Miss Everleigh stood and gathered her things, and arms loaded with books, gave him a pretty smile. He felt his lips lifting to return it, and let himself smile back.
They set off through the stacks, their footsteps loud in the hushed space. He preferred the library when it was quiet like this. The hush was familiar and soothing.
They turned through another arch to the gently curving atrium lined with light blue silk paper and adorned with classical reliefs. The Flaxman Gallery had only just reopened after a lengthy redecoration, and now the small, octagonal space shone with refreshed beauty. Even for someone who cared little for art, there was nothing to compare to the bright light of a clear morning illuminating the gallery and making the ivory casts along the walls glow. Now the domed room was faintly blue and dim but for small electric lights casting a yellow glare on the reliefs from below. The dramatic statue in the middle of the room, St. Michael bearing down on an ophidian Satan, stood frozen in shadow as they passed.
Miss Everleigh paused at the edge of the portico. Past the classical columns, the white steps were darkened with fat drops of rain. A gust of wind caught leaves and discarded papers, scattering them across the Quadrangle’s large oval of pavement. The breeze was heavy with the scent of rain. The back of Alexander’s neck tingled unpleasantly.
They’d barely managed a step toward the stairs when a flash of lightning seared the sky, followed by an enormous crash of thunder that shook the ground beneath their feet. The sound froze the air in Alexander’s lungs, but his vision didn’t dim, nor did his heart stutter. He forced his fingers to loosen around the books in his hands.
In the moment it had taken him to breathe deeply and collect himself, the electric lights of the Wilkins Building and the others surrounding the Quad had gone out. The sky opened up and a torrent of rain began.
Moisture dusted his face as the rain fell heavily beyond the cover of the portico. He stepped back from the edge of the stairs and back toward the door.
Rather than shy away from the sheets of rain and rolls of thunder, Miss Everleigh’s face was upturned, her eyes closed, a soft smile on her lips. With the meager light of the twin gas lanterns at the doors to the gallery, her fair skin almost glowed.
She breathed deeply. “It’s lovely, isn’t it?”
Alexander couldn’t help but arch a brow at that. More often than not, rain took him back to a dark, muddy trench.
She peered at him, smile lingering as she added, “You know, fresh rain, wet grass, flowers, the scent of Earth’s renewal?”
Alexander forced a light tone. “I can’t say I’ve ever noticed.”
Miss Everleigh’s blue eyes opened wide, and she took another step back under the ledge, toward him, saving her books from further damage. With incredulity in her voice, she said, “But it’s one of the best things about spring! It keeps me awake at night!”
He blinked, entirely unsure how to respond to such a comment.
Miss Everleigh blushed deeply, but she continued on in a less whimsical voice, saying, “You know, spring insomnia. My father had it too, every spring. He said he’d lie awake for hours every April and May, with the windows open, just enjoying the scent of rain and earth and listening to the insects and frogs.”
Mention of Miss Everleigh’s father brought memories floating back through Alexander’s mind of another Everleigh, a professor he’d had before the war. It was vague, perhaps dimmed by all he’d faced in the years between, but he was quite sure it was the same man. “I had a professor called Everleigh when I first began my studies. He taught an introductory course to botany, I believe. A relation of yours?”
A surprised smile lit up her face. “Yes, that must have been my father. He was a professor here for a short time.”
“He must be very proud of you.” Lord knew, his own father would have been proud had he stuck to the plan and become a solicitor too.
Her bright smile faltered, and she said quickly, “How did you come into the field of biology? I believe you escaped the question at the party the other night.”
Alexander turned to the invisible rain. He’d rather not speak about why he’d chosen biology over law, but she’d been so artlessly open about her love of spring and rain, he felt an earnest reply was owed. “When I entered university, I planned to study the law,” he began. “I wasn’t convinced, but my father was determined so I went along with it. Then the war …” His words, never abundant to begin with, dried up. What was there to say about it that wouldn’t weigh down the humid air between them? “It was no worse for me than anyone else. I … was lucky. But I came back, as many did, done with war, death, and loss. When I returned to the university, I took one look into a microscope and was hooked. Biology is the study of life, after all.” He risked a glance at her, surprised at how much he hoped she wasn’t looking at him with pity.