Chapters (51)
- Cover
- Books by Elizabeth Camden
- Title Page
- One
- Two
- Three
- Four
- Five
- Six
- Seven
- Eight
- Nine
- Ten
- Eleven
- Twelve
- Thirteen
- Fourteen
- Fifteen
- Sixteen
- Seventeen
- Eighteen
- Nineteen
- Twenty
- Twenty-One
- Twenty-Two
- Twenty-Three
- Twenty-Four
- Twenty-Five
- Twenty-Six
- Twenty-Seven
- Twenty-Eight
- Twenty-Nine
- Thirty
- Thirty-One
- Thirty-Two
- Thirty-Three
- Thirty-Four
- Thirty-Five
- Thirty-Six
- Thirty-Seven
- Thirty-Eight
- Thirty-Nine
- Forty
- Forty-One
- Forty-Two
- Historical Note
- Questions for Discussion
- In 2020, look forCaroline Delacroix’sstory in
- About the Author
- Back Ads
- Back Cover
A newly delivered crate of moss and lichen samples from Australia awaited Annabelle at the Smithsonian, along with the surprise of a letter from Gray Delacroix. She yanked the letter from its envelope, and her jaw dropped as she read his stunning offer. Unlike countless botanists before her, he had invited her to explore his botanical collections. And contrary to popular belief, he had not one but four greenhouses hidden away at his remote property in Fairfax County. One held tropical plants, one herbs and spices, a third tailored to simulate a desert environment, and an entire greenhouse with nothing but orchids. Orchids! Those secretive greenhouses contained the living samples Gray Delacroix had collected during two decades of traveling the world, and he had invited her to see them all this weekend.
His letter went on to explain that weekends were the only time he was free of “infernal business meetings” to show her the greenhouses properly. Given the distance to travel, he recommended she stay at the farmhouse located on the property so she could use the entire weekend to explore.
She wanted to see that rare collection so badly her teeth ached, but how could she leave Elaine? Her sister panicked at being left alone for an hour, let alone an entire weekend. And Elaine would never agree to come, for as the letter explained, getting to the greenhouses would involve river travel, and Elaine was terrified of water. She had never learned to swim, which had always made her leery of water, but last winter she’d gotten lost while fetching wood for the stove. Her markers were buried in snow, and she wandered onto the frozen pond, falling through the ice and nearly drowning. She’d been terrified of water ever since.
Which meant Annabelle would go on her own, and Elaine would have to stay by herself for the weekend.
Annabelle braced for the difficult conversation as she prepared dinner in their tiny two-room apartment that evening. She cooked beef in a skillet while Elaine cleaned strawberries at the washstand and talked about her volunteer work at the library’s reading room for the blind. Her first student was a young soldier who had been blinded in the Spanish-American War.
“Harry came back again today, but only because his wife dragged him in,” Elaine said. “He’s memorized the braille cells, but his wife says he refuses to practice at home. All he does in the evenings is shuffle playing cards. Martha says he does it for hours and hours, and the sound of those shuffling cards is like acid to her. She hears it in her dreams.”
Annabelle said nothing as she nudged the beef around the skillet along with some carrots and onions. It was common for depression to cripple a person suddenly afflicted with blindness. It had happened to Elaine. Their entire family had watched a beautiful, curious young woman sink into despondency after illness struck her blind three years earlier.