In all there were 128 pea plants—Horace had chosen pea plants because of his admiration for Gregor Mendel. He fancied himself, in some distant way, very like Mendel, a devout monk devoted to the gathering and interpretation of important knowledge, data, secluded, on a mountaintop, the monastery above, simple and stark, made of dull stone hewn from that very mountain, he walking among the pea plants in spring, their white and blue blossoms fragrant, the buzz and hum of honeybees in his ear, brushing the tender green worms away from the leaves, thinking of vespers, St. Benedict, the genetic code—of course, Miss Hedgeson objected to the use of pea plants. They weren’t sturdy enough, she said. Horace calmly demonstrated how pea plants were a fine plant to demonstrate the phenomenon—any plant would be, he said in his already notoriously stubborn way. She gave her approving nod with an annoyed smile that Horace had become used to, having become used to getting his way.

Yet Miss Hedgeson would not allow Horace to complete the project alone. She felt it was already too big, if not already out of hand, what with all his projected charts and diagrams, not to mention the paper, the outline of which was too long in the first place, and really Horace, don’t you think this all a bit much? I mean . . . Okay. Okay. Of course you know what you’re doing. I’m not implying that you don’t. But I insist that Gideon join you. There’s really no other way. No other way, and no discussion, Mr. Cross.

The nature of the experiment was so sensitive that no plants could be moved until the day of the fair. The only thing left for Gideon to do was help draw the charts and diagrams that Horace had planned. And he insisted on coming over to Horace’s house to assist in the keeping of the plants.

Horace’s first reaction to the whole idea was annoyance: No longer could he be the solemn monk retreating into his garden sanctuary, pious, thoughtful, and alone. Now there was another presence, a presence Horace found disturbing.