Here’s another, more sizable taste of ICNSFD. The rest of the story is coming to you on October 4, 2016, and you can preorder it now. Read Chapter 1 here!

Chapter 2: The Body by the Lake

On Wednesdays, I spent the last lesson of the day with toads – the sort that hid beneath stones and the sort who snuck sly smirks at me as they mixed chemicals for their own laboratory projects.

I greatly preferred the toads that lived in my glass aquariums.

A guffaw from a nearby table broke my concentration. The instrument in my hand jerked, nearly cracking Galvani’s tiny limb at the joint.

“Drat it all.” I forced my fingers steady before I did more damage. I extracted the pin I used tighten the metalwork and dropped it onto the worktable before removing the magnifying monocle from my eye.

Galvani shifted to the front of his aquarium in that half-creeping, half-rocking way of his. He blinked his great eyes and scolded me with a croak.

I looked at the cuckoo clock hanging from the stone wall. I wouldn’t have time to finish today.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered to Galvani. “Maybe next week.”

The boys sitting in front turned and gave me questioning looks. I buried my nose in my sketchbook to avoid their eyes. They could think what they liked. Galvani was easily the best conversationalist in the room. I hadn’t convinced my instructors to let me take my study hour in the laboratory every week because I wanted to impress the young men that comprised the rest of the class.

“And how’s your project coming, Miss Dietrich?”

I snapped my sketchbook shut and looked up at Father Peter. He gestured at the mechanical hind leg with its webbed foot made of netting. I’d been working on the coil mechanism in the joint, trying to give Galvani some spring back to his step.

“Wonderfully, Father, thank you.” I stood, my pulse quickening. Maybe he’d take a keener interest in my work now that the leg was nearly operational. I leaned over the aquarium and held the toad still as I secured the prosthetic over the stump where his real leg had been. It was hanging by a tendon when I’d discovered Galvani near the lake. I’d been looking for washed-up fish skeletons to sketch and found a new friend instead, much to Mother’s chagrin.

When the last strap was buckled, I released him and watched as he moved back to the cool spot under his stone.

He looked a touch less lopsided, anyway.

I beamed up at Father Peter. “It’s nearly done. Once I configure the spring properly, it’ll work just as well as his original –”

“Very good.” He patted me on the shoulder. “I must tell you again how pleased I am with you for supporting your brother and caring for the animals in his aquarium. Your kind heart does not go unnoticed.”

He moved on to the next table and took my smile with him. I sank back onto my stool and stared at the hand-crafted heat lamp and aerator that were the only parts Father Peter saw of the experiment I shared with my brother.

The slow burn of jealousy flickered inside me and I stamped it out. It wasn’t Joe’s fault that his thirteen-year-old brain understood mechanics better than most seasoned engineers. Still, at three years his senior, I couldn’t help but wish our instructors would view my projects as something other than a distraction from piano lessons and sewing.

The three o’clock shrill of the cuckoo bird turned into the ringing bells that told students they were free for another afternoon. Father Peter packed his notes in his case and led the rush.

As my classmates flowed around me like spring water, I flicked my sketchbook open and went back to drawing Galvani’s progress for the day while I waited for Joe to meet me.

A tinkling laugh I knew all too well nearly snapped my pencil. Mirabelle Bonnet and her day’s pair of sycophantic companions headed off one of the boys at the entrance to the lab. She tossed her cinnamon curls as she spoke to him and let the light catch the gaudy emerald and gold choker winking from her pale neck. It clashed horribly with her ebony-colored walking gown.

I hoped she’d ask him to escort her home and leave me in peace, but hope wasn’t listening.

“Clara, darling.” She leaned onto my table with a smile like a scythe, showing off the pearl buttons trimming her gloves. “Playing with your friends again?”

Her followers shifted behind her, fiddling with their schoolbooks and looking me over with a combination of disdain and disquiet. I had that effect.

I tapped my pencil against the desk. “I was enjoying the company of a companion I didn’t have to bully or buy, yes.”

One of the other girls gasped in exaggerated offense, but Mirabelle scarcely batted an eye. “Oh, my dear, you must do better than that. Sharpen your tongue for my father’s gala this evening, for I expect far wittier repartee. I was just telling Chadwick that he really must come.”

I bit the inside of my cheek and didn’t respond.

Mirabelle put her hand to her chest and painted her face with a near-convincing expression of concern. “But you must have received an invitation! All of Chicago’s finest will be there. Surely it’s been long enough for the scandal to die down.”

Nervous laughter swelled behind her. There’s never anything quite like having an audience to one’s humiliation. Mirabelle’s petty swipes at my projects were all well and good, but sharpening her claws on my family was another matter entirely. Familiar heat crept up my neck.

“I’ve no interest in attending your father’s garish parties. If you’re quite finished, my brother will be here soon. You’re welcome to take your leave.” I pushed past her to the chemistry table on the other side of the room and pretended to busy myself.

When it became clear I wouldn’t rise, she called, “Perhaps your mother might like to attend. She could finally admit her infidelity and beg a proposal from whoever sired your sister. It would be the highlight of the evening.”

My resolve cracked. I marched straight back, fingers clenched so tightly around a beaker that I felt certain it would break. To her credit, she barely flinched, though I could tell her instinct was to shy away from my considerable fury.

“See here, you… you… insufferable cloaca. Every society person of note knows your family reeks of new money and tasteless fashion. They only attend your parties for the drinks and the gossip. Your seamstress is horrendous, your necklace is laughable, and all your money and posturing can’t buy you class. Kindly remove yourself from my presence, and take your mockingbirds with you.”

Her already fair complexion blanched and her cohorts stared at me in open-mouthed shock. I stood my ground. The stone laboratory grew several degrees colder as she narrowed her eyes and prepared a retort.

“That’s quite enough, I should think,” Father Peter said.

We both turned to find the priest and Joe standing in the doorway. Joe walked over to the aquarium and busied himself pretending to check on the aerator. He put a gentle hand on my arm.

Father Peter tilted his head toward the hallway. “Miss Bonnet, a word, please.”

Mirabelle scowled and stomped after him, her entourage following in her wake.

“Insufferable cloaca?” Joe said.

I glowered at him. “It was the first thing I could think of that sounded insulting. I was handling the situation perfectly well.”

“Really? Because your face looks like cherry cordial and I wouldn’t have been surprised if you’d hit her.”

“Come off it. I haven’t hit her in years. It’s an exercise in self-control.”

“She still remembers the last time, though.”

“When I put that artful bend in her nose? It’s quite fashionable. She should thank me.”

His face split into a grin as he bent to say hello to Galvani.

I leaned back against the table. “What was all that about, anyhow? Did Father Peter corner you again?”

He scratched behind his ear and adjusted the heat lamps. “He had some new ideas about my engineering studies. Could you hand me my tool pouch? I think the aerator’s clogged.”

I obliged. “What sort of new ideas?”

He paused in removing the suction tube. Another itch behind his ear. “He wants me to take extra lessons.”

“Is that all? That’s hardly a surprise.”

Father Peter came back into the room and paid Joe a smile. “Your brother’s being modest, Miss Dietrich. I’ve spoken with the professors at the University. He’ll be taking more advanced courses with some of the best engineers in the city. I told him I was certain you’d be proud.”

The wrench slipped from Joe’s fingers and rattled onto the table. He swallowed and didn’t look up.

I dug my own fingers into my bodice to hide their shaking. The blazing jealousy was back again. It felt hot enough to melt glass. “Very proud,” I whispered.

“I’m sure you’re eager to get home and tell your mother,” the Father said. “I’ll see you both tomorrow.”

When he’d gone, Joe shifted from foot to foot and looked worriedly at me. “I’m sorry. I didn’t want to. I told him I didn’t.”

Guilt tempered the heat in my head. “Oh, Joe.” I brushed the hair off his forehead and forced cheer into my voice. “Such is the price of genius.”

“Genius nothing. You’re the biologist. I just want to play with engines all day. It should be you taking science lessons there, not me.”

My good humor turned genuine. “You’re the only person I know who thinks sketching amphibian anatomy and studying the circulatory system is befitting of a lady.”

“They let women study there. I’ve seen them.”

“Those women aren’t related to our mother. She’d say it’s only more fuel for the gossip mill.”

He winkled his nose and stared out the window without responding. We both knew there was no arguing with Mother.

I took up my hat. “Come on, let’s go home. She’ll be worrying after us already.”

With a nod, he went to check the hall. When I raised a questioning eyebrow at him, he said, “Checking for Mirabelle. She’s gone.” He pulled on his coat and added, “You know she’s a hag, don’t you?”

I laughed as I pinned my hat in place. “Crooked nose and all.”

The shining autumn air curled lazily around us as we raced down the steps, bringing the steam-damp smell of the elevated train with it. Joe grinned and ran toward the nearest tracks. I followed as best I could, gathering my skirts and allowing his exhilaration to overtake me. It was vastly preferable to moping in the doldrums of my thoughts. We hadn’t run home like small children in years.

Four years, in fact.

I halted beneath the tracks and we both watched the cars whistle by above us, the clicking wheels mingling with the automated carriages in an almighty clatter. Joe laughed and shot off again.

We tried to distance ourselves, running from University lessons I’d never have and Joe didn’t want. From our Mother’s expectations. From Mirabelle and her barbed tongue. It might be temporary, but the moment was a good one, and we were unwilling to let it go as we dodged the bronzed sunlight tumbling from the city’s windows.

It was then that we turned the corner and saw the police carriage sitting vacant in front of our townhome. The smiles fell from our faces to crack against the cobblestones.

Joe gripped my arm. “Do you think they’ve found –” he started, but I was already halfway to the door. The police rarely visited. Only when they had a lead.

Four years of dead ends and I still dared to hope.

My hand shook against the doorknob. The possibilities that waited on the other side of the door were infinite. What if Father was on the other side, arms open wide, as though the night he’d disappeared had never happened? What if it was another officer humoring us with an empty update?

What if it was the news we all feared?

I swallowed the last thought down deep into my belly. Joe pressed against my back and willed me to open the door.

Bells tolled as I pushed my way inside. The slow clang, clang, clang of them filled the empty foyer. Instinctively, I slapped my hand against the source of the noise – one of Joe’s ever-changing security devices. The bells went quiet.

“Mother?” I called. Father’s name wouldn’t leave my mouth. Not yet.

“That’ll be the children.” Mother’s voice carried from the drawing room. She followed right behind it, looking harried and balancing our younger sister on her hip. “You’re late.”

“Mum, did they find him?” Joe asked the question I couldn’t.

“No, no. It’s only a new officer, here to ask some questions and familiarize himself with our situation.” She put Emma down next to me and patted her hair back into place. “Clara, see to your sister in the study, hm? And upstairs with you, Joseph. You have schoolwork.”

Mother reached to remove my hat for me. She seemed in a rush for us to get on with our afternoon routines, but I couldn’t help but notice the tension in her jaw as she drew out the pin. Her eyes kept darting back to the drawing room.

“They could have given him the details at the station,” I said. “Is something else the matter?”

“Nothing, darling, nothing. Emma’s nurse had to leave early today and I’m feeling on edge, is all. Now off with you both while I see to the officer, off with you.” She hung my hat on its hook and fluttered her hands at us. I fixed her with a dubious stare, which she returned in stride.

I gave in. “Very well.”

“Right, right. To the study, then. Joseph, your room.”

Joe obediently trudged up the stairs as I took Emma’s hand.

“Come on,” I stage-whispered to my sister as I led her to the study. “I’ll get her to tell me what’s going on later. She always speaks in doubles when she’s upset.” Mother cocked a serious eyebrow at me, though I could’ve sworn I saw the hint of a smile.

Inside the study, I released Emma and let her wander to the bookshelves on her tiny three-year-old feet. She habitually reached for the leather-bound tomes while I breathed in the comforting smell of ink and pipe smoke and the barest hint of formaldehyde. Father’s memory was strongest inside those walls.

“Sissy, tell me a story.” Emma looked at me, our mother’s green eyes piercing through her dark curls. I knew those eyes fueled the rumors. Joe and I were easily marked as Dietrichs – all ash blond hair, brown eyes, and wiry builds – but Emma bore our mother’s appearance alone. She showed no hint of our father, and no memory of him, either.
She’d been barely a flutter in Mother’s belly when Father vanished. It’d been no trouble for the society gossips to make Mother into the conniving adulteress she had never been.

“All right, a story.” I trailed my fingers along the spines. Emma pointed out Aesop’s Fables and I pulled the well-worn book from its place as she plopped onto the floor, gazing up at me expectantly. The pages fell open on “The Ant and the Grasshopper,” bookmarked with a folded paper flower.

I could see the hands that folded the paper, and then they were gone. I sank to the floor beside Emma and held out the flower. “Do you know what this is?”

She took it from me. “It’s pretty.”

“Yes, it is. Your Papa made this. Papa used to read these stories to us. He loved the animals.”

She turned the flower over in her hands. “I wish I knew Papa.”

A deep voice from the doorway intruded. “He was a good man, I hear.”

I whirled around. A man I hadn’t seen before stood there, his police cap in hand and a shiny badge on his chest.

There was an air of confidence about him, as though he had more authority than the officers who normally stopped by.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t hear you.” I rose to my feet.

“Quite all right, Miss Dietrich. I’m Officer Goldsmith. I apologize for startling you. I asked your mother if I might speak with you regarding the night your father disappeared.” He gestured to my father’s reading chair. “May I?”

“Oh, yes, of course,” I said, even as I clenched my hands. I didn’t like other men sitting in Father’s chair, and I had to remind myself I was being silly. Emma pulled at my sleeve. I handed her Aesop’s Fables. She took it happily and looked for the engravings.

I took the seat next to the officer, watching Emma and avoiding his eyes.

“Thank you for speaking with me,” he said, forcing me to look at him or appear rude. “I understand you were with your father the evening he disappeared. Is that correct?”

“Yes.” My pulse quickened. Remembering that night never failed to make my heart pound.

“Could you tell me about the people who took him?”

I gaped at him, surprised. Not many people inquired into the kidnapping. The police recorded my story and maintained the charade of following up on the case under pressure from my grandfather, but it was clear that most had thought me a hysterical twelve-year-old girl who had hit her head and become confused. My fingers went automatically to my chin. I could still feel the thin scar where I’d struck the rock that knocked me unconscious.

I swallowed, remembering the warm summer night. “There were five, maybe six of them. I didn’t get a very good look, I’m afraid. They were similar – ashen-skinned and shabbily dressed, like factory workers. All but one. One wore a cloak with a hood. I never saw his face.”

The officer pulled a book and pencil from his breast pocket to make a note. “I see. Sometimes, because of the trauma, we don’t think we remember as much as we really do. For instance, I’ll bet you remember whether any of them spoke, or if they were men or women. Could you tell me about that?”

Again, he surprised me. No one else had bothered to ask for so much detail. They smirked and patted my hand, but never asked questions. It seemed the station had finally sent someone willing to listen.

I frowned, pulling forward memories I had tried to forget. “No women. I could tell the one with the hood was a man because he was the one who spoke. He commanded the others.”

Goldsmith made another note. “Did he speak with an accent?”

“I couldn’t tell. He made his voice low and raspy.”

“I see. Could you tell me what you were doing at the University that night? Was there anyone else there with you?”

This man had certainly done his research. “My father was working on a new project with his research partner, Dr. Clark. Something to do with electric eels from the Amazon. His studies fascinated me, so he often brought me along. Dr. Clark left just before dark. When we left the laboratory a little while later, the campus was deserted. Papa… my father wanted to stop by the botanical gardens to show me some newly planted trees before we went home.”

The memory of eucalyptus in the breeze washed over me. It stung my nose and made my eyes water.

“We were attacked on the way to the garden. They held his arms and dragged him away. I tried to fight them, but there were too many, and I was too…” I took a shaky breath. “They flung me aside and I struck my chin on a rock. That’s all I remember.”

“And you’ve neither seen nor heard from your father since?”

That particular question made me pause. I’d been so pleased to speak with an officer who truly listened to me that I’d nearly forgotten the strangeness of his visit. That dark thought, the one I’d swallowed before opening the door, crept back up. I forced my words around it. “Might I ask why you’re inquiring after my father? Has there been some sort of lead?”

His pencil stopped moving. He composed his words carefully before he spoke. “There’s been a recent development. Nothing conclusive, I’m afraid.”

Everything in the room shuddered before me. “What do you mean, nothing –”

A series of sharp knocks from the front door interrupted me. I was on my feet and in the foyer just as Mother opened the door, her hand against Joe’s bell to prevent its tolls. Another officer stood on the stoop. Before the newcomer could open his mouth, Officer Goldsmith excused himself and pulled the other officer back toward the carriage in the street.

“What’s the word?” I could barely hear him from the doorway. Mother stood next to me, wringing her hands. The officers lowered their voices further and exchanged rapid words. Officer Goldberg hung his head.

When I could stand it no longer, I pushed past Mother and approached them, shivering as much from nerves as the chilly evening air. A knot of something wild tangled itself inside my chest.

“What is it? What have you found?” I demanded.

“Please, Miss Dietrich, if you’ll just wait inside.”

“I won’t. Tell me.” I found Officer Goldsmith’s eyes. “Please. Tell me.”

Joe joined Mother at the doorway. They leaned outside to listen, faces open and afraid. Officer Goldsmith set his jaw and came closer so we could all hear.

“I’m sorry. I am so very sorry. This afternoon, we found a dead man near the lake. We brought him in to verify his identity.” His breath hung in the air like the Ferris wheel car in my memory. I wasn’t ready. Papa wasn’t with me. I willed him not to say the next words, prayed I could cling to the sky a little while longer.

“He’s just been identified via photograph as Eli Dietrich.”

The knot around my heart pulled tight, taking my breath with it.