“It is Miss Hannah,” she said. “She’s breathing heavy and almost gone.”

So Mama and Emmanuel both left the house—Mama in her nicest shawl, and Emmanuel half-shaved. “I can come, too,” I said, but neither stopped to tell me no; they were both already on their way.

Madame Elizabeth looked at me, full of pity. “It’s probably best for you to stay here.”

The house was suddenly quiet again, without them. It was almost like the old days. I lifted the hem of my skirt and headed toward the garden. “You’ll spoil it!” Madame Elizabeth called.

I turned my head to look at her. “I won’t.”

Lenore had taken good care of the garden while I was away. I saw my mother’s hand on the little pieces of wood she’d stuck by each row, and below it, sometimes, in Lenore’s, a drawing of the leaves in question. I squatted, just enough, over the grass. I closed my eyes. I breathed in.

Mama still grew pansies. I picked the pinkest one, pulled it from its stem, and rolled the petals between my fingers till they tore apart. They left a stinging stickiness, made the palms of my hands dry and thirsty. I held my palm to my nose, smelling my skin and the petals. I lifted my open palm to my mouth and licked it clean, each finger carefully, the bitter taste of flowers on my tongue. I reached out, with both fists, for the heads of more flowers and crammed them into my mouth. Did not the Bible say, My beloved is mine, and I am his: he feedeth among the lilies? I rolled petals over my lips and between my teeth until my mouth was sour with them. I’d read so many poems comparing beauty and love to flowers, but no one talked of how much they actually stung your tongue.

My haunches ached, from squatting. Finally, I stood up, placed my hand on the small of my back, and stretched backward to keep the hem of my gown out of the dirt. Then I left the garden and went back up the stairs, to wait for my groom and my mother.

Our wedding, I do not remember well. I only remember the sadness and shock from the loss of Miss Hannah. Madame Elizabeth and I cut the hem of one of Mama’s old cloaks and tore it up into black armbands. Mama wore hers on her right arm, and I wore mine on my left, as she walked me down the aisle.