When I returned, Constance told me Alexander had been quite anxious at my absence – to the point of wetting himself. Having soiled himself twice, he ended the day in napkins. I was sad to hear this, and resolved to keep him from services the next day to avoid any public embarrassment. Since the O’Gradies attended Sunday Mass at 6:30, Mary volunteered to mind Alexander while the rest of us attended Protestant services at 9:00.

As the Minister droned on, I spotted Miss Wright amongst the congregation. After services, I called out, “Miss Wright!”

“Hello, Nancy. Now that we are of equal station, please call me ‘Jane,’ dear. By the way, that is a fetching dress!”

“Thank you, … Jane. I had it made and picked it up in Manhattan yesterday. May I walk with you?”

“Of course, my dear. I am anxious to hear your news.”

“And I am anxious to relate it – and have your opinion.”

“The apples are in bloom. Shall we stroll by the orchards?”

“I can think of no better place.” We would be guaranteed privacy there.

I wanted neither to boast nor to raise her anxiety, so I made no mention of my harrowing encounter. I did say that Alexander was believed to be in danger and the Sergeant was training me to arms.

“Good for you! I always thought you a new model female, Nancy. I am glad my efforts to liberate you from the constraints of tradition have succeeded.”

“Thank you Jane, but I seek your advice rather than your praise.”

“How may I advise you?”

“Miss … Jane, from what you taught about relations with men – and women – I suspect you are a woman of experience … I hope my presumption does not offend you.”

“It does not as long as you do not bandy it about.”

“I would never do so. I am about to share a secret that will seal my silence.”

“Yes?”

I told her of meeting Caroline, my luncheon with her, and most especially of the excitement and confusion that she roused in me.

“Nancy, when you were at the Asylum you showed no interest in boys – aside from Little Edward. So, I have long suspected that your affections were inclined toward the fairer sex.”

“Oh!” I blushed. “Surely that is unnatural?”

“Think as I taught you, dear. God gave you your nature, whatever it may be. How can your nature be unnatural? The very idea is an oxymoron!”

“You are right … yet such affections are said to be unnatural.”

“Yes, by people who do not share them. I think you know that the opinions of society are no sure guide to virtue.”

“Yes, I do.”

“Many consider relations between women to be more spiritual than those between men and women.”

“I see. … Thank you, Miss … Jane.”

“You are welcome, Nancy.”

We strolled on in silence for a while. As we did so, I saw Constance with the blacksmith’s boy, hurrying off into the orchid. Jane had not seen them, and I said nothing. We walked on.

“I must pause. It is my time and I am having cramps.” We sat on a fallen log.

“I am so sorry, you should have told me.” I looked in my purse. “Here is a bit of witchery that may help.” I handed her a packet. “A tea of willow bark can ease pain. If you chew a bit and sit a while, you will feel better.”

“Thank you, Nancy.” After a while her countenance relaxed. “You are a wonder, Nancy. Thank you ever so much.”

“You are welcome, dear. In my room, I have a potion that helps with monthlies. I will bring some later and instruct you in its use.”

“Wherever did you learn these things?”

I revealed my apprenticeship under Agnes as we strolled back to the Asylum. There we said our goodbyes.

“Nancy, you are a very surprising young woman. It is well that you are discreet about your witchery, for many prefer ignorance to the benefit of mankind.”

That night I wrote to Caroline, praising her beauty, looking forward to our next visit, and expressing the hope of exploring our mutual affection in the privacy of her rooms. My flesh grew flush and my heart quickened as I wrote.

One of my joys was spending time in Karl’s well-stocked library. On Sundays after services and when Alexander was in his bed, I retired to the library. I particularly liked books on travel and natural history. I read the Lewis and Clark’s Journals, Irving’s A Tour on the Prairies, and Dickens’s American Notes – all imagining myself as one of the adventurers. I was appalled by Dickens’s first-hand account of slavery in the South, and recalled that it was only twenty years since the last stave was freed in New York.

In natural history, I enjoyed the colorful plates of Audubon’s The Birds of America, but was also able to make way through Cuvier’s Théorie de la terre, which improved my French, and Lyell’s Principles of Geology. Both seemed convincing, so I was unable to decide between visions of past catastrophes and the slow, monotonous grinding of time. Perhaps there is merit in both views. Of course, Karl had read both Cuvier and Lyell, and they provided fodder for amiable and animated discussions well into the evening.

The Sergeant was a bit put off when we retreated to our “ivory tower,” but Karl and I grew in mutual admiration and fondness – he surprised at my understanding, and I at the breadth of his interests and depth of his knowledge. I was reminded of the conversations on natural history my brother and I had with my father.