Later that night, Erin sat on the window seat in her bedroom, gazing absently outside. A pad of stationery and a pen were sitting on her lap, though the top sheet on the pad was still clean. She watched the dark shapes of the treetops rustling in the wind for a few more minutes. Then she sighed and finally turned her attention back to her unwritten letter. She tapped her pen thoughtfully on the blank page for a moment and then made a face and put it down again. She pulled a folded letter out from between the back sheets of the stationery pad and started reading it for what must have been at least the tenth time.
> Dear Erin,
>
> I hope this gets to you before you have to leave for your cousin’s house. I’m sorry I didn’t write sooner, but camp has been so busy this year that I’ve hardly had time to breathe.
>
> It’s really not the same without you here. I’m sharing a room with Kalani, that jazz dancer with the neon green hair—remember? This year it’s orange and black spikes. Makes her look like a tiger that got struck by lightning. She has the annoying habit of doing yoga in our room at four in the morning, but otherwise, she’s pretty nice. I’d much rather be roommates with you, though.
>
> Everyone was really sorry to hear about your accident. Madame Chaille was actually crying when I told her you might not be able to keep dancing. She said it would be 'a tragic loss to the world of ballet' and that you were one of the best students she had ever had. Even Byron Hales asked about you and wanted you to know how sorry he was! I didn’t think he had realized either of us existed—or that anyone else at camp did, for that matter. He usually acts like he’s the only student there.
>
> Things are basically the same as usual here. You know, the teachers trying to abuse us as much as they can and still keep us alive for the recital. It’s an adaptation of Swan Lake this year (one with a happy ending, fortunately—I hate the sad ones, even if they are more 'artistic,' as Mère says). Byron’s doing Siegfried, of course. I would have cast him as Von Rothbart, myself. It would suit him better. Caitlin and Camille Nelson are doing Odette and Odile. Rumor is that the teachers picked the ballet out just for them because they’re identical. I get to be a swan. I was happy about that because the other girls doing that part are all older. I’m the only one from our year, although I’m sure they would have put you in, too, if you were here.
>
> Well, I’d better close and get ready to go to breakfast. I woke up early because of Kalani’s yoga and decided I’d better get this letter written and in the mail this morning if it was going to have any hope of making it to your house before you left. Have a safe trip and write to me soon, okay? I want to know all about your cousin and how things are going with your knee and You-Know-Who.
>
> Au revoir, ma chère amie.
>
> Avec l'amour,
>
> Carla
Erin sighed and refolded the letter. A few months ago, chatting with Carla about the woes of ballet recitals would have been the most natural thing in the world for her. But so much had changed in that short time that her best friend and the life they had shared together both seemed as far away as the moon. Reading Carla's letter reawakened the storm of emotions Erin had been struggling through for months, and she wasn't sure how to put her feelings into words. Or if she even ought to try. She stared moodily at the blank paper on her lap for another minute or two. Then she finally picked up the pen and started to write.
> Dear Carla,
>
> No worries—your letter came Tuesday, so I got it before I left. I’m glad to hear that camp is going all right. I wish I could be there. You remembered to order an extra copy of the recital video for me, didn’t you? I really want to see you dancing the swan part.
>
> I’m at my cousin’s house now. The trip was fine, and Kirchel seems pretty nice, though she’s a little bit strange. She’s really into plants—she has them growing all over the house. She has tons of herbs and medicinal-type plants out in the backyard, too, that she uses to make her pills and things. She made me promise not to go poking around in them when she’s not here because some of them are poisonous. It makes me wonder a little bit about her cooking. But the bread and soup she made for supper tonight tasted really good, and nothing weird has happened to me since I ate them. Not yet, anyway.
>
> My leg is pretty much the same as ever. I think the plane trip annoyed it, though, because it’s been a little extra sore. But no sign of You-Know-Who yet. Think it’s too much to hope that he didn't make it on the flight with me?
>
> Good luck enduring the yoga and the recital rehearsals. I’ll write again as soon as I have anything interesting to report.
>
> Take care!
>
> Love,
>
> Erin
Erin finished writing the letter and then sat for a moment, reading over it. Satisfied, she folded it and slipped it into a waiting envelope. Then she got up, stretching, to put the letter on the desk before she turned off the light and slipped into bed.
What she'd written didn't even come close to expressing a lot of the things that she wished she could say. But she knew Carla well enough to know not to go too much into detail about how hard it was for her to cope with her injury. Ballet was Carla's life, even more than it had been Erin's. The very idea of anyone—especially someone she was so close to—not being able to dance was enough to drive Carla up the wall. Erin had tried to spare her the worst of what she'd been going through, but it made things awfully lonely, when you couldn't even confide in your best friend.
The author's narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.
----------------------------------------
“All right, this is all of it,” Kirchel said, reaching the top of the basement stairs where Erin was waiting for her. She was carrying a large cardboard box in her arms. It was the second box she had brought up. Erin had already put the first one in the trunk of the car for her. Kirchel carried this box out herself, with Erin following behind. The boxes both held packages of dried herb leaves as well as bottles of pills and little boxes of tea bags that Kirchel had made with her special herbal blends. It was all going down to the store to be added to the inventory.
It was Erin's first real visit to the floral shop, and when they arrived, she stood beside the car for a minute, looking around. It was an impressive sight. It wasn't hard to tell that Kirchel loved her business and that it was where most of her time and energy were devoted.
There was a large grassy area between the store buildings and the highway, which was beautifully landscaped with trees and flowerbeds. The central feature was a large pond surrounded by several stone benches and overhung on one side by a vast weeping willow. A family of mallard ducks was clustered underneath the tree, the brown and yellow ducklings swarming around their parents. Out on the water, floating serenely, were two pairs of swans—one white and the other black with red beaks.
“Those are Pearl and Snowflake and Ebony and Onyx,” Kirchel said, getting out of the car and following Erin's gaze with a smile. “I guess I don't need to tell you which names go with which pair. They live here year round, but the ducks are only here for the summer, so we don't bother giving them proper names.”
“I should have known you'd be the sort of person to have swans,” Erin said, shaking her head in amazement as she went to the back of the car to get one of the boxes from the trunk.
“Oh, that's nothing," Kirchel said with a playful grin. “Just wait till you see the peacocks.”
“Did you say 'peacocks?' What are you running here, a flower shop or a zoo?”
Kirchel laughed. “Some days I wonder that myself. Anthony—he’s one of the boys who works here—suggested that we rename the place 'Kirchel’s Flowering Circus.'”
“Sounds good to me,” Erin said with a grin. “Why didn’t you?”
“Because I'd like to maintain a little dignity....” Kirchel said, rolling her eyes. “Well, let’s go in, shall we?”
She lifted the other cardboard box out of the trunk and then led the way through the front door, which was underneath a large, colorful sign that had the words 'Dragonflower Nursery and Floral' over a stylized picture of a dragon surrounded by roses.
The store was a mixture of florist and garden supply shop. Glancing around, Erin saw everything from bags of grass seed to racks of stuffed animals and greeting cards. Along one wall were several glass refrigerators filled with cut flower arrangements, and on the far side of the room was a set of sliding glass doors that led into the greenhouse. To the left of the door they had just entered was a long wooden counter with a cash register. A young woman with chin-length blonde hair was seated behind it. She was writing something in a wirebound notebook, but she looked up and put her pen down as they came into the store.
“Hi, Kirchel.” The young woman gave them a friendly smile. “That must be your cousin.”
“The very same,” Kirchel said, setting the box she was carrying down on the counter and motioning for Erin to put hers there as well. “Erin, this is Sarah. Officially, she's our bookkeeper, so her main job is to keep track of the finances and inventory. But sometimes—like right now—she fills in as a salesclerk. She also helps out with arranging flowers and feeding the animals.”
“Speaking of feeding the animals...” Sarah said dryly, “Snappy got into the catnip again last night.” She nodded at the cardboard boxes. “I hope you brought down some new packages.”
“Again?” Kirchel sounded exasperated. “How? We put them up on the top shelf, and I made sure to double package it all so he couldn't possibly smell it!”
Sarah shrugged. “I have no idea how he managed it, but when I got here this morning the packages were all over the floor and half of them were torn open. I put those in the office in case you can salvage them.”
“That cat...” Kirchel muttered, shaking her head. “Well, put these boxes in the back room, will you? We'll have one of the boys put them out this afternoon.” She turned to Erin. “Come on. We'll pay a visit to the peacocks, and then I'll show you around the greenhouse.”
She led Erin back outside and around to the side of the building. There was an odd sort of garden there. Although there were flagstone paths leading through it and some permanent landscaping, most of the plants were still in pots and had price tags hanging from them. There were several bunches of smaller plants and flowers, but most of the pots contained larger trees and shrubs. And it looked like the majority of these were roses. There were dozens upon dozens of little rose bushes, with all colors of blossoms on them.
“I take it you sell a lot of roses,” Erin said, pausing on the edge of the sidewalk to look around.
“Quite a lot, yes,” Kirchel said, stopping a little way ahead of her. “Roses are always a popular item. But I mostly have as many as I do just because I like them.” She fingered a pale pink rosebud on a bush near the walkway. “They bring back memories.”
“Memories? Of what?”
Kirchel didn't answer. Instead, she let go of the rosebud and started down one of the pathways leading into the garden. Erin couldn't tell if she had deliberately ignored the question or simply hadn't heard it.
In the very center of the garden was a large grassy circle, and it was in the middle of this that they found the peacocks. Two of them were perched on the back of a wooden bench, looking drowsy, with their long blue-green tails hanging down behind them. A third was strutting around the circle, pecking here and there at the ground. When Kirchel and Erin approached, all three of the birds looked up and rushed over in a flutter of feathers to start pacing back and forth on the ground in front of Kirchel, making strange squawking noises and peering hopefully at her with their beady black eyes.
Kirchel reached into her pocket and pulled out a small plastic bag full of seeds. She made a whistling sound rather like a bird call, and Erin was stunned to see all three peacocks immediately line up in front of her and spread their magnificent tails. They held that position for a minute or two, making a rustling sound with their feathers. Then Kirchel opened the bag and scattered the seeds over the ground around the peacocks, and they dropped their tails and began to peck furiously at the grass below them.
“How on earth did you do that?” Erin asked, still staring at the birds. “I've never heard of anyone training peacocks before.”
“That’s just because most people don't bother,” Kirchel said, slipping the empty bag back into her pocket. “You can get animals to do almost anything if you just find out what kind of food they like best. That's why it's so hard to train a cat—they change their minds every other day.”
They watched the peacocks squabble over the food for a few minutes. Then they made their way through the other half of the garden toward the side door of the greenhouse.