The Movement of Stars (11 page)

The observatory was located on a hilltop, with a clear view in every direction, and it loomed above the carriage as they approached: a squat, square structure topped by a majestic copper dome. Hannah drank in the sight, imagining what it would be like from the inside. And there was William Bond himself, at the top of the fresh-laid steps, ushering out what looked like a group of students. He was no more than five and a half feet tall, if that, with a shock of white hair tufted like a meringue. He wore a battered, faded black overcoat that flapped when he flung both arms wide to welcome them.

“Prices!” he called, turning to address the air. “The Prices have arrived. Nathaniel, my friend.”
As her father stepped down, the men clapped each other on the shoulders, and Hannah waited by the side of the coach.
“And dear Hannah. How are you, clever girl? Come, come along, George will be thrilled to see his old friend. Goodness, you are tall. Here’s the way. Your father tells us you’ve advanced remarkably of late.”
Warmed by his delight, Hannah let him take her elbow and steer her toward the great wooden door, feeling guilty for coveting his students’ access to the powerful instruments. William Bond was living proof that the eye was the mightiest of all the tools at an astronomer’s disposal. If anyone had ever accomplished more with less, she did not know of it; the man had observed the 1811 comet for months before anyone in the other sixteen States had even registered its existence. And he did it with a homemade telescope.
“He exaggerates. I’ve seen nothing not known to you and even to George,” she said, “in spite of my very best efforts.”
“Well, come inside, come in.” Directing the driver to take their belongings to the house and install them in the guest rooms, William ushered them into the shadowy portico beneath the marble carapace, ignoring the to- and-fro of workers and students.
They stepped inside the great room. Hannah stood still, gazing up at the underside of the dome. She could make out the seams that marked the apertures, and imagined that when the dome was opened later—and she was certain that it would be—the mysteries of the Universe would slip through easily as an egg yolk cracked upon the side of a pewter bowl. She was enveloped by a sense of calm as she gazed around the space. It was thirty feet in the round, broken only by the massive telescope in the center.
“It’s marvelous,” she breathed.
“ ’Tis.” George materialized beside her, a head shorter and thin as a reed. His hair was just like his father’s, save the color. George’s was a sandy brown and matched his eyes, which were the color of maple sap. The freckles splashed across his nose like a spray of stars lent him a childish air. She gripped her old friend’s shoulder in greeting.
“And what’s this?” she asked. The great refractor was mounted on a granite plinth nearly twice Hannah’s height, and an odd contraption— like a staircase on wheels— ran along a track, encircling the instrument.
“Father designed it as his observing chair. It raises and lowers as well as going round the base. But it’s not operating as yet. Not until the refractor’s ready.”
“Fantastic.” Hannah looked over at William, who was speaking to Nathaniel and gesturing at the dome as if he were conducting an orchestra. The elder Bond smiled at Hannah, then clasped his hands together.
“They’re setting out supper at the house; Lieutenant Phillips is already there, and we have some other guests as well, so we should get along,” William called. “The comet-seeker is still down there, too.” He bobbed his halo of white hair at Hannah. “Eventually they’ll manage to move it up here. But in the meantime it bides its time, waiting for a diligent eye.”
Hannah thought his comment was for her, but then, seeing George draw up, realized it was a barb aimed at him. She stepped closer to her friend in solidarity, and he squared his shoulders and slipped his arm through hers.
“Shall we?” he said.
Hannah nodded but didn’t budge.
“Wait a moment,” she muttered, holding George back as their fathers moved toward the door. When they were gone, she let go of his arm and circled the mount twice, peering up at the twenty-some-odd feet the telescope extended, widening toward the objective.
Hitching up her skirts, she climbed the six little wooden steps attached to the ingenious chair so that she could get a better look at the refractor. It was a foot wide at its narrowest point, where it tapered toward the eyepiece. She could only imagine how much light the lens, fifteen inches around, would collect when it was finally, firmly in place.
“I promise we’ll come back as soon as the sun has set,” George called, and Hannah climbed down, holding her long skirt out of the way.

“Esteemed guests and colleagues—a toast!” Lieutenant Phillips intoned, halting conversation around the large oval table all at once. George rolled his eyes at Hannah, who’d been seated to his right, as if to say
I warned you;
she pinched his elbow in response, hoping Phillips hadn’t seen the expression. The last thing they needed was to offend the officer from Washington who’d been charged with oversight of the Coast Survey. Though William Bond was ever in good standing with the Depot of Charts and Instruments, it was this man who presided over the station assignments. If there was any hope of delaying the proposed move to Philadelphia, earning a yearlong contract to assist him was it.

He gestured with one beefy hand to the people assembled around the table. Mr. Hapwell, a writer of some esteem, sat beside his wife, Lucia, who wore a bright blue silk dress with draping sleeves and a shirred collar that veed prettily into a dainty silk rose. Hannah fidgeted in her seat, feeling self-conscious in her high-necked brown dress and plain wool shawl the color of yesterday’s ashes. She hadn’t even combed or rebraided her hair after the long journey; as Phillips droned on, lauding the attributes of American astronomers in general, Hannah took in the details of the unfamiliar room. Usually, when she was in Cambridge, they spent so much time with the instruments that meals were an afterthought.

The walls were papered in yellow, just a shade lighter than the exterior of the colonial-style house, which squatted among a row of similar structures a short walk from the observatory. Garlands of pale flowers cascaded across the walls in gentle waves.

“For these two generations of Bonds we are inestimably glad, for without their perseverance and industry we would not be here to toast the latest expansion of this great nation’s sight!”

“To the expansion of the Universe!” George, a bit flushed, attempted to raise his glass, but Lieutenant Phillips ignored the flutter of hands toward stems, cleared his throat, and nodded.

“That is right! We applaud the work of these great men, who nightly peer into the Soul of Heaven itself ! ”
Hannah looked sideways at George’s face, frozen somewhere between embarrassment and disbelief, and pressed her lips together so that she wouldn’t laugh. The man’s résumé was practically gilded: he’d published extensively on oceanography, contributed a great deal to the understanding of naval meteorology and navigation and was not yet forty when he was appointed head of the U.S. Naval Observatory. In the fifteen minutes she’d been seated beside him, Hannah had also learned that he had no love for the Temperance movement, suffragettes, snake oil salesmen, Millerites, Grahamites, Catholics, or Jews.
For her part, Hannah had succeeded in speaking exactly three words—“The salt, please”—and was certain she’d made no more impression upon the Lieutenant than the crochet-work upon the tablecloth edging.
“Without the labors of these fine men, our astronomical endeavors would falter in comparison with our European counterparts. Thus I do raise
my
glass,” he said, picking up his glass of port and lifting it up in the air, holding it there until all the guests followed suit, “to William Cranch Bond and George Bond, who expand our manifest destiny ever upward! To the Bonds!”
“To the Bonds!” everyone at the table repeated.
As soon as the toast ended, Hannah found herself the unfortunate focus of a lecture on the merits of expanding the Texas border, along with its laws, southward.
“Do you not agree?” Lieutenant Phillips barely glanced at Hannah, though he was clearly speaking to her. He looked around for a servant to refill his glass. The cuffs of his dress coat were adorned with medals and ribbons that tinkled whenever he moved. Hannah knew she was expected to say that she did. Should she? Phillips was about to launch his next series of thoughts when she delivered her answer.
“The constitution of Mexico does prohibit slavery in no uncertain terms, I believe,” she said, addressing the peas on her plate. “And the law of the land should apply equally to all of its inhabitants.” To her dismay, her comment fell into a lull in the volley of conversations around the table, ringing out clear as the dinner bell.
“You’re correct, Hannah: Mexico did abolish all slavery from its territories,” said George from her other side.
“Dear girl, why should Americans be subject to the laws of another sovereign? We did cast off that restriction some sixty years ago. Next you’ll suggest the payment of taxes to the Mexican government.” The Lieutenant laughed loudly, gazing up and down the table.
“Well, because it is the law,” Hannah answered, wishing she could sink into the silk upholstery of the chair. The piece of roast meat upon her plate sat in a puddle of rapidly congealing gravy. Her throat and chest tightened and she pressed her napkin to her mouth before choking out her final thought. “And because the inclusion of another slave state into the Union is unconscionable.”
“I agree completely,” Lucia Hapwell chimed in softly, after a long moment had ticked by in silence. Her husband examined his dinner roll.
“The sentiment of the Friends, as you know, Lieutenant, has always been toward manumission,” William Bond called from the far end of the table.
“Of course, of course.” Lieutenant Phillips swirled the dregs of his drink in the air as if to summon a spirit that would refill the cup. “As are those of many good and pious men. Yet . . .”
Straightening up, he cleared his throat and then paused as if framing his words carefully.
“Those with no personal stake have yet to offer a viable economic alternative, to say nothing of the social ills that might be borne from releasing from centuries of bondage a people whose nature inclines them toward that very condition.”
A tiny bead of red clung to his moustache. He waved his free hand in the air as if to clear the fumes of her comment. Hannah thought of Isaac. Servitude was the last thing he was suited for; if anything, he seemed more independent of thought and action than anyone she could think of. The urge to fling the remainder of the Lieutenant’s drink in his face rose in her, and she busied herself with the napkin on her lap, hoping her disgust wasn’t evident.
“In any event,” he continued. “The one has aught to do with the other. We’re speaking here of expansion, and none can argue that the people of this continent have not the capacity—or the appetite—for it.”
Looking around the table, the Lieutenant nodded regally to William Bond and then to George, as if only they truly understood his meaning.
“Well, in
this
room, all eyes are fixed upon the Heavens,” George offered, and everyone laughed.
Slumped in her chair, Hannah was relieved until Lieutenant Phillips leaned toward her again.
“I’m told you are an ardent observer of the Heavens yourself. Have you seen anything of late I should report to Washington?” He chuckled and cut off a chunk of meat, putting it in his mouth and gnawing on it.
A delicate lace curtain floated on the window behind him. It was nearly dark.
Hannah steeled herself and made ready an answer, though she was loath to speak to him:
I’ve been studying a nebula.
By the time she’d taken a sip of water, though, and cleared her throat, he’d already turned back toward William.
“And what do we think about Franklin’s proposed route?” he asked. “I’m told they’re outfitted quite handsomely. Have you read about it?”
Hannah exhaled. The men went on. She pushed her peas around on her plate, willing the sun to sink faster.

Two hours later, Hannah could barely sit still, so anxious was she to return to the observatory. The men sat around a small mahogany card table; Hannah had chosen the worn settee closest to the window, but could not focus on the conversation at hand for more than a minute before her gaze was drawn back to the deepening violet sky. Lieutenant Phillips had taken his leave with the Hapwells after dessert, and Hannah pitied the kind couple, who’d be trapped in their coach with the man for the better part of an hour.

“If they expand the Depot of Charts and Instruments, they’ll certainly need more computers to calculate the tables for all the planets. Of course, you’d need better instruments,” William said, swirling his brandy and paying no attention to his hand of whist. “At the very least a comet-seeker and a zenith, probably an equatorial.”

“We’d also need a housing for them,” Hannah added from her position halfway across the room, roused by the mention of better instruments. “We’d have to build out. What about a subscription?” She looked at her father, then William. “The people of Boston paid nearly the entire cost of your building. If Washington provided the instruments, don’t you suppose we could raise the funds—”

“I agree,” George interrupted, excited. “I’m certain people on Nantucket would support it. I—we—would be happy to assist in whatever manner. Though if you’re to remove, Nathaniel, to whom would you entrust the daily operations? You surely can’t manage it from Philadelphia, and I don’t know that Lieutenant Phillips would consent to leave it in Hannah’s hands—though, of course, we know they’re more than capable.”

“Nothing has been settled on that front,” Nathaniel said, looking to William for support.
“When Edward returns, he can oversee the project—in name, at least,” Hannah offered, wishing she didn’t sound like she was pleading. She’d managed to put the issue of her own future out of her mind since coming to Cambridge. But the reality of her position was as clearly outlined as the framed silhouettes on the west wall of the room.
“Is that settled, then?” William asked, looking from father to daughter. “Well, that’s wonderful news.”
“There is no such settlement,” Nathaniel answered. “Hannah has attached herself to the idea that Edward shall return and remain, but I have no such faith. He’s proven himself to be immune to the interests and wishes of his family. I expect from him no commitment to anything besides his own fancy—should he even return to Nantucket at all.”
“Of course he’ll return,” Hannah said firmly, though a cold blade of fear sliced through her chest. “He said he’d be home by shearing.”
“I thought he was interested in joining a research expedition,” George offered.
“And isn’t he engaged to marry the Coffey girl?” William added.
Hannah and Nathaniel shook their heads at the same time.
“I shan’t speculate on my son’s future,” Nathaniel said. “Nor on that of the Nantucket station. Should such a contract be offered, I shall determine how best to execute it at that time, and no sooner.”
The Bonds exchanged a concerned look. Hannah swallowed her protest, but keeping quiet only made her feel more imprisoned. Nathaniel would decide her future, because it was his right; she might as well be a servant. The room felt claustrophobic, her chest tight, so Hannah did the only sensible thing.
“I’m going for some air,” she muttered. Her skirts swished as she left the room.