Today's Reading
CHAPTER ONE
NEW YORK CITY
MONDAY, AUGUST 23, 1926
"Sorry," Elsa whispered, though she knew full well the bird splayed on its back on the metal table was past feeling any pain. She pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose, then reached for the scalpel. Having already stuffed the bird's throat with cotton, she separated the feathers down the mid-line of the breast. "Here we go."
"Talking to yourself again?" Her colleague approached before she had a chance to make the first incision. "Or are you talking to a dead bird while you skin it? Which is rather worse, if you ask me."
"No one asked you," she teased.
He grinned. At the age of twenty-eight, Archer Hamlin was two years older than Elsa and yet retained his schoolboy charm. She had proved immune to it, however, which made their camaraderie easy and light. He worked in the Department of Preparation, painting dioramas for habitat displays, but found reasons enough to visit her fifth-floor office. "Admit it," he said. "You're so lonely back here you've gone batty."
Batty? Never. Lonely? Maybe.
Definitely.
"Lauren left for Egypt last week," she told him.
"Your cousin and roommate, Lauren? Say, didn't I dance with her once? As I recall, you refused me, and she stepped in to save me from embarrassment."
"I refused you because I don't dance," Elsa reminded him with a tap to her leg. She still couldn't decide if Archer's oblivion to her limitation made him a terrible observer or a steadfast friend. "If she saved anyone from humiliation, it was me."
Archer folded his arms and leaned a hip against the table, watching her work. "You have another roommate, though. Her name is Ivy, right? Are you looking for a third to help with rent? I know a guy. He's looking to move out of his parents' house. Very tidy, very clean, upstanding and respectful. He just hasn't found the right real estate yet. He's not bad to look at, either."
Suppressing a smile, she shook her head. "You're full of applesauce." Not that she minded right now. Her work at the American Museum of Natural History was mostly done alone. Even before Lauren had taken leave from the Metropolitan Museum of Art for a six-month survey of ancient Egyptian art, Elsa had been lonely at work.
As a research assistant in the ornithology department, preparing bird skins was part of her job, and she was good at it. In fact, with her small hands and natural perfectionism, she performed the task better than anyone else in the department. That didn't mean she loved doing it.
"If you're here to rescue me from my isolation," she told Archer, "at least step out of the light for the rest of the procedure."
He shuddered. "I'm not staying. I've just been consulting with Chapman on a project. He said he wants to see you."
"Now?" She was hoping to get the bird stuffed before leaving today.
He looked at his watch. "More or less."
While Archer whistled along the corridor, Elsa covered the bird and her tray of tools and limped to the sink to wash her hands. Ignoring the ache in her leg, she made her way to her boss's office.
"You wanted to see me?"
"Please have a seat, Miss Reisner." Frank Chapman, head of the ornithology department, gestured to the chair across from his desk. The bookcase behind him held mounted birds from his many expeditions; stacks of Bird-Lore magazine, which he edited for the Audubon Society; and eighteen books and field guides he'd authored himself.
Elsa took the offered chair. "Can I help you with something? Have more shipments arrived from the South Seas?"
Mr. Chapman's mustache twitched in a brief smile. "You most certainly can help, but it's nothing to do with the South Seas expedition. Do you recall patrons of this museum by the name of Van Tessel? Linus and Bernadette Van Tessel?"
She did. Linus had passed away two years ago, and his widow, who went by the name of Birdie, was now seventy-five years old. "I spoke with Mrs. Van Tessel at the fundraiser last summer but haven't seen her since."
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