The erased initials

An original fiction passage set in the nineteenth century.

Lydia entered the lecture room before the doors were opened. On the blackboard hung a chalk copy of the star chart she had completed that morning; every white line was as familiar to her as a crease in her own palm. In one corner, she had written her initials, L.B., no larger than a fly's feet.

Professor Harland followed her gaze. "A crowded chart persuades no one," he said. "Tonight, let the discovery speak plainly."

When the gas lamps were lit, he placed Lydia behind a green curtain beside the instrument cases. "From there, you may correct me if age betrays my memory." She smiled and opened her notebook.

At first, Lydia supplied dates beneath her breath, and the professor repeated them to the audience. Then he began to speak of "my observations" and "the conclusion I reached during the winter". Her answers ceased. When a gentleman asked who had drawn the chart, Professor Harland crossed to the blackboard. While replying, he brushed his sleeve over its lower corner. The initials vanished; the path of the comet remained.

Applause filled the room before the chalk dust reached the floor. Behind the curtain, Lydia pressed her thumbnail into the cover of her notebook until it left a pale crescent. Then she closed the book, stepped into the lamplight and laid its dated pages on the professor's table.

"The observations began in this hand," she said, "and I think the company should examine them."