“Why are you giving it to me?” she asked, her hand still encased in his. For all his vaunted sense of privacy, he’d been consistently generous with her.
“Because I like you,” he said simply.
Only four words, yet they had the power to make her heart skip a beat and brighten her entire world. Silence stretched between them, but it didn’t feel uncomfortable. Crickets sounded in the distance, and the house made settling noises as the night cooled. She could stand here and stare up into his darkly handsome face all evening as this strange magnetism hummed between them.
“I’ll see you tomorrow morning,” Gray finally said, promise in his voice as he stepped back a few paces.
His words echoed in her mind as she headed upstairs. The first thing she saw in the guest room was Elaine’s horseshoe, gleaming on the bed in the dim light. Her giddy euphoria popped like a soap bubble. Elaine’s work at the library had been a shining beacon of hope, but unless Annabelle couldplease Dr. Norwood with that orchid, they could both find themselves on a train back to Kansas.
She ended the evening on her knees, giving thanks for getting her this far, but praying for guidance. Gray had promised to show her the orchid house tomorrow, but she’d heard the hint of caution in his tone. He’d been attentive and charming all day, but if he had that orchid, he was going to guard it.
Seven
Annabelle tried not to get her hopes up as Gray walked her toward the orchid greenhouse the following morning.This wasit. She had one more day to find that orchid, and she wouldn’t let Gray distract her with spices or papayas like he had yesterday.
She studied Gray’s hands as he unlocked the door. Why would he have this greenhouse under lock and key unless he had something valuable inside? Her anticipation climbed higher as she stepped inside and into the warm, humid air. Gravel crunched beneath her feet as he led down the center aisle toward the back of the building.
“The vanilla orchids are along the southern wall. I imagine this is the one that triggered Dr. Norwood’s interest,” he said, pointing to a climbing vanilla vine that grew on a trellis propped in the corner. The stems grew in a jointed, zigzag pattern, and long green pods dangled from the stems. It was an extraordinary vine, at least thirty feet long, but she instantly recognized the waxy yellow leaves.
“It’s aVanilla pompona,” she said, unable to mask the crushing disappointment in her tone.
“It was given to me by a monk in Mexico. They’ve been cultivating them in their monastery garden for centuries,” hesaid gently. “It’s rare, but not the extraordinary plant you’re looking for.”
The sympathy in his eyes made her feel even worse, but she couldn’t give up yet. “Why does Dr. Norwood think you have it?”
“Because the monks never let outsiders into their garden, and people wonder why. I only got in because my great-uncle was once a monk there, so they trusted me. Someone must have seen me leaving the monastery with the orchid and jumped to conclusions.”
Her shoulders sagged. She walked down the row of vanilla orchids, all slightly different in their nodes, root structure, and blooms. She’d wanted this too desperately to give up the search, but she recognized them all. She plopped down onto a potting bench, staring blankly at the tables brimming with orchids. All beautiful; none of them unique.
“Do you know if the progenitor of the vanilla orchid still exists?” she asked, holding her breath.
“If it does, I’ve never caught wind of it. I’ve been looking too.” His voice was kind, face tender with sympathy.
An overwhelming, strangling sense of failure crept closer. The prospect of loading Elaine onto a train back to Kansas was unbearable.
She refused to fail. God hadn’t guided her and Elaine halfway across the country to let her quit so soon. She would think of something else to please Dr. Norwood. Gray Delacroix’s collection rivaled anything in the United States, and she was the first outsider he’d allowed inside his greenhouse.
She straightened her shoulders. “Show me the rest of your plants.”
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 saffroncrocuses. 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 thingsshouldbe 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.
