Chapter 263: An Outing With Catalina

Francisco offered his thanks and made his way quietly toward Catalina’s office.

Just outside the door, her assistant approached, carrying a tray with a cup of coffee and a slice of Gugelhupf—a common delicacy in the central German states, a sweet bread studded with raisins.

Upon seeing Francisco, the assistant opened her mouth to speak, but he gently raised a hand to stop her.

“Allow me,” he whispered. “I will take it to her.”

The assistant hesitated for a moment, then, recognizing him, nodded and handed over the tray.

Francisco opened the door with care and stepped inside.

The gesture, however, was not silent enough.

“Johanna,” Catalina said without looking up, her attention fixed on the papers before her, “could you bring me the data for those who survived the treatment? I will need it for the report. It should be in the laboratory.”

Francisco remained still.

He could not answer without revealing himself.

A brief silence followed.

“Johanna?” Catalina repeated, lifting her head.

She froze.

For a moment, she simply stared—speechless. Then recognition came, and with it, a sudden brightness in her expression.

“Francisco… you are here.”

She rose at once and crossed the room, embracing him warmly.

“I missed you,” she said. “These reports are exhausting. I begin to understand now why you spend so little time at home when you are deep in your work.”

Francisco chuckled softly, returning the embrace.

“Well, in truth, I do not write them myself,” he admitted. “I have engaged a few students from the university to handle that task. It allows me to devote my time entirely to the investigation.”

Catalina drew back slightly, surprised.

“Should I do the same?” she asked, though there was hesitation in her voice.

Francisco shook his head, his expression turning more serious.

“It would be unwise,” he said. “I am afforded certain protections—both by reputation and by my association with my mentors. If a student were to attempt to claim my work, I would have the means to contest it.”

He paused briefly.

“You, however, do not operate under the same conditions. In your laboratory, most of the work is conducted by women. Should someone attempt to appropriate your results, there are many who would be inclined to believe them—if only because they cannot accept that a woman has surpassed them.”

Catalina frowned, then sighed.

“You are right,” she said quietly. “And I hesitate even to entrust the work to the others here. If a mistake were made, it would not be seen as an individual error—it would reflect upon the entire laboratory.”

Francisco’s expression softened.

“Well,” he said, “then you are fortunate to have a reliable assistant at your disposal.”

A faint smile returned to his face.

“I have arranged for us to go out today. We should aim to finish before midday. Why not complete the report together? Once it is done, we may spend the rest of the day as we please.”

He tilted his head slightly.

“I hear your experiment has concluded successfully. Perhaps smallpox will soon become… a concern of the past.”

Catalina smiled, the fatigue in her expression giving way to quiet pride.

“Yes,” she said. “At last, we may rest. The others are exhausted as well. They wish to spend time with their families.”

She hesitated, then added with a softer tone:

“Their families are proud. They have heard that their names will appear in the records of Göttingen. It grants them a certain… standing. Many now encourage them to consider their future—to seek suitable matches while their reputation is at its height.”

She allowed herself a small, knowing smile.

“It seems that, with this achievement, they have become far more desirable than before.”

Francisco frowned slightly upon hearing her.

“But would that not mean,” he said, “that many of them will leave the laboratory once they marry? Even with such reputation, their future work would depend entirely upon their husbands’ consent.”

Catalina gave a small shrug.

“I am aware,” she replied. “But they also wish to build their own lives. However much they value this work, if given the choice between remaining here indefinitely or marrying and forming a family, most will choose the latter.”

She paused, her tone softening.

“And I cannot fault them for it. Nor can I compel them to remain. The most I can offer is opportunity—that they may leave this place with a name, with recognition, and with better prospects than they would otherwise have.”

She glanced out the window. A group of women stood outside, speaking animatedly among themselves, their expressions light with anticipation.

“Before,” she continued, “their choices were limited—to minor officers, merchants, perhaps farmers. Now… they may look higher. That is enough for me.”

Francisco followed her gaze for a moment, then smiled faintly.

Without further protest, he took a seat beside her and began assisting with the report.

They worked through the morning in quiet concentration. From time to time, Francisco offered suggestions—refining the structure, clarifying the argument, guiding the presentation of her conclusions regarding cowpox and smallpox.

“Your experiment is remarkable, Catalina,” he said at one point, adjusting the oil lamp to better illuminate the parchment. “But for Göttingen, truth alone will not suffice. It must be presented with order—almost as a discipline in itself.”

He took a fresh quill and indicated the opening lines.

“Do not simply state that cowpox cures smallpox,” he continued. “Frame it differently. The human body must be shown to recognize the milder disease as a form of preparation—a controlled exposure.”

He paused briefly, choosing his words.

“The cowpox becomes the model… and immunity, the result. Emphasize observation—the milkmaids who remain unaffected by smallpox due to their constant contact with infected cattle. It is not chance. It is a pattern.”

Catalina listened closely, adjusting her writing as he spoke.

The hours passed almost unnoticed.

For the first time, Francisco found a certain ease in working alongside her. Their conversation drifted naturally between thought and jest, the formality of their tasks softened by quiet laughter and shared glances. At moments, they seemed less like scholars and more like children completing a lesson together.

Johanna, standing quietly at the side, found herself uncertain where to look.

By midday, the work was complete.

Francisco set down his quill.

“With the data you have gathered, the report is now complete in substance,” he said. “Once added, it will be difficult for anyone to dispute your findings.”

Catalina smiled, satisfaction evident in her expression.

“Thank you,” she said. “With this, once it is submitted, our work will stand.”

Francisco rose, offering his hand with a composed, almost formal air.

“My lady,” he said, “would you grant me the honor of accompanying me on an outing?”

She placed her hand in his, her smile widening as the weight of the morning lifted from her shoulders.

“I would, Francisco.”

Together, they left the office, offering their farewells to Johanna.

Outside, Francisco guided her toward the waiting carriage—the phaeton gleaming lightly beneath the midday sun.

“I have arranged this… for you,” he said.

“I have heard of these,” Catalina said as she stepped into the phaeton beside him. “They are exceedingly expensive. How much did you spend?”

Francisco leaned back against the tufted leather, crossing his legs with a measured precision. The light caught faintly on his silk stockings as the carriage began to move, the city of Göttingen passing slowly around them.

He let the question linger for a moment before answering, a subtle, knowing smile forming.

“A sum,” he said, “sufficient to make a Hanoverian baron hesitate.”

His gaze returned to her.

“But well spent, if it brings you some measure of happiness.”

As they passed through the main square, the effect of the carriage became immediately apparent.

Pedestrians slowed. Some turned outright to stare.

The deep black lacquer of the body, contrasted with the pale wheels and fine detailing, drew attention with an authority that could not easily be ignored.

Francisco shifted slightly in his seat, glancing toward the onlookers with a trace of discomfort.

“It seems,” he said, “that this sort of carriage invites more attention than I had anticipated.”

Catalina observed him for a moment, amusement evident in her expression.

“Well,” she replied lightly, “if you ask me… it is entirely worth it.”

She settled back beside him, unconcerned by the curious eyes that followed them, while Francisco—though still aware of every glance—allowed himself, at last, a faint smile.

Francisco let out a quiet sigh of relief.

“Then that is all that matters,” he said. “What do you say to taking our luncheon outside the city? Somewhere more… familiar. As we used to do in Medellín.”

Catalina smiled and inclined her head.

“I am entirely at your mercy.”

Francisco gave the order to the coachman, directing him toward the outskirts of the city. As the phaeton advanced through the streets, it continued to draw attention. Curious glances followed them, some admiring, others less discreet—tinged with envy.

Only once they passed beyond the denser quarters did the atmosphere begin to settle.

At the gates, however, the guards approached with visible concern.

“Sir,” one of them said, “it would be advisable to take an escort. The carriage has drawn considerable attention within the city.”

He hesitated briefly before adding:

“Given the recent… incident, we believe it unwise for you to travel without protection.”

Francisco remained silent for a moment, the memory of the kidnapping still lingering, unwelcome but undeniable.

The open road, it seemed, was not as simple as it once had been.

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