“Is he ...” Elsa lowered her voice, unsure if she had any right to ask how he fared after the terrible storm that had rattled him last week. Barney had proven a comfort, but she wondered if the effect was long-lasting or not. “Is Tom quite recovered?”
“Not quite.” Luke looked about the room. “If we can deconstruct this place and then reconstruct it again to its former glory, can the same be done with people? Can people be rebuilt? If not in body, can their spirits be restored?” He didn’t look at her as he spoke. If he was seeking answers, he wasn’t asking for them from her.
Leaving the men to continue their work, Elsa returned to the dining hall to transcribe data from the field notes into her chart. Each expedition she’d found logs for had lasted at least six months, with the longest lasting a year. It made for a lot of reading in between each recorded specimen. The binding in one of the notebooks had rotted away, and the loose pages stuffed inside were all out of order. She had to set them back in proper sequence for her to know which entries belonged with which dates and location. Doing so took hours, with only a ten-minute break to eat the baguette and apple she’d brought for lunch.
By half past three in the afternoon, she wasn’t done yet, but she’d been working at it for so long her eyes were bleary. Ready for some fresh air, Elsa decided to use the unused portion of her lunch break for a walk outside.
In the courtyard behind the mansion, Danielle was nowhere in sight, but the pebbled paths had been freshly raked, bringing a smile to Elsa’s lips.
An eastern bluebird chattered from a crabapple tree. With thewarm sun veiled by gauzy clouds, Elsa ventured onto the lawn and strolled toward the bird. Breathing deeply, she filled her lungs and felt the country air expand in her chest. Slowly, she exhaled. It was lonelier here than in the city, but it was also far easier to breathe without pollution.
Maybe this was what she needed. Maybe her lungs would gain some of what they’d lost if she just ... cleaned them out a bit? Was that possible? And maybe her weakened leg would regain strength with moderate exercise here where the air was clean.
It was worth a try, and on days like this, the trying would be pure pleasure. Besides, she’d heard that physical exercise cleared the cobwebs from one’s mind, and she could certainly use that, too.
Setting a reasonable pace, Elsa started down a path, destination unknown, and allowed her thoughts to wander, too. She’d read enough of Birdie’s journal this morning to learn that she had definitely been pregnant. She’d been six months along before they returned to Elmhurst in March of 1877. She’d written of Linus wanting to make sure she had the best care possible for the birth of their first child.
And then, maddeningly, the story stopped, or at least the recording of it. The next field notebook was written in Linus’s hand and began in September 1877. The baby would have been born in June, or earlier if it had been premature, and yet there was no mention of either Birdie or the baby whatsoever.
A northern cardinal cheeped from a nearby mulberry tree. To catch her breath, Elsa paused in the shade, where fuzzy, heart-shaped leaves cast swaying shadows on the lawn. Birdie would not have gone on the expedition with an infant, so it made sense that Linus went without her—except for the fact that Linus had good reason to stay home, too, in that case. Why would he want to miss so much of the baby’s first year? Then again, Elsa’s uncle had missed much of Lauren’s childhood, too, trading time athome for archaeological digs in Egypt. Elsa’s father had been home during Elsa’s childhood, but admitted he didn’t know what to do with her until she’d grown old enough to carry a conversation. Her earliest memories were of her nurse and governess, not her parents.
In the majority of species across the animal kingdom, males simply weren’t part of raising offspring—which was one more reason that birds were particularly fascinating. In many cases, male birds shared the responsibility. Starling males brood during the day, while females brood at night. Double-crested cormorants take turns every hour, and African common waxbill couples warm the eggs together, at the same time, during the entire incubation. The sandhill crane male helps his partner incubate the eggs, feed the chicks, and even helps raise the young for a full year.
Not so Linus van Tessel, and most other maleHomo sapiens.
Rested, Elsa left the shade. The path curved, and a walled Italianate garden came into view. It was cut into the bluff overlooking the river. She entered through an arch, taking the stairs down into a maze of geometric patterns. A pool marked the center, and at the far end, a pavilion overlooked the river. The sense of order here appealed to Elsa’s fondness for precision.
A serviceberry tree grew outside the garden wall, and a scarlet tanager sang from its overhanging branches. But then she heard singing of a different kind. A woman hummed a tune Elsa didn’t recognize.
“Hello?” Elsa looked over the garden, divided by boxwood hedges.
From behind one of them, a woman sat on her heels, her head uncovered by kerchief or hat. Through mostly grey hair, streaks of dark auburn hinted at its former color. When she saw Elsa, a smile warmed her tanned, lined face. She could be in her fifties, although it was difficult to judge a person’s age when said person exposed themselves to the elements.
“Hello!” she called. “Have you lost your way?”
“No, I didn’t have a way to begin with. I just came outside to enjoy the beautiful day. I’m Elsa Reisner, by the way. I met Danielle last week. Are you her family?”
“I’m her mother.” The woman pushed herself up to stand and brushed the dirt from her palms. “She told me you helped her with her pebble raking the other day. Not many would do that. I thank you for your kindness.”
Elsa returned the woman’s warm smile. She must have had Danielle later in life. Perhaps the baby had been a surprise to the mother, but no doubt a blessing all the same. “I’m so pleased to meet you. Maybe she told you why I’m here.” She offered a brief explanation.
“I’m happy to know you. My name is Tatiana Petrovic, and you must call me Tatiana. I’ve been the gardener here for many years, along with my husband, God rest him.”
“I’m sorry for your loss,” Elsa said.
“Thank you. He was the real talent with landscaping. Mrs. Van Tessel was good enough to let us stay on, even after his passing.”
“You’re clearly an expert at it yourself.” A variety of plants filled each bed. Some of them she recognized: lavender, roses, lilies, asters. Dwarf lilac shrubs nestled between white and blue hydrangeas.
“How on earth do you keep up with all of this?” Elsa asked.
Tatiana smiled again. “Up until very recently, I had a crew of gardeners working under me. They’ve all gone now, seeking employment elsewhere.”
“Are you able to stay?” Elsa prompted. “Even with the upcoming changes?”
A shadow passed over the older woman’s face. “You mean when the land goes to the county? I confess I am still getting used to that idea, and I don’t know fully what that will mean for us.The will clearly states we can live here. ‘In perpetuity,’ I believe it says. And I cannot imagine leaving. This was never my property, but I was a steward of it for decades, and I feel tied to the land. Neither Danielle nor I wish to go elsewhere, and Mrs. Van Tessel knew that. She was so good to allow us to keep the cottage and live there as long as we want.”
Troubled by the ambiguity in their situation, Elsa looked out at the river, framed by the wisteria-draped pergolas. A light breeze bent the fountain grass at the edge of the pool. “I can’t imagine any other place could quite compare. The grounds will still need to be taken care of, no matter who’s in charge of it. Whoever that is would be fortunate to have you on staff.”
