“You three could eventually be an important part of what we do here,” he said. “But for now, you’re strangers.”
Worry stirred, dark and slick, in the pit of my belly. A part of what we do here.
“So you’re not letting us speak to Margaret,” Cate said flatly. “How do we even know she’s here? How do we know she’s all right?”
“No harm has come to Margaret, trust me,” Bellanger said, but he’d grown cooler now. He rose and crossed the room. When he opened the door, I noticed the stranger—Mathias, apparently—standing right outside. He was cradling something diagonally across his chest, and when he turned, I realized with a sick jolt that it was a military rifle.
He glanced around as Bellanger opened the door, and the two of them gave each other quick nods, wordless, before Mathias left. I turned around before Bellanger could see me observing this exchange. My heart was wild inside my chest. Why station a guard outside? Could our conversation have gone a different way? But my fear felt borrowed: the remembered fear of the woman Bellanger thought I was, defenseless and powerless.
“Let’s continue this conversation later. Emotions are running high. Catherine and Isabelle, my friend will show you to your quarters so you can rest. You’ve come a long way.”
Cate looked at me. “What about Josephine?”
“I’d like to have a quick word with our Girl One,” Bellanger said. “Alone.”
I smiled, trying to signal to her that it was okay. I wasn’t eager for us to be separated, but maybe Bellanger would let me speak to my mother, or to Fiona. It was a little risk I had to take. Cate must’ve sensed the same thing. She smiled back. Isabelle’s expression was complacent, observing everything as it unfolded. I watched the two of them follow Mathias and my heart clutched. They would be all right, I told myself. They could take care of themselves.
Bellanger didn’t move back to his desk. He came to sit near me on the couch. I was constantly surprised by his physical presence. Not just the shock of him existing at all, but how much smaller he was now that I was an adult, so different from the towering presence in my memory. He wasn’t any taller than me. The room felt more intimate now that it was just the two of us, like I was in his bedroom. Somewhere I shouldn’t be.
“You are very single-minded,” he said. “Aren’t you? I admire that in you, my Girl One. I’ve received word of what you’re doing, and it makes me quite proud. My colleague shared it with me when we spoke. Dr. Josephine Morrow. Born of scientific ingenuity, now changing the world.” Bellanger leaned forward, his voice more familiar. “I’m curious to know: Did you keep any of the letters I wrote you?”
I hesitated, not sure whether I should give him the satisfaction. “Yes,” I admitted. “I have them all. Every single one.” Confessing this was like unclenching a fist I’d been holding for too long, releasing those memorized words from my heart.
He nodded, pleased. “I wrote those hoping that some of my wisdom would pass on to you, Josephine. I often wondered how I would stay a part of your life. I sometimes wondered if Margaret would even allow me a role. And look at you now.”
I stayed quiet.
“What have you been studying in school?” he asked.
“Reproductive medicine.” Quickly, haltingly, I told him about the zebrafish in Dr. McCarter’s lab. I watched his slight smile, and saw it through his eyes: An experiment so restrained and petty. Retreading familiar ground.
“Impatient to get to work. Just like your father. I can see that you’ve inherited that same innovative spirit: The desire to guide women, to shape them. To help miracles be born.”
I’d been waiting for him to say this to me for so long. His brain re-created in my skull. His soul surviving inside mine. But now his influence didn’t feel like a triumph. It felt like a sickness I’d inherited, one I’d cultivated instead of curing. I smiled, bland and daughterly. A watered-down version of the smile I always imagined giving him.
“Should you stay here,” he said, “you could take your place as my protégée. My successor. There’s a beautiful symmetry to it. I was the beginning of this process, and you’ll assist me in finally bringing it to fruition.”
This managed to startle me. “What do you mean?”
“I want you here with me again as we move into the next round of parthenogenesis.”
“The next round,” I repeated.
“Not just Fiona’s pregnancy. There are other women here who are eager to take part. Women who are … most accommodating of any measures we must take. As a scientist, you should understand how precious an opportunity this is. Well beyond the stingy resources and closed minds you’ll find out there in the world.” He leaned so close he was nearly touching me. “Girl One, you should be with me.”