Chapter 15 #2
Mother clicked her tongue, both she and Mr. Kinsey listening to them openly now. “Goodness, a woman putting herself on display that way? How dreadful. I’m ashamed of her on behalf of her parents, poor souls.”
A small part of Sylvie had always hoped Mother might understand her work if she were forced to reveal it. But the utter disdain on her face proved otherwise. Sylvie’s heart sank more than she would have expected. She’d known it would be this way. Disappointment didn’t help matters.
“What’s so terrible about a woman doing something she enjoys?
It sounds as if she’s good at it.” Given the way Mr. Kinsey came to the lady archer’s defense, perhaps it would be nice if he turned out to be the author of Sylvie’s letters, after all.
There might be more to him than she’d initially presumed.
Mother harrumphed with a shake of her head. “No good can come from amusement park goers ogling young ladies. No, I maintain it’s shameful.”
Mr. Kinsey shrugged and offered Sylvie and Mr. Greene a smile. “I’d go see the show. Perhaps you’d agree to accompany me there sometime, Miss Bryce? I’ve heard you’ve a talent for archery yourself, so I imagine you’d enjoy it.”
A new level of panic sent goosebumps across Sylvie’s skin. There was no way on earth that she could get cornered into agreeing to see the show with anyone. But if Mother agreed for her, what could she do?
The only option was to play the part of a wilting, delicate lady. “Oh, I don’t know. I enjoyed one visit, but going again might be too much for me. It was quite exhausting. I’d rather stick to the opera or a lovely ball.”
Sylvie hated herself for that statement.
Everything within her screamed that no woman was that fragile—rather, that they were capable of so much more than society wanted to believe.
But the untruth served its purpose. The gentlemen moved the conversation to other local amusements they’d enjoyed so far that summer.
Mother, on the other hand, kept narrowed eyes trained on Sylvie for far too long.
Perhaps the uncharacteristic excuse hadn’t been her wisest move.
It was the only way she could see to stay far away from accompanying one of these men to Cedar Point, though.
As their visiting hours waned and the men prepared to leave, Mr. Kinsey took the opportunity to arrange to accompany her to the opera that night.
Mr. Greene all but pouted on his way out, downright despondent that he’d missed his opportunity.
But Sylvie was stuck on the questions that had arisen from the afternoon.
How long could she continue to hide her activities at the resort from those who knew her?
And what could she do to ensure she earned enough money and freedom before it all fell apart?
Miles emerged from the laboratory after meeting with the head of the university entomology department and immediately smacked the side of the building with an open palm, drawing in deep breaths to calm his racing heart.
It wasn’t as if he’d expected the man to hand over a huge sum of money upon seeing what the research team was working on, but he’d hoped for a little enthusiasm.
Instead, the older administrator—who had been at the university nearly since its inception—tapped his foot in boredom the entire time Miles and the students presented their various findings from the summer so far.
And he left with no promises to provide them with any further funding, which was what they’d needed from the meeting.
An unfortunate reality of scientific research was that it required money.
They had to have a plentiful supply of microscopes, slides, traps and bait, blocks and pins to preserve specimens, forceps, and photography equipment to record their findings.
And that was just the entomologists. Each discipline represented at the laboratory needed specialized items, many of them costly.
They’d all hoped Miles’s discovery, combined with the rest of their research, would be enough to convince the entomology department to pour more funds into their program. But they’d been wrong.
Taking a few minutes to clear his head and rest his now-stinging hand, Miles headed toward the lakeshore to check the bait traps the students had set out the night before.
Gathering specimens was mindless work that would allow him to mull over his frustrations and release them before returning to the laboratory.
On his way, he noticed a man in a brown suit standing outside the laboratory.
He stared up at the building for a moment before glancing down to scribble notes on a pad of paper.
Visitors to Cedar Point had no reason to wander to the remote inlet surrounded by marshes, so it was probably wise to make certain the man wasn’t lost on his way to the resort.
Reluctant, Miles approached him, hoping to send him back on his way and return to his walk. “Good afternoon. May I help you with anything? Directions to the resort?”
The man glanced up from his writing and appraised Miles with a long look. Then he stepped forward while extending one hand. “Jeremy Howell of the Cleveland Press. I’m looking for Mr. Miles Wentworth.”
A tingle of alarm zipped up Miles’s spine.
Why would a reporter be looking for him?
He’d spent so many years avoiding them and refuting the lies they spewed.
The threat of beginning the process again in America loomed over him, promising devastation.
“I’m afraid he’s not here. And I can say with certainty that he wouldn’t wish to speak with you if he were. ”
Miles strode away before the reporter could start prodding, as they tended to do. He didn’t slow down until he was well hidden by trees and undergrowth a distance down the shore. Only when he was sure he couldn’t be seen did he stop and run a shaking hand over his face.
He’d lived in desperate hope for the first few years in America that his troubles wouldn’t follow him.
As time went on, he’d become more comfortable, lately even believing that those prayers had been answered affirmatively.
He’d allowed himself to believe it was all in the past and would remain there.
How na?ve.
It seemed one couldn’t be wrongly accused of murder and then go on with life as if it never happened. By whatever means, a reporter had gotten wind of Miles’s past and sought him out.
But he couldn’t allow the man to smear his reputation as so many others had. He didn’t believe for a moment that the reporter would let the story go. He would try again, so Miles would need a plan to evade him until he had to move on to something else.
For the next hour, Miles hid in the brush.
He gathered a few specimens from the traps nearby.
He sat and prayed for a time, recalling the Psalms which spoke of God as the shield and stronghold of believers.
God had led Miles this far from the past. Surely, He didn’t intend to throw Miles to the wolves now.
As the day wore on, the rising temperature made remaining on the shore unbearable.
Miles meandered back to the laboratory, mindful of anyone outside the building as he went.
Instead of returning inside, he slid the corked specimen vials into his pocket and continued past the laboratory and toward the dock.