gave the disease to each other the way the soldiers did. He says because the Thompsons came down with the typhoid at nearly the same time, each person must have contracted the disease from an individual source such as a food or water. This makes sense to me.
I see so much of him in the old records, Mr. Soper, the way his mind works, tearing each new bit of information apart, breaking it down to smaller pieces to look at it more closely, to wonder about it and worry it like a sore tooth. He has a mind that doesnât easily let go of things, not without fully understanding them first. Thatâs why heâs so good at his job; thatâs why Iâm so glad I can watch and learn from him and listen to his deep voice explaining difficult things to me every day.
November 8, 1906
O dd morning.
In working so closely with men, encountering them daily, watching how they behave with each other, and with me, I have to wonder at our differences. We are made to fit together like two halves that combine into a whole. Our minds are supposed to complement each other, women nurture, men provide, yet this design of nature dismays me; it seems so flawed. It often seems that we are as mismatched as horses and rabbits. If it were meant to be, our togetherness, why is it so difficult?
Iâm thinking of this today both because of the letter I received from Anushka, and because of a chance meeting this morning between myself and that peculiar science fellow who works in the laboratory, the one who asked me to look at his microscope. I felt eyes upon me as I was purchasing abasket of eggs from the lady on Hester. There he was, holding a paper heâd plucked from the newsie, staring at me from its pages. He has a way of looking at me that seems far too open and familiar to be proper.
He greeted me too informally as well: âFancy meeting you here, Prudence,â he said.
His steady gaze made my stomach hurt, but I nodded politely.
âI live on Essex,â he said. âI live alone.â
The implications of that frightened me. I started to walk away when he stopped me: âHey, you know, you werenât the only one who applied for the job as Soperâs assistant. My friend did too, and he shouldâve gotten it. Heâs like me, a science fellow.â
My breath caught in my throat. I hadnât heard about anyone else in our department applying for the job. I wasnât sure he was telling the truth.
The boy went on: âMr. Soper gave it to you because he likes to be around pretty girls.â
I felt as if he insulted me in his feeble attempt to flatter me. I turned to face this wicked boy fully and asked, âCan your friend type forty words per minute, write in a neat hand under pressure,
and
dig into a septic field?â
He burst out laughing. I quickly turned and hurried away from him.
I donât think Iâve ever experienced a young manâs attention like that, the way he seemed to look right through me. And I believe he used that lie about the other science fellow just to inflame me.
Poor Anushkaâshe isnât properly prepared to conduct herself around fellers either, it seems. She writes that her friend Ida has confessed that she too loves this Randall person, but didnât tell Anushka for fear it would ruin their friendship. I ask: Is this new friend even worth keeping? Apparently, Ida did know of Anushkaâs feelings before she announced hers, but she still loves him anyway and cannot keep it inside. I think, if they are both truly in love with the same boy, they should bring the dilemma to Randall himself. Let the feelings come to a boil, push them to the outer limit of expression, pour the salt into the wound, a painful but rapid solution. In the end, anyway, he will be the one to choose between the two young ladies.
Besides, Iâm not so sure fellers are worth all the suffering. Iâm really not sure at all.
November 11, 1906
I âve been working in
I see so much of him in the old records, Mr. Soper, the way his mind works, tearing each new bit of information apart, breaking it down to smaller pieces to look at it more closely, to wonder about it and worry it like a sore tooth. He has a mind that doesnât easily let go of things, not without fully understanding them first. Thatâs why heâs so good at his job; thatâs why Iâm so glad I can watch and learn from him and listen to his deep voice explaining difficult things to me every day.
November 8, 1906
O dd morning.
In working so closely with men, encountering them daily, watching how they behave with each other, and with me, I have to wonder at our differences. We are made to fit together like two halves that combine into a whole. Our minds are supposed to complement each other, women nurture, men provide, yet this design of nature dismays me; it seems so flawed. It often seems that we are as mismatched as horses and rabbits. If it were meant to be, our togetherness, why is it so difficult?
Iâm thinking of this today both because of the letter I received from Anushka, and because of a chance meeting this morning between myself and that peculiar science fellow who works in the laboratory, the one who asked me to look at his microscope. I felt eyes upon me as I was purchasing abasket of eggs from the lady on Hester. There he was, holding a paper heâd plucked from the newsie, staring at me from its pages. He has a way of looking at me that seems far too open and familiar to be proper.
He greeted me too informally as well: âFancy meeting you here, Prudence,â he said.
His steady gaze made my stomach hurt, but I nodded politely.
âI live on Essex,â he said. âI live alone.â
The implications of that frightened me. I started to walk away when he stopped me: âHey, you know, you werenât the only one who applied for the job as Soperâs assistant. My friend did too, and he shouldâve gotten it. Heâs like me, a science fellow.â
My breath caught in my throat. I hadnât heard about anyone else in our department applying for the job. I wasnât sure he was telling the truth.
The boy went on: âMr. Soper gave it to you because he likes to be around pretty girls.â
I felt as if he insulted me in his feeble attempt to flatter me. I turned to face this wicked boy fully and asked, âCan your friend type forty words per minute, write in a neat hand under pressure,
and
dig into a septic field?â
He burst out laughing. I quickly turned and hurried away from him.
I donât think Iâve ever experienced a young manâs attention like that, the way he seemed to look right through me. And I believe he used that lie about the other science fellow just to inflame me.
Poor Anushkaâshe isnât properly prepared to conduct herself around fellers either, it seems. She writes that her friend Ida has confessed that she too loves this Randall person, but didnât tell Anushka for fear it would ruin their friendship. I ask: Is this new friend even worth keeping? Apparently, Ida did know of Anushkaâs feelings before she announced hers, but she still loves him anyway and cannot keep it inside. I think, if they are both truly in love with the same boy, they should bring the dilemma to Randall himself. Let the feelings come to a boil, push them to the outer limit of expression, pour the salt into the wound, a painful but rapid solution. In the end, anyway, he will be the one to choose between the two young ladies.
Besides, Iâm not so sure fellers are worth all the suffering. Iâm really not sure at all.
November 11, 1906
I âve been working in
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