“Theodora, you really don’t have to worry at my expense,” I said at last. “I’m sure Papa will change Lydia’s mind.”
She patted my cheek. “Of course, dear,” she said, sounding distracted. “Rowena and I will write to him immediately.”
I was about to tell her that I could write to Papa myself, but the words died in my throat when the door clicked shut.
––––––––
THE NEXT DAY, LYDIAordered me to help Rowena with the marigold bushes along the fence, which were ruffled after Fred’s hasty escape. I knew my stepmother would assign me a more unpleasant task if she knew I actually enjoyed gardening.
Still, last night’s conversation with Lydia weighed heavily upon my shoulders, making it difficult to enjoy anything at all. Even Theodora’s raspberry tarts tasted bland that morning.
I heaved a sigh as I packed in the loose dirt with a shovel.
“Theodora sent the letter this morning. I’m sure your Papa will get it soon,” Rowena said, sweeping away the fallen marigold petals. They burned fiery yellow against the brown and green debris.
“How can you be sure?” I squatted and picked at the weeds around the bushes. Papa had yet to reply to the letters I sent him three months ago. The postman told me they must’ve been lost at sea. I wondered how many I had to write before one made it to him.
“Those aren’t weeds,” Rowena said without looking down.
I had unconsciously ripped out a fistful of grass.
“Sorry.” I patted the uprooted grass back into the dirt. “I’m just nervous.”
“Don’t worry about things out of your control,” Rowena said, rolling up her sleeves. Her brown skin had tanned even more in the past month. “You’ll get a headache.”
As I was about to reply, a smudge of color bloomed at the corner of my vision. It drifted beneath a rose bush several paces away, a deep violet vibrating at the edges. It didn’t look solid, but neither was it transparent.
I straightened. “What’s that?”
Rowena turned, squinting to where I was pointing. “What’s what?”
“You mean you can’t—?”
The smudge vanished, but Rowena approached the spot.
“Crabgrass,” she said when I walked over. A round patch of green was hidden under the foliage. There was a peculiar look on her face as she regarded the weed. “How did you spot this all the way over there?”
“I don’t know. I thought I saw a violet...” I trailed off. The base of my head ached as I shook my head. “Never mind. Maybe I have been worrying too much.”
Rowena shrugged. “What did I tell you? Go rest. I’ll finish up here.”
“Are you sure?”
“I’ll manage. Besides, you have dinner with the Sternfelds tonight.” Rowena gave me a knowing look. “You’ve forgotten, haven’t you?”
I had. With a groan, I trailed back to the house. My stepmother was scribbling a letter in the dining room when I entered.
“Helene, take this to the post,” Lydia said, giving the envelope to the maid. Helene curtsied and swept out the door.
“Who was that for?” I asked.
Lydia looked up. “That was—heavens! What are you wearing?”
I lifted my dirt-streaked skirts. “A dress, stepmother.”
She gave me a look I was all too familiar with—disappointment mixed with disgust. “Honestly, Amarante. Next time, enter through the back door. I do not want the Sternfelds thinking you’re a scullery maid.”
As I climbed the stairs to my room, she spoke again.
