“She tried to use us. We didn’t let her.” He set the water aside before easing her back so he could lie beside her and draw her close. “It’s going to be okay.”
But even lying beside him, held firm and safe in his arms, she couldn’t quite believe it.
IT WAS AWKWARD, but Harper felt Mitch should know about any incident involving Amelia. Even if that incident had happened in bed with Hayley.
At least it was a man-to-man sort of thing. If his mother had to have the information, Harper would just as soon have it filtered through his stepfather.
“How long did it last?” Mitch asked.
“Maybe a couple of minutes. Seemed longer, considering the situation, but probably around that.”
“She wasn’t violent.”
“No. But you know . . .” He had to pause a moment and give his attention fully to the work board in the library. “Rape’s not always violent, but it’s still . . . Anyway, that’s what it felt like, to me. Like a kind of rape. Like a power thing. Got you by the dick, so I’m in charge.”
“It fits the kind of personality profile we’ve been building. She wouldn’t get that while what’s between you and Hayley is sexual, sex for the sake of sex isn’t the driving force. Must’ve shaken you up.”
Harper only nodded. There was still a coating of that raw sickness in his belly. “How much more do we need to know before we can stop this?”
“I wish I could tell you. We have her name, her circumstance. We know your bloodline comes down through her. We know her baby was taken, and we’re assuming without her consent. Or that after she gave it, she changed her mind. We know she came here, to Harper House, and we have to believe she died here. Maybe if we find out how, but that’s no guarantee.”
He’d never counted on guarantees, not in his life or in his work. His father had died when he’d been seven, which had put paid to any sort of traditional family warranty. His work was a series of experiments, calculated risks, learned skills, and sheer luck. None of those guaranteed success.
Harper considered failure a postponement at worst, and another step in the process at best.
But things were considerably different when it involved the woman he loved, and her welfare, her well-being.
He was reminded of that when he found her watering flats.
She wore the cotton shorts and tank that was a kind of summer uniform around the nursery. Her feet were tucked into thin, backless canvas shoes that could take a soaking, and her face was shaded by the bill of one of the nursery’s gimme caps.
She looked entirely too sad and thoughtful. The thoughtful part was proven right when she jumped nearly a foot off the ground when he said, “Hey.”
“God, you scared me.”
“That’s what you get for taking side-trips when you’re on the clock. Speaking of which, I’m going to start that hybridizing, and could use an assist.”
“You still want to do that?”
“Why wouldn’t I?”
“I thought maybe when you thought things through, you’d want to keep your distance for a while.”
He simply stepped up to her, cautiously nudging the watering wand aside and kissed her. “Guess you’re wrong.”
“Guess I am. Lucky for me.”
“Just come on over when you’re done. I already let Stella know I was stealing you for a while.”
He spent the time setting up for the work, lining up the tools, the plants he wanted to use. He logged the species, the cultivar, the name and characteristics of the desired plant in his files.
Since headphones wouldn’t be an option as he wouldn’t be working alone, he switched Beethoven for Loreena McKennitt. He figured his plants would like it fine, and he’d be a lot happier.
When Hayley came in, he was digging out a Coke, so he pulled out two.
“This is pretty exciting.”
He handed her the can. “Tell me what you know about hybridizing first.”
“Well, it’s like you have a mama and a daddy, the parents. Two different plants—they can be the same type or two different . . . What is it?”
“Genera.”
“Right. So you want ones with stable characteristics and you cross them by hand-pollinating. Like pollen from one, seed from the other—like sex.”
“Not bad. We’re going to use this miniature I’ve been screening as a parent plant. And this variegated will be the other, the seed parent. See I’ve had it protected with a bag—that keeps insect pollinators from messing with it, and we’re going to remove the stamens now, before it can self-pollinate. I potted these up, brought them in last winter so they could develop.”
“You’ve been thinking about doing this for a while.”
“Yeah, since she was born, more or less. Anyway, we work with the pollen parent today. You know how?”
“Roz did it before. I really just watched.”
“This time, you try it. I cut this one already, just above the node, see? It’s been in water and it’s fully open now. See how the anthers are split? They’re ready for pollen.”
“So, you did the foreplay.”
“One of my little skills.”
She gave an exaggerated roll of her eyes. “Tell me about it.”
“You go next.”
“Oh man. I have to pull the petals off, right?”
“Quick, gentle twists, work inward until you see the anthers.”
“Here goes.”
“That’s good,” he said as he watched her. “Just be careful to leave the anthers intact. Yeah, nice work, good hands.”
“I’m nervous. I hate screwing up.”
“You’re not.” Her fingers were quick and precise as they twisted the petals away. “And if you do, we’ll pick another.”
“Is that right? Is that okay?”
“What do you see?”
She bit her lip. “The little anthers are all naked.”
“Next step.” He picked up a clean camel-hair brush. “You need to collect the pollen. Use this, brush it over the anthers. We’ll store it in this dish, keep it dry. See, it’s fluffy, so it’s ripe. I’ll label the dish.”
“This is fun. You wouldn’t believe how totally I sucked in high school chemistry.”
“Just needed a better lab partner. All mine aced. Now we’re going to prep the seed parent. See this?” He held up the lily he’d chosen. “We don’t want her fully open. We’re looking for well-developed but with immature anthers—before self-pollination can happen. We take petals and anthers off her.”
But even lying beside him, held firm and safe in his arms, she couldn’t quite believe it.
IT WAS AWKWARD, but Harper felt Mitch should know about any incident involving Amelia. Even if that incident had happened in bed with Hayley.
At least it was a man-to-man sort of thing. If his mother had to have the information, Harper would just as soon have it filtered through his stepfather.
“How long did it last?” Mitch asked.
“Maybe a couple of minutes. Seemed longer, considering the situation, but probably around that.”
“She wasn’t violent.”
“No. But you know . . .” He had to pause a moment and give his attention fully to the work board in the library. “Rape’s not always violent, but it’s still . . . Anyway, that’s what it felt like, to me. Like a kind of rape. Like a power thing. Got you by the dick, so I’m in charge.”
“It fits the kind of personality profile we’ve been building. She wouldn’t get that while what’s between you and Hayley is sexual, sex for the sake of sex isn’t the driving force. Must’ve shaken you up.”
Harper only nodded. There was still a coating of that raw sickness in his belly. “How much more do we need to know before we can stop this?”
“I wish I could tell you. We have her name, her circumstance. We know your bloodline comes down through her. We know her baby was taken, and we’re assuming without her consent. Or that after she gave it, she changed her mind. We know she came here, to Harper House, and we have to believe she died here. Maybe if we find out how, but that’s no guarantee.”
He’d never counted on guarantees, not in his life or in his work. His father had died when he’d been seven, which had put paid to any sort of traditional family warranty. His work was a series of experiments, calculated risks, learned skills, and sheer luck. None of those guaranteed success.
Harper considered failure a postponement at worst, and another step in the process at best.
But things were considerably different when it involved the woman he loved, and her welfare, her well-being.
He was reminded of that when he found her watering flats.
She wore the cotton shorts and tank that was a kind of summer uniform around the nursery. Her feet were tucked into thin, backless canvas shoes that could take a soaking, and her face was shaded by the bill of one of the nursery’s gimme caps.
She looked entirely too sad and thoughtful. The thoughtful part was proven right when she jumped nearly a foot off the ground when he said, “Hey.”
“God, you scared me.”
“That’s what you get for taking side-trips when you’re on the clock. Speaking of which, I’m going to start that hybridizing, and could use an assist.”
“You still want to do that?”
“Why wouldn’t I?”
“I thought maybe when you thought things through, you’d want to keep your distance for a while.”
He simply stepped up to her, cautiously nudging the watering wand aside and kissed her. “Guess you’re wrong.”
“Guess I am. Lucky for me.”
“Just come on over when you’re done. I already let Stella know I was stealing you for a while.”
He spent the time setting up for the work, lining up the tools, the plants he wanted to use. He logged the species, the cultivar, the name and characteristics of the desired plant in his files.
Since headphones wouldn’t be an option as he wouldn’t be working alone, he switched Beethoven for Loreena McKennitt. He figured his plants would like it fine, and he’d be a lot happier.
When Hayley came in, he was digging out a Coke, so he pulled out two.
“This is pretty exciting.”
He handed her the can. “Tell me what you know about hybridizing first.”
“Well, it’s like you have a mama and a daddy, the parents. Two different plants—they can be the same type or two different . . . What is it?”
“Genera.”
“Right. So you want ones with stable characteristics and you cross them by hand-pollinating. Like pollen from one, seed from the other—like sex.”
“Not bad. We’re going to use this miniature I’ve been screening as a parent plant. And this variegated will be the other, the seed parent. See I’ve had it protected with a bag—that keeps insect pollinators from messing with it, and we’re going to remove the stamens now, before it can self-pollinate. I potted these up, brought them in last winter so they could develop.”
“You’ve been thinking about doing this for a while.”
“Yeah, since she was born, more or less. Anyway, we work with the pollen parent today. You know how?”
“Roz did it before. I really just watched.”
“This time, you try it. I cut this one already, just above the node, see? It’s been in water and it’s fully open now. See how the anthers are split? They’re ready for pollen.”
“So, you did the foreplay.”
“One of my little skills.”
She gave an exaggerated roll of her eyes. “Tell me about it.”
“You go next.”
“Oh man. I have to pull the petals off, right?”
“Quick, gentle twists, work inward until you see the anthers.”
“Here goes.”
“That’s good,” he said as he watched her. “Just be careful to leave the anthers intact. Yeah, nice work, good hands.”
“I’m nervous. I hate screwing up.”
“You’re not.” Her fingers were quick and precise as they twisted the petals away. “And if you do, we’ll pick another.”
“Is that right? Is that okay?”
“What do you see?”
She bit her lip. “The little anthers are all naked.”
“Next step.” He picked up a clean camel-hair brush. “You need to collect the pollen. Use this, brush it over the anthers. We’ll store it in this dish, keep it dry. See, it’s fluffy, so it’s ripe. I’ll label the dish.”
“This is fun. You wouldn’t believe how totally I sucked in high school chemistry.”
“Just needed a better lab partner. All mine aced. Now we’re going to prep the seed parent. See this?” He held up the lily he’d chosen. “We don’t want her fully open. We’re looking for well-developed but with immature anthers—before self-pollination can happen. We take petals and anthers off her.”
