That’s what has made my education possible.”
“Ah. I see.” That explained Kit’s reluctance to discuss the subject.
As the son of a prominent local physician, Nathaniel had led a comfortable childhood.
But much like Britain, Jamaica was a land of contrasts.
There were plantation owners who grew rich as Croesus thanks to the human beings they counted as assets in their account books.
And then there were those they enslaved, who performed backbreaking labor in the sugar cane fields.
Nathaniel knew how lucky he was. He had one white great-grandfather and a great-grandmother who had been cunning enough to negotiate freedom for her children, even if she never got to enjoy it herself.
Her shrewdness and sacrifice had set his family up for a better future. She was the reason he was here today.
Not that he was going to discuss something so personal with Kit, who he hadn’t even known for a full month, and who was his student, besides. He cast about for a topic. “I can’t believe you’re twenty-two! You don’t look it.”
“You don’t say,” Kit muttered.
“Have you even started to shave?”
Kit glowered at him out of the corner of his eye, which made Nat laugh. “Tell me about Jamaica,” the younger man said in a not-so-subtle attempt to change the subject.
Luckily for him, he had struck upon a topic Nat would never tire of.
“It’s paradise. I know you English have your coastal spas and rave about the joys of sea bathing.
But if you could see the water off Jamaica…
” He trailed off, struggling to find the words.
“You’ve never seen those colors before, the blues and the greens.
It’s so beautiful, it doesn’t look real. ”
The corner of Kit’s mouth twisted up. “You’re making me itch to paint it.”
And what Nathaniel wouldn’t give to have a painting of his birthplace by a fine artist like Kit. “You would love it. And I haven’t even come to the wildlife.”
Kit sat forward, blue eyes gleaming. “The wildlife?”
“Yellow boas as long as a man.” He chuckled at the young man’s nervous expression.
“Don’t fret. They can’t hurt us. They will, however, keep your barn free of rats.
There are manatees and dolphins and sea turtles, and the water is so clear, you can see them as easily as I see you.
And the birds…” Nathaniel paused, making a sound of rapture. “Where do I even begin with the birds?”
He proceeded to wax rhapsodically about the red-billed streamertail and the Jamaican tody, the crested quail-dove and the yellow-billed parrot.
Nathaniel had attended enough dinner parties to know that most people could tolerate such talk for no more than a minute or two.
But the strangest thing happened. Kit wanted to know about the diet of the red-billed streamertail and the vocalizations of the yellow-billed parrot.
He made Nat describe in exacting detail the precise shade of the Jamaican tody’s feathers—which was difficult, as Nat could not think of a single thing that was such a bright shade of green—and the nesting habits of the crested quail-dove.
He was imitating the call of the Jamaican pewee when he noticed that he had almost missed his turn. “Gracious,” he said, reining in the horse, “we’ve arrived. That was quick.”
“Time flies when you’re demonstrating the mating dance of the arrowhead warbler,” Kit joked.
Nat chuckled, but he couldn’t help but observe that it was true. It was rare to find someone with whom he could actually discuss his interests. The hour he’d passed in the gig with Kit had been one of the most enjoyable he’d spent in quite some time.
Beside him, Kit said, “Your love of Jamaica is obvious. If it’s not too bold of me to ask, why have you not returned?”
“Because there isn’t a university in Jamaica,” he answered honestly. “As much as I love it there, I want to be an academic, and there isn’t an opportunity for me to do so over there.”
He stated it lightly, but in truth, it was a bit of a sore spot.
Back home, his pursuit of academia marked him as an eccentric.
His desire to spend his life studying the natural world was better understood at the university, but he didn’t quite fit in there, either.
He would always be the chap with dark skin and a funny accent.
Although after nine years in Scotland, his friends back home in Jamaica would now regard his accent as strange, too.
His shoulders sagged. Sometimes, he felt like he didn’t fit in anywhere anymore.
He forced a cheerful note into his voice as he added, “My dream is to someday do a project similar to the one we’re about to embark upon, and to document the wildlife native to Jamaica.”
“I hope you get to someday,” Kit said softly.
“Me, too, Kit. Me, too.” He drew the horse to a halt outside a stone cottage. “Here we are. I’ll introduce you to Farmer Ross.”
Mr. Ross pumped Kit’s hand enthusiastically, then gestured toward the field behind his house. “The burrow’s in the back corner over there. It happens that I had some lumber on hand, as I’m getting ready to build a new outbuilding. I went ahead and built you a hide of sorts.”
“That was kind of you,” Nathaniel said, surprised. “Thank you. Truly.”
Mr. Ross waved this off. “’Twas no trouble.”
He led them to the spot. A tiny shed had been erected about ten feet away from the haystack—the perfect distance to observe the badgers without spooking them.
Although it was just after five o’clock, the sun was already sinking low in the sky.
Soon, it would be dusk, and the badgers would emerge for the night.
“Right. I’ll leave you to it.” Mr. Ross headed back toward the farmhouse.
Nathaniel held the shed door open for Kit. “After you.”
Kit peered at the shed, his expression uncertain. “Is it not a bit narrow?”
“It’ll be a squeeze,” Nat acknowledged. “But well worth it for the opportunity to observe badgers at close range.”
Kit shifted from foot to foot. “Maybe we should take it in turns.”
Nat felt a spark of annoyance. Fieldwork was frequently cold, wet, and miserable, and when it wasn’t, it was hot, dusty, and miserable. A wooden shed containing an actual seat was luxurious compared to the conditions they would face on Lewis.
If this excursion was too onerous for Kit, then Nat wasn’t sure that this partnership would work out.
He grabbed Kit by the upper arm. “We’ll manage.”
Kit squealed but went willingly into the shed and squeezed himself onto the wooden bench seat without any more complaints.
Nat paused to remove his notebook and a pencil from his satchel, trying to get his temper under control, before following him inside.
Kit was an extraordinarily talented artist. But when it came to scientific illustration, artistic talent was not enough.
You had to be tenacious and willing to work in harsh conditions.
Nat had staked his career on this young man. Had that been a mistake?
He supposed he was about to find out. Ducking his head, he followed Kit into the shed.