I started this story a year or two ago. It's heavily influenced by the Jesuit education philosophy and Stonyhurst College's observatory. I've worked on it, left, and come back again more times than I like to admit, but as a nod to the "Two Cakes" mentality, I want to send it into the world and maybe get some feedback to fuel it further.


1863

There was only smoke- smoke and bits of paper that flew into her nose, making her splutter harder. She'd managed to shove a bit of her dress up to her face to cover her nose and mouth, but it didn't help for long. She couldn't feel the heat here, but the smoke was enough.

She didn't even cough anymore. That was fine. She was tired anyway.

Wet. Wet all over and a terrible burning in her chest and she couldn't even swallow the cool water dribbling into her mouth.

"She's rousing!"

"Keep her quiet, and in the name of the Holy Mother, don't tell her what happened. She'll know soon enough."

Creaking door. Bitter taste.

"Now you just swallow a bit, girl. Go on. Let it wash your mouth out and then you sleep."

So she did.

After a few days in a strange bed, drinking smelly teas and being gently handled and kindly spoken to, the girl was given clothes and a good warm coat of dyed wool. The clothes were rougher than she was used to, but inquisitive six year old girls in giant stone halls with stained glass windows casting rainbows round their feet do not, as a rule, fuss about clothes.

She peered up at the veiled woman walking with her. "Where is my family?" Her voice croaked a bit, and it still hurt to talk.

The woman looked nervous. "I'm taking you to see the abbot."

"Is he nice?" The girl hopped a bit to keep up, for the woman with clutched hands walked faster now.

"He is a wise and godly man." The woman bowed her head and said no more, so the girl followed suit, though it was hard to keep her top half still while her bottom half was skipping.

The woman stopped at a heavy oak door and bowed deeply before knocking.

The girl jumped back when the door opened a crack. Whispers. The door opened fully.

"My Lord Abbot," a man spoke with a voice as rusty as her own. "The girl that arrived to us."

The girl stepped into the room after being nudged in. She craned her neck far enough to cause her to cough again, but not before catching a glimpse of a bald head ringed in red hair bent over parchment and a spray of stained quills.

"What is your name, girl?"

She stopped coughing. No one had asked yet, oddly enough. "Jane. Jane—I forget."

With a loud scrape, the man pushed away from his desk and Jane watched the edges of his robes flap as he stepped into sight. "That will not do, little Jane. We shall have to find a name for you. Where are you from?"

Shrug.

"Your mother's name?"

Shrug.

He chuckled and removed his spectacles to wipe them with a cloth tucked in his sleeve. "Do you know where you are, Jane?"

Carefully, the girl looked around the room. Books lined a wall, but not all of them. There were medicines, too, but they did not have many patients. She had not seen the kitchens, but she had eaten. She'd heard many people, but they did not mill about the long halls. There were candles, but also many windows of both clear and colored glass, and she longed to trace her fingers over the seams to see how they fit together.

The man wore a cross.

"Is this a church?"

He smiled. "That's very good, but not quite correct." He handed her a stamped bit of wax on a piece of parchment.

Jane ran her fingertips over the grooves and examined the starburst and letters. "Is this a word?"

"No," he corrected. "It is a symbol of our order, the Society of Jesus. This is Stonyhurst College, a seat of learning and enlightenment for the greater glory of God."

Jane saw the milky light filtering through the window. It was daylight, though she wasn't sure how that was different from enlightenment.

"Where is my family?"

The Abbot knelt down, his joints creaking with the effort. "You will never want for shelter or food. We will ensure a place for you in the community of the Lord, and will wish you well should you choose another path." The Abbot smoothed Jane's hair and smiled gently.

"Therefore, you will be known as Jane Foster, and will serve in the Lord's house alongside us, for we are your family now."

As the early bells announced morning prayers the next day, the wax seal was no more than a wet, sticky ball in her hand. She had clutched it in her fist all night.

1864

Jane Foster was no good at scrubbing floors. She scrubbed in strange patterns that left odd streaks across the stones that caused the students to trip.

She was no good at serving, for she was distracted by the flashing lights through the stained glass and, more than once, used the abbot's crystal goblet to alter the path of a particularly bright beam.

She was no good at cleaning the windows, because she spent her time watching the way shapes were altered through the warps in the glass pieces.

She was quite good at polishing silver and, after a few months, the abbot himself allowed her to work in his apartments at polishing the pewter and few pieces of silver he had, and he admired her deft hand. The brothers delivered pieces from the sanctuary to her to clean.

She was quite good at assisting the apothecary, and could follow intricate instructions on how to prune or weed, and how he liked the stems trimmed and tied for drying.

She was no good at scrubbing pots. She was no good with the animals. She was almost helpful, but not quite useful, to the cook. She was quite good at helping the librarian where she could, and had a quiet reverence for the inkpots and quills that inhabited the same spaces as the books he did not allow her to touch yet.

.

It amused the mathematics master to teach little Jane her figures, and he happily credited his own talents when she learned her arithmetic swiftly. He thought himself exceptional when she attempted simple algebra and, in her babyish hand, scraped Newtonian formulas for motion onto a slate.

That his actual students were struggling with Euclid could not possibly be his own failing. However, the mathematics master had to admit to a particular curiosity about the girl when Jane held up his best prism and directed the resulting rainbow to the pure white canvas upon his wall. He was disquieted when Jane then seized a series of lenses, jabbering excitedly, and proceeded to focus the beam this way and that into a long blur, then a perfect, tiny spot so round and bright that his eyes watered to look on it.

He ordered the girl back to her chores for the day when the canvas began to smoke.

And so her seventh year was a comedy of errors.

Jane quietly polished the silver case, first with the oiled rag, then with the clean one, methodically removing all visible traces of darkening, then sweeping away any smears of the light oil. As she finished the latch for the case, a soft knock came at the abbot's door and he waved at her to answer.

She cracked the door open. "The Abbott is in study."

The slim monk, Brother Perry, nudged his cowl back. "I came to see you, Jane." He held up a piece of jagged, angular glass. "Do you know what this is?"

Jane opened the door wider and took the piece. Her fingers knew the shape. "It is a glass from the North side window of the main hall, the very bottom corner near the edge of the robe the angel with the scepter wears."

He blinked. "Indeed, the very one. Can you see the problem?"

Jane turned the glass over in her hands, examining the clear piece with the flecks of dark lead clinging to the edges. It had not been broken out, or it would have raw edges that could cut her. She scratched the soft lead with her fingernail and bits of it flaked away. She looked over her shoulder at the abbot, who nodded.

Jane looked back at Brother Perry. "The glass is not where it should be." She held up the glass and pointed to the flaking lead. "I think it fell out."

Brother Perry's lips twitched into a smile. "Brother Abbot, with your permission, I should like to teach little Jane to assist me in repairing the ornaments in Stonyhurst. The winds this winter have rattled loose many of the leads and her careful hands would be a great help."

Jane stared, wide eyed, silently begging permission to touch these beautiful winking fragments and do more than clean the grime from them.

"Are you certain, Brother Perry? The girl is attentive to her work, but has a rather active imagination and tends to flights of fancy."

Brother Perry tucked his hands into his long sleeves. "Oh, Brother Abbott, I was rather hoping so."

1869

In clear block script, Jane Foster dated Brother Perry's diagram and carefully rolled the large paper sheet before handing it to him for safekeeping. Despite remaining quite small, she was still clumsy and awkward after growing much too fast in her thirteenth year.

He smiled. "In a few months it will pass. Then you'll be stronger and surer than you were before. You'll have no need of my help handling the lenses."

Jane harrumphed and returned to the fixed spectroscope. "If it weren't for the stairs, I shouldn't need help at all now." A few adjustments and a series of colored slashes were visible, and she began sketching and measuring.

"Now now, Jane. I mean well." Brother Perry chuckled to himself. The bells rang for prayers and the pair quickly tidied their work in preparation for devotions. "You should be pleased, though. You've seen enough pupils here fling themselves about like scarecrows to know it happens to all. It will pass, child. At least your wits have not left you."

"My wits need a better focusing lens and all the spectrum collected since we received the spectroscope. Have you the treatise by Bunsen and Kirchoff?"

Over the following year, Jane filled half a shelf at the library with her measurements and recorded spectra. There was an undeniable shift in the colors of the sun's spectrum since the first hazy scribbles from more than a decade ago, and Jane was determined to understand the relationship between the blurry wobbles in the projections and the spectrum.

So here she was, late in the night, polishing new lenses with ever finer dust. They had to be perfect, and now that she could lift and place them with confidence, she would make sure not even a fleck of dust lay between her and an improved view of the heavens.

Jane resisted rubbing her tired eyes and caught a low echo of the Matins choir. She tugged off her gloves and stood, meaning to tender her prayers privately.

It was so very dark. Only a sliver of moon glinted like a sickle in the sky. It was a clear, cold night as well, and so Jane went to stoke the fire. She prodded the fire and a lump of log broke away, exposing a yellow-hot coal, rippling in the waves of heat. She watched as the glow darkened to orange and finally black, locking away the bright coals to smolder under a new crust.

Jane sat up and gasped, hands trembling, then ran to the worktable.

A full day later, Brother Perry lifted his assistant from the table and shook his head. The entire observatory was in ruins, but her notes and sketches were clear. The pupil had again managed to teach the master.

1870

Jane marveled at the bustle in the observatory. There were actual guests at the school, several who personally expected time in the observatory, and no less than three major observation events to finish preparing for, and hardly more than five total minutes to do them all in. Solar eclipses were fickle things, after all.

Brother Perry ushered a man into the workroom as Jane finished assembling the equipment for another photograph.

"Mr. De La Rue, may I introduce Miss Jane Foster, special assistant to the observatory. Jane, Mr. De La Rue is doing some observations on the spots and is interested in your charting."

1872

Brother Perry patted Jane's heaving back helplessly, knowing himself to be both the cause and comfort to her distress.
"I cannot tell you how sorry I am, Jane. Had I known, I would never had allowed him such freedom."

Jane's fingers traced the pages* on the table. "How? How could he do such a thing? Take our work?"

Brother Perry sighed. "Laborare est orare. Work undertaken for God, not ourselves. We will continue, for knowledge of Him is gained for Him. We will use the tools we have to expand our minds and understand the heavens."

Jane felt her spine stiffen and she set her jaw. "If the work of our tools can be stolen, then I shall make better tools."

1873

Jane stood aside as the visitors assembled their filters and prisms into the housings and Brother Perry deftly corrected their work. A group of gentlemen astronomers, an Erik Selvig and his fellows, had gained permission from Brother Perry and the Abbot to use the telescope for observations during a rare total solar eclipse over Britain. A few other men lingered nearby in the observatory but, as they did not appear
scholarly, Jane did her best to ignore them.

Two of the men were young, one as golden as the heavenly choir angels in the leaded glass of the chapel and Jane felt herself blush when he grinned and laughed. The other was dark-haired and as pale as the abbey librarian, but sharp-eyed as a hungry crow, his gaze roving the room as if mentally cataloging it. The older man refused to speak to anyone but Erik Selvig, and then only in a foreign tongue.

Minding her manners and trying to not disgrace herself or Brother Perry, Jane worked as quietly as she could, taking notes and adjusting bits along the shelves. She did her best to avoid attention, but was unwilling to allow strangers too near to her ledgers and charts. Her new work, unfinished, was locked away in the row of heavy cases along the wall.

The friendly, gray-headed Mr. Selvig took Brother's Perry's hand. "Stephan, I cannot thank you enough for this. And you are quite sure of
your calculations?"

Brother Perry smiled and inclined his head towards Jane. "My dear Erik, my best assistant did the calculations herself. You have nothing to fear. We shall have a perfect view of the eclipse."

The man nodded at her. "Then we shall proceed bravely. Wish us luck!"

Jane gave a slight bow in acknowledgement, and felt a tickle at the edge of her thoughts. When she turned, the eyes of a hungry crow were upon her.

She looked away quickly.

.

The sky was beginning to darken—a strange darkening, unlike twilight for the shadows grew no longer, only fragmented and sharp. Time seemed to snag on some force whose hold became more and more compelling. The observatory grew very dark and the shuffling excitement among the visitors grew to fever pitch. There was no idle chatter, only clipped phrases and barked shorthand followed by a confirming repeat for accuracy.

In this dizzying cacophony, Jane's heart pounded and she moved nearer to the room's edge where a crack of thin light was visible. Three men were near, the other visitors, and she no longer cared for manners. Too many voices and a space rendered unrecognizable by the strange phenomenon were chipping at her composure. Jane gathered her skirts in an effort to pass through the doorway quickly but stumbled in her haste, bouncing off the laughing angel. She did not fall to the stone floor however, and when she looked up, the crow's eyes blinked at her.

Otherworldly light illuminated the crow's pale eyes, and for a moment he looked like one of the angels in the windows—not the ones in the heavenly choir, but the ones that carried swords. An archangel with black wings.

"Pardon me!" Jane blurted, pushing away from the gentle grip. She brushed past them all and walked quickly towards more comforting ground.

Willing her embarrassment away, Jane assisted in copying and organizing observations from the eclipse into several books for later use. All had to be prepared in triplicate for now, and likely again later for her own work.

Footsteps that were not Brother Perry's approached.

Erik Selvig cleared his throat. "Miss Foster, there is nothing to be ashamed of. I've seen grown men reduced to tears by an eclipse. It's a strange sight."

"Grown men cry at anything they do not understand." She immediately bit her tongue. "No stranger than the migration of spots on the sun's meridian, or the rainbows hidden in daylight."

Selvig chuckled. "You're not wrong, on either account. Your youth and the day's strains are more than good reason for a moment's unease. I'm happy to forget it, but you must promise to do something for me."

Jane looked up from her work cautiously. "Do what?" She held the books tighter. No one would steal her work again.

His smile turned very serious. "Continue your work. Whatever it is, it must be brilliant."

The line of carriages were loaded with luggage as the abbot, Brother Perry, and the observatory assistants wished safe travels to the visitors. Jane watched as their cases were strapped down onto springy platforms and hoped they would protect the filters and lenses within.

Erik Selvig and Brother Perry laughed and shook hands. "Stephen, my thanks again for your patience with us. I know we upset your work but with any luck, these first clear images will help us understand coronal structure."

Brother Perry embraced his friend. "Deus est illuminat. Knowledge is a gift from God."

Jane turned when she heard the heavy wooden doors of the college open. The three men- the elder, the angel, and the crow-joined the scientists and handed off their luggage.

"Stephen, Lord Abbot, on behalf of the Odinson family I would like to express their thanks for your kind hospitality."

The abbot nodded. "It was our pleasure to share table. Please tell them how deeply we appreciate their generous patronage and would be pleased to offer access to the college or the observatory whenever they wish."

Erik Selvig spoke to the three men in a language Jane did not know. The eldest Odinson rumbled a reply gruffly and went to board a carriage, leaving Selvig chuckling softly.

"Well, Mr. Odinson wastes no words, but that is the Norwegian way, I suppose. He said he did not care for the eclipse, but he would consider supporting the observatory in conjunction with his support for the Royal Astronomical Society."

Brother Perry tilted his head. "But he has no interest in the work?"

"Ah, he is a man who appreciates the benefit to mankind, to be sure, but he also appreciates potential. Through patronage of the arts and sciences, the Odinson family has swift access to advances that might benefit their business interests. His sons are expected to learn this lesson so he wanted them to observe the process."

Jane edged around a carriage to watch the last case of lenses being loaded. She was pleased when it was set in the carriage rather than on the luggage rack. When she looked to where Brother Perry was speaking with Selvig, she noticed that the golden angel stood dutifully by, but the crow was gone. When she turned to look for him, she slipped on a wet paver and felt her feet rush out from under her.

But she did not fall. Black wings bore her up and Jane found herself looking at the crow. Her stomach did a strange twist as she looked into those strange pale eyes.

"As much as I enjoy these meetings," he said in lightly accented English, "You might be more careful of your footing once I'm gone." When she was steady, he released her and raised his hat. "I'm afraid I must leave you to your own devices now, Jane Foster."

Before she could speak, he rejoined his golden brother and they climbed into the carriage with the elder Odinson. Erik Selvig and his astronomers carried their last few items with them and climbed into their carriages, waving genially as colleagues do. Jane handed wrapped sandwiches to them through the window.

"Many thanks, Miss Foster. Your calculations were flawless and I look forward to seeing more of your work in the future."

Jane felt her face redden worse than usual, still off balance from her near fall and the interaction afterwards.

As the carriages pulled away, Selvig called from the window. "Don't forget, Stephen! The transit of Venus! We'll return then!"

Brother Perry laughed. "I await the day!"

As the carriages clopped away, Jane allowed herself to glance at the one in front.

The crow was watching her, and continued until the carriage turned and was lost among the hills.

That night, and for many months, Jane's dreams were filled with falls broken by the safety of strange wings and the fascinating, unsettling gaze of her crow.

Early 1874

Jane Foster nudged the edge of a heavy stand into place and adjusted the silk lining before slipping on her work gloves. She had stitched the fine kid leather earlier that year herself, and hoped they would be the last pair she had to make for some time. At eighteen years of age, she rather suspected she would not outgrow these before the fingertips wore through.

"Brother Perry, I think I'm ready here!"

Despite the whitening of his tonsured head, Brother Perry's step was still steady and sure. "Make sure the silk is tight, Jane. We don't want it to slip and wind up cracking this one. It's your best lens yet."

Jane listened as the footsteps from the storage cellar stairs grew closer until Brother Perry finally entered the room, carefully cradling a wooden box.

"Well, it's had its rest. Now it's time to wake up!" He set the box carefully on the heavy wooden table and opened to latch, taking his time to open the lid.

Jane flexed her fingers. "Wish me luck!" She wrapped her hands around the heavy glass and lifted while Brother Perry held the box. Her gloves helped her grip the perfectly smooth surface as she settled it onto the silk, then pulled the silk away from underneath it so the glass rested in the heavy wood and iron base.

Brother Perry adjusted a clamp into place. "I would tell Brother Ambrose of this momentous occasion, but I think he would not appreciate being awoken before midnight to see us tighten clamps."

Jane laughed. "Ambrose is a fine smith, but I think you're right." She started turning the clamps. "He has to be up in a few hours to heat his fires. He would not thank you for an early start.

Once each clamp was tightened, then tightened again, they double checked the assembly.

"Jane, I believe we have it centered. Here, you should see for yourself." Perry handed Jane a straight-edge and a curve tool. She watched the way the light reflected against the metal, the golden light curving to kiss the flat dull edge, then diving back up the metal.

"It's ready." She said simply, and together they lifted the assembly into position. After another hour of adjustments, they covered it over with curved sheets of metal and tightened it all into place.

Brother Perry ran a hand lovingly over the cranks and controls. "I cannot wait to write to Father Secchi of this, Jane. The new disks will elevate our work, and with your new lenses and charts, we will catalogue the color and composition of the heavens."

Jane smiled softly. "I would understand better. Is that not enough?"

Brother Perry looked at her over his spectacles. "Oh, my child. For you, I think not."

...


*Warren De La Rue was a pioneer of astronomical photography and, indeed, did publish and collaborate on work performed mostly in the 1860's defining the composition of the sun. Liberty has been taken for the sake of storytelling.