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humid cave. She thought that her grandmother was probably a little crazy, but was she crazy to think her grandmother had been trying to tell her something? Did her grandmother think that she, Catherine, was a parasite on a dying tree? Did her grandmother see her own son so clearly?
    Through the open French doors, Catherine could see the mistletoe hanging from the doorway. She crossed to it and, standing on tiptoe, reached up her arms and broke off a sprig. She didn’t want to stick it in her hair—someone might think she wanted to be kissed—so she found a pin and fastened it on her sweater, just over her heart.

Chapter 2
    New York, 1961
    W hen Catherine returned to Miss Brill’s after Christmas break, she told Leslie about her parents’ threats.
    “They’re bluffing,” Leslie said flatly.
    But the year unrolled into spring and early summer, and Catherine became the first Miss Brill’s graduate to have “Unknown” printed in the spot in the school newspaper where other students had printed the name of the college they’d attend. Catherine received two warning letters and one warning phone call from her parents, then nothing. Silence. Over spring break in April, her parents took Shelly and Ann to Bermuda but didn’t even contact Catherine about their plans. It was as if, for them, she’d stopped existing.
    Luckily she was invited to Kimberly Weyland’s home for some of the two-week vacation. The last few days of spring break she spent at Everly. Her grandmother was engrossed in the gardens already and was glad to have Catherine’s help. Catherine worked at Kathryn’s side, pruning the forsythia and other flowering shrubs, mulching around the rhododendrons, azaleas, and mountain laurel, preparing the ground for the cutting gardens, sowing the cornflower, sweet alyssum, larkspur, snapdragon, poppy, and sweet pea seeds. She enjoyed the physical, repetitive, meticulous work, the sun warm on her back, the air fragrant with lilac and hyacinth blooms, the only sounds birdsong or the click clack of clippers and shears.
    One night as she sat dining with her grandmother, she said shyly, “I like working here, Grandmother. Perhaps you should hire me as one of your gardeners.”
    Kathryn contemplated this suggestion, then shook her head. “I don’t think so, dear. It wouldn’t be good for my gardens or for you. You’re too inexperienced. And you’re too young to spend your life shut away out here.”
    Catherine was never certain just how far she could go with her grandmother into discussions of real life. “I guess you know I’m not going to college. Mother and Father have said I’m completely on my own when I graduate from Miss Brill’s.”
    “Yes. I know. They told me.”
    Catherine waited for words of sympathy, wisdom, advice. Kathryn was silent. The whole room was silent except for the clink of Catherine’s silver fork against the china plate.
    “I don’t know what I’m going to do, Grandmother.” She was ashamed of the slight quaver in her voice. Kathryn had always disdained sniveling.
    “No. Of course you don’t. But it will come to you, Catherine.” She looked directly at Catherine, her gaze intense, the blue as fiery as the dancing tip of a flame. “It will come to you.”
    Catherine’s breath caught in her throat. Entranced, she waited.
    Kathryn looked away. The moment passed. Pushing back her chair, Kathryn rose. “Shall we take our coffee in the den? There’s a nature show on PBS I don’t want to miss.”
    Catherine went back to Miss Brill’s for the final two months of the term in even more of a fog than before. Now the season was heady with celebration and romance; every weekend there was a party or a dance to attend. Catherine had plenty of dates, but there was no one boy she loved; she thought if there had been, she would have married him, simply to have something definite to do with her life. It was not too late, the school counselor advised her, even now, to apply to a college.