The Movement of Stars (23 page)

“Thee has disappointed me,” he said after ten seconds passed in cold silence.
“I was not meaning to,” Hannah said. She sounded like Isaac, and the accidental mimicry struck her as funny, though there was nothing humorous about her present situation. She coughed to cover her smile. “It has naught to do with thee,” she added, hoping to soothe him.
Her words had the opposite effect. Nathaniel sat even straighter and raised one finger, though he did not point it at her. Instead, he tapped the table in a rhythm as steady as a metronome’s, each syllable an ominous drumbeat.
“I defended thee,” he said. “To those who questioned thy devotion, I said, ‘An undevout astronomer is mad.’ To those who said thee flouted Discipline, I stated that thy discipline was unparalleled as a matter of temperament. To those who said worse—well, they did not make their claims aloud. Not to me, anyway. Thy standing was already imperiled. But now—”
He shook his head. “Now, daughter, I’m afraid thee will have no choice but to remove with me. I see no prospects for thee here. In fact, thee might consider doing so immediately. I’m sure there will be plenty for thee to occupy thyself with in setting up our new household.”
Hannah sank down on the bench and picked a hangnail.
“The Atheneum provides plenty of labor,” she muttered.
“Hannah.”
She looked up, startled by his sharp tone.
“Thee clearly does not realize the gravity of the situation. I guarantee that thy position at the Atheneum is being reassigned as we speak.”
His statement stood between them like a glacier. She couldn’t see through or around it. She shook her head.
“What does one have to do with another? I don’t understand.”
“Does thee know of a single trustee who does not cleave to Discipline like a barnacle to a boulder?” he said. “Is thee so naïve as to think they will disregard thy actions at Meeting—and elsewhere—and continue to entrust thee with guidance over the most vulnerable minds on the Island?”
“I cannot see why my guidance should be questioned when so many of the devoted hold views that are vastly less Christian than those I expressed today. They claim to be pious but their actions speak otherwise. They say they hold no prejudice against the Negro race but recoil when one comes too close. They abhor violence but hurl cobblestones at those who voice unpopular opinions. Not to mention the conditions aboard their whaleships. They—”
“Enough.” Nathaniel stopped tapping and looked at Hannah directly. His voice was gruff, as if the effort of expressing emotions snagged his words like thorns. “There is no ‘they.’ No collection of conspirators. Thee does a disservice to thy own character by speaking so. It pains me. If thy mother were with us—” He paused, and Hannah wondered what aspect of Ann Gardner Price he was remembering. A walk in the garden? Their wedding day? Her body heavy with two lives growing within her? A flash of envy raced through her. She had nothing to counter with but her own self, forged from the flesh of that very woman.
“I believe that thee meant to do good,” he added, as if reading her mind. “But thee has done harm, Hannah. To thy name. And to mine own, regrettably.” He shook his head a little, then raised his chin. “Thee will cease these lessons immediately.”
Hannah raised her own chin, aware of how similar their profiles were. Like two views of the same coastline. But she felt like a stranger. If his invocation of her mother was meant to shame her, it had the opposite effect. She felt a surge of power.
“I believe my mother would be inclined to stand on the side of Truth, as I believed thee would,” she said. “I believe she would be proud. I certainly don’t see why she would be ashamed. Was she not a clear advocate for Truth as she saw it? Did she not challenge a notion if she found it unreasonable?” For the first time she could remember, Hannah felt the spirit of Ann Gardner spark to life in her. Perhaps she was not solely her father’s daughter after all.
But the look of pain on her father’s face—as if her words had struck a physical blow—doused her newfound zeal. Hannah swallowed and lowered her voice.
“In any case, the
Pearl
is leaving port on third day,” she went on. “My student will be aboard as second mate, hopefully with the ability to assist the captain and crew with their navigational duties. There’s no need to cease the few remaining lessons we have time for.”
All traces of hurt and sadness vanished as he rose to stand over her, as if he needed the higher position to cement his authority.
“I will not discuss it further,” he stated. “All communication with this person will cease at once. I will hear no more idle talk on the topic of my daughter’s associations. And I wish to hear no more from thee about the behavior of thy elders or anyone else. Thee has irrevocably tainted thy opportunity for a match hereabouts, and I’m told by William Bond that thee did not even consider George’s offer seriously, though I cannot imagine why. I wonder if thee gives any thought to the repercussions of thy actions at all. I don’t know anymore.”
He opened his mouth as if he were going to say more, but did not. Instead, he rose stiffly and left the room.
Hannah remained seated, her heart still pounding from the exchange. She’d never invoked her mother before. It was as if her conversation with Isaac had cracked a dam she hadn’t known existed, and now all sorts of ideas and feelings about that woman threatened to pour through. It was disturbing and exciting in equal measure, the first new idea of herself she had ever entertained.
Then she remembered what her father had said about her job. If it was true, and she was to be removed from her post at the Atheneum, she’d have no chance of staying on Nantucket. He was in no mind to support her. What she needed to do was go to Dr. Hall and make her case for keeping her job. If anyone on the Island would advocate on her behalf, he would be the one.

She found him on the porch of his neat house, a fixture as steady and recognizable as the weather vane on the roof. Hannah knew every well-swept corner of his home, from his chronologically ordered library to the procession of teacups in every room, all half-full of lukewarm brew. As she approached in the grey twilight, calm descended, as if this were any other summer evening and she was on a mission of intellect, not mercy. She’d walked the path from her house on Little India to his on Pineapple for nearly twenty years; she could practically hear the blows of hammers from the summer they built New Wharf, the clang and thud from the old shipyard, and above all Dr. Hall’s own voice, urging rigor, helping her weave equations into Time, into distance, the way other women turned skeins of yarn into blankets, sweaters, socks.

He was as passionate as anyone she’d ever known about the value of knowledge, the importance of improvement. Surely he would support the rightness of her actions, even if he hadn’t stood up in Meeting and said so. He had much to lose, she reasoned, by making a public statement on her behalf; but surely a quiet word with the Atheneum trustees was well within his realm of influence.

Dr. Hall stood as she approached.
“Thee needn’t—please sit.”
He lowered himself into his seat without bending his back. It had a

regal effect. When he’d settled, he gestured to the chair beside him. She sank down, relieved to be tucked away in this familiar corner. From Dr. Hall’s porch, it was easy to pretend that nothing had changed. Behind the long, low candle warehouses across the street, dim streaks of light crisscrossed the horizon, the last remains of sunset. A few sparks glinted on the Bay. Hannah could hear the slap of water on the piles, seafoam sucking back from shore, and the distant cawing of the gulls circling the inner harbor. A hundred tiny boats bobbed in unison as if they were no more than paper shells. She inhaled deeply, a sigh of pleasure that sent a shiver down her back.

Dr. Hall spoke first. He seemed in no hurry to get his words out, and his tone was such that Hannah had to lean in to hear.
“What occurred at Meeting was unfortunate,” he said. “I imagine thee is suffering some regret.”
Hannah rocked a little in the chair, enjoying the slight breeze created by the motion.
“I regret that slander and hearsay made their way into a place I have always regarded as the realm of Truth,” she said, picking her way carefully. “I knew that people questioned my actions with regard to my student.”
“Yes.” Dr. Hall wasn’t offering a twig of encouragement. A film of unease floated down from nowhere, and she planted both feet to stop the chair from moving.
“I answered a request for improvement, and provided an opportunity for betterment to one who deserves such a chance. No more or less,” she said, wishing she didn’t sound defensive.
“At the expense of thy own opportunities, it now appears.” Hannah couldn’t read his tone. Was he accusing her, or empathizing? He gazed out over the water, impassive, his cane resting across his lap.
“That’s why I’m here, actually.” She cleared her throat. “My father believes I’m likely to lose my position at the Atheneum. If that happens, I’ll be forced to leave the Island immediately. I hoped that thee could intervene. If it comes to that.” Hannah dipped her head. She wasn’t trying to appear humble, but felt humiliated in a way she hadn’t anticipated. She’d arrived full of righteous energy, sure that Dr. Hall would clear the way for her to remain in her post. Now she felt like a supplicant.
The seconds ticked by. His silence was excruciating.
“It’s a delicate situation, my dear,” he said, still not looking at her. “Many of our neighbors feel that thee has not only skirted but flaunted Discipline in this matter.”
“And thee is in agreement?” For a moment she felt a tenderness that bordered on pity. He’d been alone as long as she’d known him; his awkward proposal of marriage, even his rigid classroom posture and harsh manner, were all a function of loneliness. If he was long-winded, prone to issuing judgments and soliloquies, it was because he hadn’t anyone to practice any other kind of conversation with. It was easy to sympathize with his lack of social graces. Undoubtedly some people thought the same of her. Hannah wondered if he’d ever courted a woman besides herself—if you could call it a courtship. Who might he be if he had someone to help him see himself?
“My own feelings on the matter are irrelevant,” he stated. “As thy instructor and a friend to thy father, I regret the current state of affairs. As thy prospective husband I might be able to sway the opinions of the Trustees in the matter of thy position, but in our current situation I see very little I may do to lighten the stain upon the Atheneum caused by thy activities.”
Hannah’s warm feelings dissolved. Perhaps she’d misheard.
“You won’t help me because I haven’t consented to marry you?”
Dr. Hall sighed as if he found it tiresome to explain himself. When he spoke, his voice was emotionless and taut. He might as well have been delivering a lecture on natural philosophy.
“I am of the opinion that thee ought to have given me thy decision long ago. As thy teacher, I’ve guided thee in every aspect of thy education. I gave thee all the tools thee needed to accomplish thy goals, even the pursuit of a comet. It was I who taught thee to push for the precepts behind the equations, the underlying order of the Heavens. I ensured thee an income at the Atheneum. What more must I do for thee, Hannah Price, in return for thy simple companionship as my wife?”
She was struck as if the words were physical blows, and Hannah fired back, too appalled to tamp down the volcanic energy of her anger or maintain the pretense of a respectful form of address.
“Yes, you did a fine job of nurturing my mind and supporting my aspirations, as did my father and Edward both. But above all you taught me to pursue truth. Truth!
The highest calling.
Did you not drill it into me? And now you’re suggesting that I consent to be your wife in order to secure my position at the Atheneum? Do I strike you as a woman that would make such a vile contract?”
She’d never felt such fury, or allowed it into words. She’d stood up while speaking, and her fists were balled so tightly her fingernails dug into her palms. It felt good, so she squeezed harder.
“It’s regrettable that thee abandons thy manners and thy plain speech at the first rush of emotion,” he said mildly. “Though it is encouraging to see a feminine fire burning in one who excels at hiding her passions.”
Hannah backed away, hovering on the edge of the porch step.
“You don’t see me as a peer at all. For all your talk of equal education, you see my shape, not my mind. At the end of the day I’m but a woman.” The words were bitter in her mouth. Her body was a prison. How unfair that she would be trapped in it until the end of her days.
“Does a zebra gaze upon its mate and see plaid, my dear? Thee should be grateful for thy blessings, the role thy Creator has reserved for thy Sex.”
Hannah stared at him, barely hearing the words. Her Sex, indeed. It was the cause of all her suffering.
“I urge thee to reconsider my offer,” he went on. “If not for thine own sake, then for the sake of those who may be affected by thy decision. Thy father, for instance. He still awaits his certificate of removal, and it will be a challenge for him to continue in his position if he’s in poor standing with the Philadelphia Meeting. Or thy . . . student. Who appears to have a surprising familiarity with the collections of an institution not even open to one of his race. And excellent night vision.”
“You left the note in my box,” Hannah whispered, the truth seeping in like poison. “Where is my key?” she hissed.
“I was trying to help thee, Hannah. As I am now. Thee has no further need of the key to our Island’s most cherished institution.” Dr. Hall blinked once, twice, owlish. Was he mocking her with this façade of concern? In the twilight, on his rocking chair, his frailty made a bizarre contrast to the power he wielded.
“It is not too late to make an acknowledgment,” he added. “That, in combination with an announcement of our engagement, would surely mend any rift between thee and thy neighbors. Think on it.” He folded his arms and began to rock, as if she were a student and he had dismissed her.
Had she been a sailor, she’d have spit at his feet.
Instead, she shook her head and measured her words.
“On the contrary,” Hannah said, each word heavy as a cannonball as it fell. “I shall do my best never to think on it again.”
She turned her back on him and went back the way she’d come, grateful for the shelter of the encroaching dark.