Over the next few hours, they explored his remaining greenhouses. She loved the way he spoke so confidently about the rare plants he had collected from all over the world. With competent hands, he clipped specimens and showed her the unique scents, textures, and techniques for cultivation. He had a dozen saffron crocuses. While showing her the task of delicately gathering the stamens, he spoke of a tense, four-month negotiation with Arab traders in Morocco to buy their saffron crop.

“Weren’t you afraid?” she asked.

She expected a quick denial but didn’t get one. He set the plate of saffron threads down and pondered the question. “Those years were mostly an adventure,” he finally said. “They were hard, but my biggest fear was letting my father down. We gambled everything on those overseas ventures to resurrect our fortune, and he depended on what I could deliver. When malaria clobbered me, I swallowed quinine, took an ice-water bath, and got on with business. They were hard years, but not bad ones.”

The more she learned about Gray, the more she stood in awe of him. She was terrified of failing both her parents and Elaine. She needed something to balance the scales.

“Everyone is afraid of something. Go ahead, confess. What are you afraid of?”

He grimaced in good-natured embarrassment. “I’m afraid of raccoons.”

“Raccoons?” she asked in astonishment.

“Can’t stand them,” he admitted. “After our house burned down, my father and I lived in that shed.” He gestured to the dilapidated shed with peeling paint. “Raccoons loved it,” he continued. “They’d drop onto it from the tree branches overhead. The first night we slept in there, I woke in the middle of the night when the entire shed started shaking. Endless thumping and scratching. I was only five and completely terrified. I thought the Yankees were back and pounding on the roof to drive us out.”

He set the crocuses back on the ledge where they’d get the most sunlight. “Our townhouse in Alexandria was occupied by the Yankees for three years after the war, so that shed was the only roof we had left. On most nights the raccoons came sniffing around, making a racket. I’ve hated them ever since, and I hate that shed. It’s got a dirt floor and stinks inside, but I keep it as a reminder. The lessons I learned as a child shouldn’t be forgotten.”

Annabelle stared at the dilapidated shed and the old foundation of the burned-down plantation house. Gray was wrong. Some things should be forgotten, or the scars would eventually warp a person. Had that already happened to Gray? She had no experience with his sort of deep, ingrained bitterness. He was a brilliant man who succeeded in everything he touched, but a part of her feared those blessings were taken for granted, and lurking beneath the surface of his success was a dangerous acrimony that could ruin him.