Nobody's Secret by Michaela MacColl Page A

my headaches, prepares chamomile for compresses, and recently began making her uncle’s heart medicine from flowers in the garden.”
    “How useful,” Mrs. Hitchcock said drily.
    Emily had a grin on her face as she led the way upstairs. Ursula’s face was bright red. “I must apologize for my mother,” she said once they reached the bedroom. “To her, a random thought might as well be spoken aloud. And of course, she’s been hoping for an invitation from the mighty Dickinson family since we moved here.”
    Emily and Vinnie exchanged glances. “Don’t apologize,” Emily said. “You are very talented in botany. In fact, I have a plant I can’t identify, and I was hoping you could help me.”
    “If I can,” Ursula said.
    Ursula and Vinnie sat on the bed while Emily fetched the heavy herbarium. They turned the pages. Emily had begun well, pasting in a variety of plants and labeling them with their Latin names and origins. As she got toward the end of the pages, the plants were shoved in haphazardly—some not even secured to the page.
    Ursula leafed through, saying very little. Emily remem-bered how there had been an unspoken competition between them during the class. Miss Phelps had praised Emily’s herbarium, and suddenly Ursula had worked furiously to make her book twice as nice as Emily’s.
    “Where is this unknown plant?” Ursula asked.
    Emily removed her notebook from her bodice, opened it to the last page, and pulled out the flower. “This is my mystery flower,” she said in a casual voice.
    Ursula took it and laid it on an empty page in the herbarium, studying it intently. “Where did you find it?” She finally looked up, a small smile on her lips.
    “I can’t recall,” Emily lied. “It’s pretty, but I can’t quite place it. The petals have an odd soft texture, and the stem is more wood than plant. What kind of flower is it?”
    “It’s not a flower at all!” Ursula said triumphantly. “It’s an Indian pipe, and it’s a fungus.”
    “I remember now,” Emily nodded. “I’d never seen one, but Miss Phelps described them.”
    “Miss Phelps took me on special walks. Just the two of us.” Ursula shot a triumphant glance at Emily. “Once we went to a place called Amethyst Brook. There were dozens of Indian pipes there under the dead trees. They feast on the decay of other plants.”
    Vinnie shivered. “How unnatural!” But Emily could see that she was just as fascinated as Emily.
    “Amethyst Brook,” Emily repeated. “I’ve never been there, but I’ll have to visit.”
    “Emily! Vinnie!” It was their mother, grown impatient downstairs.
    “Coming, Mother!” The girls returned to the sewing circle.
    “Ursula, sit with me,” Emily said as she settled on a sofa next to the fireplace. She pulled out a plain baby gown from her sewing basket and fastened an embroidery hoop around the front of the garment. “I haven’t seen you since term ended. How have you been keeping yourself?”
    Ursula looked bored. “Mother took me to New York to buy some new gowns.”
    “New dresses!” Vinnie sighed with longing. “Mother insists that we cut our own patterns. The dressmaker comes in two weeks to sew the dresses for us.”
    From across the circle, Mrs. Dickinson called out. “Remember, Lavinia, to make your own clothes is a virtuous use of your time. And if our circumstances should ever change, you would know how to economize.”
    “Is Mr. Dickinson’s law practice so precarious?” Mrs. Langston asked, oblivious to the raised eyebrows of the other ladies.
    “Of course not,” Mrs. Dickinson said. “But I believe my girls should be trained for any eventuality.”
    “
The Frugal Housewife
again,” Vinnie said.
    Ursula looked puzzled. “Who is that?
    “It’s not a person, it’s Mother’s second bible.” Emily explained. “The first is Scripture, the second is Mrs. Child’s
The Frugal Housewife.
”
    “And you shouldn’t make just your clothes,” Vinnie said. “Soap,