She was saved from answering by the arrival of a white-coated man who frowned beneath his walrus mustache. He had a bald head, a sober expression, and a cynical voice as he tersely introduced himself as Milton Bryant, supervisor of the cereal grain laboratory.

He shot a surly glare at Horace. “Miss Larkin isn’t here to fuel the gossip mills. She is to test leavening agents on newly imported strains of wheat.” He turned his eyes to her. “Has Greenfield trained you on that yet?”

She shook her head.

“Then get on it, Mr. Greenfield. And try not to spill anything else on that stain.” Mr. Bryant picked up a file and left the lab.

“Didn’t I warn you he was a glorious shaft of sunlight?” Horace asked.

It was probably best not to reply. “What sort of wheat are we testing?”

Horace finally got around to showing her the various tests they were conducting, mostly on durum wheat. Soon she was seated at the lab table, a beaker of grains before her. They were studying its hardiness, suitability for milling, ability to withstand drought, and cold tolerance. This was exactly what she’d been hoping for. It was what her father needed to know if he was going to turn his failing crops around. It was as if God Himself had guided her to this lab.

An uneasy weight settled in the pit of her stomach. She wasn’t proud of how she had earned her place here. It was a wonderful lab, filled with brand-new equipment and a lovely window overlooking the experimental gardens.

But all she could see was the splotch of old stain on the slate table before her. The stain of what she’d done to Luke Delacroix would be with her forever too.

She bowed her head. Had she done the right thing? It seemed that blessings were raining down on her. The increase in her salary meant she could send money home to her parents. She would learn the latest research for developing cereal grains suitable to the American landscape. Most importantly, Elaine could stay in Washington forever.

Annabelle ought to be happy, but the moment Horace stepped outside the lab to fetch another microscope, she clasped her hands and said a prayer for Luke.

Sometimes prayers weren’t answered, and it was doubtful her prayers could save Luke. Perhaps the best she could hope for was that Gray would never discover her role in his brother’s downfall.

Nineteen

As soon as Gray arrived in Cuba, he wasted no time seeking out the commander of the American military base, where he learned that Luke was being held at a Cuban prison near the northwest tip of the island.

“He’s a civilian,” the general said. “It doesn’t look good to detain a civilian in a military prison, so we turned him over to the Cubans to hold until the trial.”