Washington, District of Columbia—August 1908
Dearest Ora—
I write you now with exciting news: I have spotted the most incredible bird.
It is like nothing I have ever seen, here in Maryland or in any of my (admittedly limited) travels.
It is the size of a robin, with bright pink and violet plumage on most of its body and a yellow tail.
To add to the impressiveness of its coloring is the fact that it seemed to shimmer in the sunlight, iridescent.
I have, of course, included an illustration for you, my darling friend, but I cannot help but feel it pales in comparison to the real thing. How I wish you could see it with your own expert eyes…
“What’s got you smiling, hmm? A bit of gossip from a senator’s wife? A treatise on what hats will be fashionable this spring?”
Dr. Ora Belmont Worthy didn’t bother looking up from the missive in her hand.
She had no intention of responding; silence, Worthy had discovered, was the most effective response among this bunch of dunderheads and cads poorly disguised as serious scientists.
Starving them of the attention for which they hungered made them desperate at first, but soon the desperation would give way to disinterest.
Until then, though, one man’s teasing and taunting acted as a signal to the rest. Quite fascinating, really, how closely the ornithology department here in the basement of Smithsonian Castle resembled a murder of crows.
“Don’t be thick, Graves. Don’t you know a love letter when you see one?”
She ignored the predictable laughter coming from the direction of Graves’s and Fleming’s desks.
“Of course it’s a love letter.” Ledford leaned back in his chair toward Worthy’s desk and added in a teasing whisper, “Of a sort.”
“It’s from Walcott himself, isn’t it?” Fleming suggested. “Did you know, Miss Ora, when you got on your knees for this job that our distinguished Secretary would require you to stay down there?”
It was hardly the first time someone had accused Worthy of procuring her position as the Smithsonian’s first female ornithologist by performing carnal favors.
But at least most were respectful enough to imply it was those she had performed for her late husband, the highly esteemed naturalist and professor who was Ora’s doctoral advisor at Columbian University, that gained her the necessary connections.
The implication that she’d gone straight to the top, to the Secretary of the Smithsonian himself, was a new one.
Startled by the unexpected loud thud of palms hitting a desk, Worthy looked up just in time to see Ledford, who had spun around, leaning threateningly over Fleming.
“That was too far,” Ledford said, the menace in his voice so incongruent with his usual rakish, carefree demeanor that it created a dark juxtaposition that inspired every man in the room to sit or stand a bit straighter.
“Besides,” Worthy added casually, glancing back at her letter, “we were under Langley when I was hired. Even I don’t have that kind of foresight.”
Graves snorted in amusement, and Ledford slowly rose, keeping his eyes on Fleming until the latter muttered, “Was just a jest, Miss Ora. Nothing meant by it.”
No, nothing was ever meant by any of it.
The comments. The jokes. The “Miss Ora” nonsense when all of the men were simply called by their last names or, in formal settings, “Dr. So-and-So.” Oh, but it was all intended to be good fun, they always said.
If it bothered her, well, then perhaps she shouldn’t have insisted on interposing in men’s business by becoming a naturalist in the first place.
Years of culture weren’t going to change just to suit her delicate, feminine sensibilities.
Ora’s late husband had been a different breed of man than the miserable specimens she worked with now.
Dr. Alfred Worthy believed that women scientists were equally capable as their male counterparts, and it showed in his willingness to stand up for Ora when other faculty expressed their doubts about her suitability for the field.
Despite his somewhat advanced age, Alfred’s support and inherent goodness had made him easy to respect and love. So Ora had.
They spent only two years married, but they were nice ones. Peaceful and content.
And yes, it was Alfred’s friendship with Langley that likely led her to working here.
But she had proven herself time and time again since.
Her work on hummingbird hybridization was highly lauded.
She had the same academic honors, several more articles to her name (albeit under O.
B. Worthy to let her findings speak for themselves), and more field experience than nearly all her male colleagues combined.
And yet it was still not enough to make them take her seriously.
What would convince these people who were supposed to be her peers that her presence here was no fluke or ill-gotten favor? It was a question she asked herself every day.
She folded, then unfolded the message from Mr. Morse. Read it again and grinned. Because perhaps she’d finally found her answer.