The Line Read Free Page B

face had made Elizabeth want to bid her good day, even though she was the only person who had responded to the ad. Elizabeth could do without help for the time being. Then Ms. Quillen mentioned the child. That complicated things.
    There hadn’t been a child on The Property since Elizabeth was that child, running in the yard, laughing at the sky. And being reminded daily that children even existed was not something Elizabeth really wanted to endure; it was painful. Yet turning away a grown woman who was capable of finding alternatives was a different thing than turning away a mother and child, who might not have a better option. Elizabeth had not wanted to be responsible for the possible consequences. So she had hired the woman, against her better judgment.
    She wondered if she was going to pay for that now. Maybe whatever led the mother to trouble had been passed on to her daughter, causing her to seek out trouble as well. Elizabeth hoped that by keeping Rachel busy working in the greenhouse, she could steer her away from her interest in the Line. And it might solve other problems too. Jonathan had his hands full, and while Elizabeth was sure he would have tried to help, he didn’t have the touch. As her father always said, “Orchids aren’t potatoes.” What he meant, and what Elizabeth had always believed, was that to grow beautiful, healthy orchids, one could not view them as a crop. A part of you had to love them, be in love, to grow them well. Elizabeth had that feeling. She thought Rachel might have that feeling too, judging from how much time the girl had spent in the greenhouse over the years.

CHAPTER 2
    R ACHEL WAS MORE than a little apprehensive about working for Ms. Moore. In all the years Vivian and Rachel had lived on The Property, the lady had never once relaxed her formality. She was always Ms. Moore—never Elizabeth—even to Jonathan, who had known her forever as far as Rachel could tell. She never asked about their lives outside the work they did for her, and she did not encourage questions about her own.
    Vivian had told Rachel that when she first started working for Ms. Moore, she’d made the mistake of commenting on a framed digim she saw on the mantel in the main house, where she was dusting.
    “Oh, Ms. Moore,” she had said, “is this a picture of your husband? He was a fine-looking man.”
    Vivian said the silence had been stunning, like being doused with ice water. She turned to look at Ms. Moore, who was staring at her as though she had discovered a dead rat in her parlor.
    “I,” said Ms. Moore, slowly and distinctly, “was never married.” She looked at Vivian for a moment more, as though she were trying to decide exactly how one would dispose of such an unpleasant object without actually having to touch it. Then she walked away.
    On her way out, without turning her perfectly coiffed head, she said, “I prefer to keep my personal life personal , Ms. Quillen. Please start in the kitchen next.”
    Vivian usually laughed when she told that story, but Rachel didn’t think it was so funny now that she was going to have to work for Ms. Moore.
     
     
    AS IT TURNED out, Rachel learned most of the daily routine in the greenhouse from Jonathan. Ms. Moore was there the first morning, but she said little. She handed Rachel a thick, plastic-covered notebook filled with printouts and told her to study it. “There are specific ways to behave around orchids, Rachel, and you will need to learn them if you are to be allowed to work here. Jonathan will instruct you in the simpler tasks and inform me of your progress.” With that, she left.
    Rachel’s expression must have been quite forlorn, because Jonathan smiled down at her and winked. “Now, child, she’s not so bad,” he said. “Just has no use for the pleasantries in life. At least not anymore.” He looked at the doorway Ms. Moore had disappeared through, far away for a moment.
    “Did she used to be different?”
    “Hmm?” Jonathan