Late the next afternoon he was watering some new onion plants and saw the girl approaching from across the nearby street. She had a book in her hand and walked directly toward the garden plot, without hesitation. When she arrived at the edge of the lot, she waited for him to speak first.

“Well, what did you find about the vegetables?”

Trying not to sound superior in any way, she glanced in the book and said, “Tomatoes and potatoes are both in the nightshade family, with a Latin name spelled s-o-l-a-n-a-c-e-a-e. They came from South America. My father has a special interest in the names and origins of plants.” She paused for a few seconds and added, “And so do I.”

She turned the book around and held it out to Ethan as he approached her, and without touching the pages, he read the text. Then he wiped his hands on his trousers, took the book, and thumbed through its pages, stopping to read a few sentences about corn, peas, okra, carrots, sweet potatoes, and other plants that he knew.

She said, “I told my father about your garden, and he said you could borrow the book if you wish.”

When Ethan nodded and kept the book, the girl turned and began to walk away. He called after her, “I’m grateful. What is your name?”

“Epsey Nischman.” She hesitated a few moments and then added, “My father is a Moravian minister, who teaches in our church’s boarding school. We live about two hundred yards from here, and I have seen you working in the garden. My grandparents used to live in Savannah, Georgia, and my grandmother lives with us now.”

They exchanged a little more information about each other, with Epsey describing a house “full of books” and parents interested in helping Indian tribes improve their lives with religious instruction and better farming practices. Epsey soon knew that Ethan was eighteen years old and he found out Epsey was two years younger.

Ethan said, “I’ve had a very small garden plot for several years just behind our house, but it’s mostly in the shade. Only last weekend Mr. Parvey came in our shop to get his shoes repaired, saw me working in the backyard, and said if I would clean up this lot I could plant a garden. I’m to save the boards and nails for him and give him a third of the vegetables I grow.”

“Why didn’t you plant in the clean place where the house stood?”

“Because my father said that a hot fire would kill the ground for a year or two, so things won’t grow on it.”

Epsey offered to help him with his work, but he declined politely. She told him where she lived, and he promised to return the book the next Saturday morning.