Chapter 21
I was relieved to have the following day to myself.
After the many hours spent with the society ladies the day before, I couldn’t stomach more talking, more drinking, more being on edge.
I made a pile of fluffy eggs and toast and plenty of bacon and black coffee to chase away the residual traces of a queasy stomach.
After breakfast and bathing, I felt refreshed and planned to spend the rest of the day doing what I enjoyed.
Dressed and handbag in tow, I didn’t bother to say anything to my father, with whom I still wasn’t on speaking terms, and headed out for the morning.
Within the hour, I stared up at the impressive crown of the National Museum, framed by a bright blue sky.
Sunlight poured over the front steps. Somehow I always found myself here at the museum or in the library, researching a new stone or site where they’d been excavated.
My careful notes and continued education gave me a sense of accomplishment when the majority of the work I did for my father did not.
Spending quiet time in my home away from home also helped me silence the questions that had plagued me for months, the most persistent among them: Why?
Why him? Why my brother? Why did he have to die when he had so much life ahead of him?
I entered the building, and as the familiar, comforting scent of stone and cool air washed over me, my shoulders relaxed.
I stood in the rotunda, deciding what I’d like to see first, when a woman crossing the main hall paused as if she recognized me.
I realized I knew her, too, and offered a wave.
It was Julia Wane, Henry’s coworker and friend.
“Hello, there. Aren’t you Henry’s friend? Elisabeth, right?” She wore the same lab coat as before, and her hair was pinned into a bun.
“Yes, and you’re Julia. Nice to see you again,” I said.
She smiled. “What brings you in today?”
I flushed. “Nothing specific. The museum is a place of solace for me, I suppose. I thought I’d spend a little time marveling at the wonders of nature and science.”
She smiled. “It’s always nice to hear there are regular patrons who admire what we do.”
“Very much,” I said enthusiastically. “One day, I’d love to hear more about your work.”
“As luck would have it, today is a perfect day for it. Would you care to take a look at some specimens I’m identifying?”
“That would be wonderful,” I said eagerly.
She took me on a tour around an office she shared with several men and one other woman, introducing me as we went along and explaining each of the specimens the curators were identifying.
“Thelma is an illustrator,” Julia explained. “She makes very careful drawings of each specimen both for identification purposes of future samples and also to accurately label each anatomical part of the reptile.”
Thelma heard her name and looked up, gave us a polite smile before returning her focus to her work.
I knew from a discussion with Henry that it was common for women to work as illustrators since it was assumed their smaller hands meant they possessed strong fine motor skills. Women could also be paid significantly less than their male counterparts.
“You should meet Mary Jane Rathbun,” Julia said, directing me to another wing designated for research personnel. “She’s the very first woman to work at the Smithsonian as a full-time employee. She’s still a curator here.”
“What is her expertise area?” I asked, silently tabulating the number of women we’d passed in the halls. Each time I saw another, I felt my heart leap. It seemed the museum truly valued women working in science, at least to some degree, and that was far more than most businesses could say.
“She works with decapod crustaceans.”
My brow arched. “Crabs and lobsters?”
She nodded. “And shrimp and crayfish. Mary Jane doesn’t like to be disturbed often, so we’ll make it quick.” She knocked on the door before we stepped inside.
Mary Jane was tiny, even for a woman, at shorter than five feet tall. Her face was long and lean, her spectacles perched on her nose, and she was bent over a tray with a species of crab I’d never seen before.
“This is my new friend, Elisabeth,” Julia said. “I wanted to introduce her to the legendary Mary Jane.”
We exchanged pleasantries, and she showed me her current specimen.
She explained a few general facts about the hundreds of species of crustaceans, and after, Julia and I left her to her work.
Though her specialty was not exactly my interest, I enjoyed listening to her—I always enjoyed learning something new.
“It’s too bad Henry isn’t in today,” Julia said. “He’s been in New Mexico the past few days, acquiring some new exciting samples. You know how he is.”
Envy arrowed through me. What I would give to be in New Mexico, collecting samples!
What was more, I wished I could speak so candidly and easily about Henry, spend time with him without feeling as if a weight was crushing my lungs.
I studied her face, searching for a sign of how she felt about Henry.
There was nothing but polite and friendly interest reflected in her eyes.
Relief coursed through me, and I proffered her a small smile.
“I do, yes. He has all the luck, traipsing through New Mexico.”
“You seem so interested in science and nature,” Julia continued. “Have you ever considered applying for a position here?”
Surprised she should see into my soul so easily, I gazed at her a moment before replying. She’d voiced a dream so buried, I didn’t realize I’d been secretly harboring it all this time. “I… No, I’ve always worked with my father. I’m a jeweler.”
“Ah, so you’re an artist. You prefer crafting beautiful things rather than studying them. We need more artists in the world.”
“Not at all,” I blurted—and realized I truly meant it.
I had always preferred studying and learning to the creating, even though I could hold my own.
Making jewelry didn’t speak to me the way it did to my father and to Julien.
“I’ve never considered working here because my father has always needed me, and I assumed I’d follow in his footsteps.
But mineralogy is my true passion.” It felt good to say it, freeing, and I practically shimmered with the relief of it.
“Well, if you ever find yourself at a loose end or in need of work, you should apply. Many of our positions for women are for volunteer work, but some are paid. Perhaps you could start there.”
A lump of emotion welled in my throat. “Thank you,” I said. “You don’t know how much this has meant to me.”
“Come back anytime,” she said congenially. “If I’m too busy, my friend Helen would take you under her wing. She’s a preservationist, so you’d be able to see all kinds of interesting artifacts and the process of protecting them.”
I beamed—I actually beamed—for the first time in so long, I couldn’t remember the last time I had. I thanked her again before saying goodbye.
* * *
I returned home to find Father puttering around in the workshop. Feeling buoyant after the wonderful visit to the museum, I couldn’t muster the strength to be angry with him any longer.
“Hi,” I said, abandoning the silent treatment. “You’re working?”
“It’s about time, I’d say,” he said, meeting my eye, and I knew then it was his way of apologizing.
“You’re too talented not to use your gifts, Father. Beaumont Jewelers hasn’t been the same without you.” My own offered apology.
“You look happy,” he replied.
Surprised by the comment, I said, “Do I? I suppose I am, a little. I’m just back from the museum.”
“Ah, yes, of course. Did you visit Henry?”
“No, I met a few of the women who work there. Two curators and an illustrator. The work they’re doing is amazing. I was so impressed.”
“That’s great, chérie. You’ve always liked it there.”
“I have,” I said, realizing I felt lighter. Between my father going back to work—our truce—and my perfect afternoon, I feel almost like myself again.
“These came for you.” He reached for two envelopes on the workshop table.
More notes? My happy mood withered as I tucked them under my arm.
“Thank you,” I said and walked upstairs to the privacy of the empty kitchen.
Swallowing hard, I turned the notes over in my hands.
The first was from Rosalee. As I opened it, guilt trickled through me.
I’d never telephoned or called to her house after Jerry’s telegram.
My guilt expanded as I unfolded the small square of stationery.
Dear Elisabeth,
I must admit, I was surprised you didn’t show for dinner earlier this week.
I telephoned to make sure I hadn’t made a mistake in our plans.
Your father mentioned that you were out with the McLeans.
I suppose I thought we were friends, or at least I hoped we might be.
I see now I was mistaken. I apologize for wasting your time.
I wish you well.
Sincerely,
Rosalee Smith
P.S. I won’t be needing the bracelet we discussed after all.
I gaped at the note. But Evalyn had assured me she’d asked Jerry to send a telegram.
Clearly she hadn’t, or I wouldn’t have received this note.
I closed my eyes, berating myself for not having had at least the courtesy to call Rosalee the next day to follow up with her.
Why had I allowed Evalyn to sway me? I couldn’t believe how rude I’d been, how stupid.
My careless disregard for Rosalee’s feelings had cost me a potential budding friendship and an important client.
A client we couldn’t afford to lose. Father would be furious.
I tore the letter into small pieces and hid it under an empty tin can in the wastebasket.
A pit in my stomach, I turned over the second envelope. Though the letter had no return address, I instantly recognized the handwriting. It was another from the anonymous sender.