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The magnetic North Pole wanders, and so does the man who discovered it.
Ann loves him in spite of it.
James explains magnetism in simple terms, defining the different phenomena as attraction or repulsion, and that all materials on Earth have trace amounts of it.
“Is that why gravity pulls things down?” she asks, thinking her observation astute.
James shakes his head. He does not laugh. He never laughs at her.
“No, that is a different force entire.” He pauses. “Though I suppose there are many forces on our planet that compel us one way or another.”
Ann agrees but says nothing.
When Ann knelt beside James at the altar, she found herself worrying how long it would last, before the attraction became repulsion, when distant horizons would summon him away like a hand wrapped around his wrist pulling him across continent and sea, always wandering, always searching.
James introduces Ann to Ms Cracroft as a friend of a friend. Ms Cracroft hovers at the elbow of Francis Crozier, another friend of a friend. Ms Cracroft laughs frequently, and Ann fears that she cannot keep up with the woman’s wit, her vivacity. She herself grows quieter as the evening wears on and is sitting alone when someone joins her and touches her elbow.
Ms Cracroft smiles, her features softened by the dim candlelight.
“I hope I’m not a nuisance to you, Ms Coulman.” There is a slight upward inflection, as though she is asking if she is a bother, rather than apologizing for it.
“No,” Ann insists. “Of course not.”
Ms Cracroft’s relief makes her smile smaller, the glow of her eyes brighter.
“Good. I’m glad.”
When James tells Ann that he intends to return to the Arctic, breaking his promise to her, she cannot fault him. She knows the love that pulls him, all too well.
Ms Cracroft is still Miss when Ann meets her for tea. By evening, she becomes Sophia.
Ann thinks she may love her for that.
They speak on all topics — politics, religion, fashion, literature; all except the one that brought Sophia here. Its somberness weighs heavy on the room. But Sophia still laughs, and Ann laughs with her.
Hours pass by slowly and quickly all at once. Ann finds herself drawing nearer to Sophia, and when she invites her to stay for dinner, Sophia accepts.
Over a chilled dessert, the Arctic comes up at last.
“Newspapers are keen to write of tragedy and the lost men,” says Sophia as she stabs her dessert with a spoon. “They never talk of the women they leave behind.”
It’s an anxiety frequently on Ann’s mind. “I know. The Admiralty only cares for the Passage.”
Sophia covers Ann’s hand with her own. “I wouldn’t worry about your husband. He’ll come back.”
Ann swallows the lump in her throat. “As will your Francis. I’m sure of it.”
Forcing a smile, Sophia sniffs. “Perhaps.”
She clings to her hand, and Ann thinks that Sophia might love her as well.