“From where?”
“The Canary Islands, or even as far away as the Americas, where they are as common as black flies.”
“From so far?”
“Yes. But look here—this is really amazing.” He lifted another leaf, exposing a beautifully luminous jade-green pod. “I do believe this is a monarch chrysalis. Right here in my garden. If I am correct, some monarch stopped here long enough to lay her eggs on my milkweed. The caterpillars hatched, ate this bitter weed to grow—and for protection from those who would destroy them.
Then hid themselves away.”
“In a cocoon, right?”
“Yes, that is the common term.”
“Is there really something growing in there?”
“Oh yes. It might appear lifeless or trapped, but only for a time.
Inside it is secretly growing and changing until it will emerge strong enough to live in the world and ride the wind.”
A magnificent black and orange butterfly alighted on a neighboring plant, and Lucy gasped in admiration.
“Is that a monarch?”
“Yes,” he said, equally awed, and watched as it fluttered and rose in the air. They both looked up, following its flight. Over the girl’s head, Daniel saw Charlotte, the former Miss Lamb, in the distance, walking down the lane from the direction of Fawnwell.
Out paying calls, no doubt. Watching her, he said wistfully, “See how beautiful she is when she emerges.”
Gaze still on the butterfly, Lucy asked, “How do you know it’s a girl?”
Daniel shrugged, not shifting his focus. “She is a survivor. Strong and beautiful. A creature reborn.”
Someone called out to Charlotte, and Daniel saw her pause and lift her hand in greeting. Eighteen-year-old Edmund Harris came trotting down the lane, smiling as he caught up with her.
Even from a distance, Daniel saw the way she looked at her son, her brilliant joy that they were together at last, and he thought his chest might break for the flood of gratitude and pain he felt.
At that very moment, Charlotte looked across the garden at him. Though they were far apart, they shared a knowing look filled with wistfulness and poignant understanding.
Daniel was happy for her. Truly happy. But with the happiness came the sting, the awareness of all Charlotte had sacrificed. How had she done it? Why?
He knew the why, but sometimes he still struggled to believe it.
Charlotte, too, was thinking of that long ago day when Charles Harris had proposed to her. On this day of days, how could she not?
She still remembered Mr. Harris’s earnest face as he awaited her answer. She remembered the surprise she had felt upon realizing her girlhood infatuation with him had faded. She had become too aware of his weaknesses, his previous, though regretted, betrayal. Still, she considered accepting Mr. Harris for Edmund’s sake, if not her own.
When Daniel did not return home all that day, Charlotte realized he already supposed she had accepted Mr. Harris. After putting Anne to bed, Charlotte sat in the sitting room, waiting for him. At nine o’clock the door opened below and she heard footsteps on the stairs. She rose and went to the sitting room door.
But it was John Taylor who ascended. “Oh. Hello, my dear.”
“You worked late.” She forced a smile. “Was Daniel there?”
“Yes, shut away in his office.”
“Do you know if he plans to remain at the manor all night?”
“No. I am afraid I don’t know.” He looked as though he might say something more, but did not. His weary face rose in a brief, sympathetic smile. “Well, good night, my dear.”
“Good night.”
