tightly, but I fought harder, pulling until I held the entire scraggly root in my hand. Invasive plants were like all evil things; the only way to ensure that they wouldn’t return was to face them head-on, battle it out, and win. Anything else was only a temporary fix. I sighed, thinking of my own life. I was letting the weeds grow all over me. They were threatening my happiness and, in some ways, my life. So why couldn’t I face them?
“Can’t resist a little weeding, can you?” Rex said with a smile.
I stood back to examine my work. “That’s better,” I said.
When the sun disappeared behind a cloud, the horizon took on a dark cast. I felt a raindrop on my cheek and quickly pulled the hood of my jacket over my head before we trudged down a soft slope, lower into the valley of the property. I stopped when my eyes met a stone statue nearly completely covered by ivy. I set down my bag and pulled the vines aside.
“Here, I’ll help you,” Rex said. Together we uncovered the face of a stone angel. Rex untangled the ivy’s clutch on her wings, and I pulled the vines free from her body. “There you are,” I said to the stone beauty. “That’s got to feel better.” Before I stood up, I noticed a few sprigs of purple pushing out near the base of the statue. I leaned in to have a closer look. Deadly nightshade, or rather,
Atropa belladonna
. “Rex!” I said.
He leaned in closer. “What is it?”
“It’s called
Atropa belladonna
,” I explained. “It’s a highly poisonous plant.” I remembered the story of a gardener who had been hospitalized after accidently rubbing his eye with a finger contaminated with the nightshade’s sap. Even in small doses, the plant was noxious, and potentially lethal. “Remind me to tell your parents to keep an eye out for this.” Rex’s younger sister had small children.
The wind picked up. I felt it seep through my coat, and I shivered.
“Should we turn back?” Rex asked.
“No,” I said. “Let’s see the camellias.” Past their normal blooming season, the trees had shed many of their blossoms, but the ones that remained were vibrant and showy, like the finale of a fireworks show. Up close, the trees did not disappoint. I stared up in awe at a yellow blossom, touching its petals lightly and breathing in the balmy, lemony scent. I pulled out Anna’s book, flipping to the page with the Petelo camellia.
“Do you think this is it?” Rex asked.
I nodded, studying the notes Lady Anna had left, before comparing the petal structure. “This has to be it,” I said. “But this numeric code? What do you think it means?” 5:3:31:2:1. “Maybe a location?” I counted the rows of trees, five in total. “Yeah, this is the fifth row, if you count from the east.” I turned around to reassess my bearings.
“And the tree is third from the front,” Rex said, his eyes meeting mine. “I think we cracked it.”
“Almost,” I said. “But what do the last numbers mean?” I walked to the next tree, stopping to admire its dark, emerald green leaves, so shiny and smooth. I picked up a pink blossom that had recently fallen to the ground and referred to the book again. The AnnaMaria Bellweather. But there were only two digits beside it—5:4—and no cryptic botanical name. “This doesn’t make any sense,” I said to Rex.
We walked through each row of trees. Some had fared better than others, and I paused to touch the carcass of a tree that appeared to have burned at some point in its history. Its bare, jagged branches had been charred on one side. Probably lightning. I hoped it wasn’t the Middlebury Pink.
“Drat,” Rex said when the rain began to increase in intensity. He pointed to an old outbuilding in the distance, and we ran to it, taking cover under its eaves. The roof sagged with moss, and the old rusty weather vane creaked on its axis. I peered through the dark window, using the sleeve of my jacket to wipe away the condensation so I could get a better
“Can’t resist a little weeding, can you?” Rex said with a smile.
I stood back to examine my work. “That’s better,” I said.
When the sun disappeared behind a cloud, the horizon took on a dark cast. I felt a raindrop on my cheek and quickly pulled the hood of my jacket over my head before we trudged down a soft slope, lower into the valley of the property. I stopped when my eyes met a stone statue nearly completely covered by ivy. I set down my bag and pulled the vines aside.
“Here, I’ll help you,” Rex said. Together we uncovered the face of a stone angel. Rex untangled the ivy’s clutch on her wings, and I pulled the vines free from her body. “There you are,” I said to the stone beauty. “That’s got to feel better.” Before I stood up, I noticed a few sprigs of purple pushing out near the base of the statue. I leaned in to have a closer look. Deadly nightshade, or rather,
Atropa belladonna
. “Rex!” I said.
He leaned in closer. “What is it?”
“It’s called
Atropa belladonna
,” I explained. “It’s a highly poisonous plant.” I remembered the story of a gardener who had been hospitalized after accidently rubbing his eye with a finger contaminated with the nightshade’s sap. Even in small doses, the plant was noxious, and potentially lethal. “Remind me to tell your parents to keep an eye out for this.” Rex’s younger sister had small children.
The wind picked up. I felt it seep through my coat, and I shivered.
“Should we turn back?” Rex asked.
“No,” I said. “Let’s see the camellias.” Past their normal blooming season, the trees had shed many of their blossoms, but the ones that remained were vibrant and showy, like the finale of a fireworks show. Up close, the trees did not disappoint. I stared up in awe at a yellow blossom, touching its petals lightly and breathing in the balmy, lemony scent. I pulled out Anna’s book, flipping to the page with the Petelo camellia.
“Do you think this is it?” Rex asked.
I nodded, studying the notes Lady Anna had left, before comparing the petal structure. “This has to be it,” I said. “But this numeric code? What do you think it means?” 5:3:31:2:1. “Maybe a location?” I counted the rows of trees, five in total. “Yeah, this is the fifth row, if you count from the east.” I turned around to reassess my bearings.
“And the tree is third from the front,” Rex said, his eyes meeting mine. “I think we cracked it.”
“Almost,” I said. “But what do the last numbers mean?” I walked to the next tree, stopping to admire its dark, emerald green leaves, so shiny and smooth. I picked up a pink blossom that had recently fallen to the ground and referred to the book again. The AnnaMaria Bellweather. But there were only two digits beside it—5:4—and no cryptic botanical name. “This doesn’t make any sense,” I said to Rex.
We walked through each row of trees. Some had fared better than others, and I paused to touch the carcass of a tree that appeared to have burned at some point in its history. Its bare, jagged branches had been charred on one side. Probably lightning. I hoped it wasn’t the Middlebury Pink.
“Drat,” Rex said when the rain began to increase in intensity. He pointed to an old outbuilding in the distance, and we ran to it, taking cover under its eaves. The roof sagged with moss, and the old rusty weather vane creaked on its axis. I peered through the dark window, using the sleeve of my jacket to wipe away the condensation so I could get a better
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