“Well, I was working on the start of a novel, but I don’t write much anymore.”
Aurelia was about to change the subject, but Marmee pressed, “Why is that?”
“Oh… There are a few reasons, but mostly I just don’t have the time.I’ve been busy with the shop.”
“And the other reasons?”
Aurelia barely managed to hold in a sigh, but much as she’d rather talk about almost anything else, she couldn’t be rude to Marmee.
“My mother died about a year ago, and Aunt Marigold died three months ago.I just haven’t wanted to write since then.”
“I’m very sorry,” Marmee said, reaching out a hand as though to touch Aurelia’s arm.“My family has suffered some difficult losses as well and I understand how terrible it can be.But I have no doubt you’ll find a way to write again, just as my Jo did.”
Aurelia’s first instinct was to disagree and say she might never write again, but she was saved from making any dramatic declarations when Laurie and the others drew Marmee back into their conversation.
Vronsky, seeming to sense an opening, caught Aurelia’s eye and lifted his brows, as though asking her to join him.They climbed up the spiral staircase to the window seat, where Fezz lifted his head and eyed them before resuming his nap.As they sat down, she dove right into her first question, as though no time had passed since he’d disappeared at dawn earlier that day.
“I was just talking to the others about university.Before, you mentioned that it wasn’t really an option for Russian women in your time.But still, you must know some intelligent women who could have done well at university or in business if they’d had the chance?”
Vronsky took his time responding, his voice a near whisper when he spoke.
“I knew one very intelligent woman.I suppose, having read my novel, you know all about her.”
Aurelia winced at the realization that he was thinking of Anna and instantly felt guilty for dredging up his worst memories.
“I do.I’m very sorry for your loss, Alexei.”
“My loss… The pain of it is still quite deep.”
“That’s right—your novel ends just a few months after she died, doesn’t it?It must still feel very raw.”
“It is and yet, as each evening here progresses it feels more remote, as if it happened many years ago and I am reflecting back upon it.At times it has been a relief to be here and to have that distance, while at others I am filled with guilt not to feel her loss as intensely as I should.”
“I know that exact feeling.My mother passed not long ago, and you’ve heard about my aunt.”
She felt her eyes fill with tears and she willed them not to fall.
“I’m sorry.It’s still difficult to talk about them without feeling sad.I keep hoping the sadness will be replaced by something else,” she confided.“Someday, I want to be able to appreciate the fact that I had them in my life without always focusing on the fact that I don’t have them here anymore.”
Aurelia paused.She hadn’t put those thoughts into words before and was surprised at how easily they came to her now.
“Maybe time will do the same for you?”she suggested.
“It is something to hope for, yes.”
They were quiet, each collecting themselves.
“Please,” Vronsky said after a moment.“Ask your question again and I will try for a better answer.”
“My question… What were we talking about—university?”
He nodded.
“Right, I was asking if you know any women in your time who would have wanted to go to university?”
“I know a number of intelligent women, as you say, but it is difficult to imagine them as scholars.Perhaps because many of the scholars I know are great bores.How can I picture women in that world when I am used to seeing them glittering in ballrooms or arranging pleasant dinners with good company?”Vronsky smiled, as though he thought his answer would please her.
“Some of us have more interesting things to do than wander around glittering for other people’s entertainment,” Aurelia said, struggling to keep the sharpness from her voice even as she grew embarrassed for having dressed up before joining the characters.“I loved being a student.I spent my days reading, researching, and writing about all of you.”
