Her knees trembling, her flush deepening, Kim got to her feet.
"Read the note," the nun ordered.
Kim bit her Up, and her eyes darted to her brother, who winked at her. "'Welcome to Saint Ignoramus,'" she read, her voice barely audible.
"I can't hear you," Sister Clarence said, each word a chip of ice. Kim's face burned. The nun certainly hadn't had any trouble hearing her a minute ago, when all she'd done was utter an almost silent giggle.
She read the note again-more loudly-into the hush that had fallen over the room.
"And you think that's funny," Sister Clarence said, her voice making it clear that her words were not a question.
Kim said nothing.
"Does anyone else think it's funny?" Sister Clarence asked.
Though Kim dared not even glance around, she knew that no one else in the classroom had so much as moved a finger, let alone raised a hand. Then, from the corner of her eye, she saw Jared stand.
"I do," he said. Kim saw the surprise-and cold fury-in Sister Clarence's eyes as they shifted to Jared.
"Both of you think it's funny to mock the school?"
"It's just a pun," Jared said. "I bet lots of people call it that."
"It is disrespectful, and it will not be tolerated. Is that clear?"
Jared hesitated, then bobbed his head a fraction of an inch. "Yes."
" 'Yes, Sister Clarence,'" the nun corrected him.
Kim could almost feel the anger rising in her brother. Don't, she silently begged. Just let it go!
The quiet in the room stretched out as Jared and the teacher confronted each other.
Everyone waited.
Once again Kim reached out with her mind and begged her brother not to say anything more.
Sister Clarence's eyes behind the steel-rimmed glasses glittered dangerously.
Jared's jaw tightened. Kim saw his lips starting to form words she knew would only dig him in deeper than he already was. Don't, Jared! she pleaded a third time, praying that this time he would pick up her thought and heed it.
Just let it go! The moment seemed to stretch out endlessly, but then, as clearly as if he'd spoken aloud, Kim heard Jared's voice inside her head.
Okay, he said. But I hate this. I really hate it!
A split second later Jared spoke aloud, his voice betraying none of the anger Kim had heard in his unvoiced thought. "Yes, Sister Clarence," he said softly.
Sister Clarence's gaze shifted back to Kim. "I've decided to overlook this, since this is your first day. But in the future such things will not be overlooked. Is that clear?"
"Yes, Sister Clarence," Kim said, her chastened voice little more than a whisper.
Sister Clarence's response stung like the lash of a whip. "Speak up!"
"Yes, Sister Clarence," Kim repeated, her face burning as tears welled in her eyes.
For the rest of the hour, Kim and Jared sat silently at their desks, trying to concentrate on the lesson the nun was teaching. But for both of them, their humiliation kept replaying itself in their minds.
It doesn't matter, Kim finally told herself. It's just different here, and I'll get used to it.
Jared, though, was absolutely sure he'd never get used to it. Never.
Janet Conway climbed down off the ladder, automatically arching her back and stretching first in one direction, then the other. As the ache in her spine and burning knots in her shoulders eased, she surveyed the results of her two hours at the top of the ladder, where she'd twisted herself into contortions to which her body had been mounting increasingly strenuous objections. But already she knew that no matter how much pain she had to put herself through for the next day or two, in the end it would be worth it. Already, light-the clear, clean light of the fall morning-was streaming through the glass roof and the upper third of the conservatory's northern and eastern walls. When she was finished, the room would provide her with the studio that until a few days ago she had only dreamed about. With sunlight coming in from three directions as well as from above, there would never be a time when she wouldn't be able to get exactly the illumination she wanted on her canvas. Just the thought of spending hours here with her paints and brushes, her easel and canvas-bringing to life the visions she'd always seen in her mind-quickened her pulse and made her fairly tingle with excitement and anticipation.
But as her eyes moved beyond the windows to the view outside the enormous glass walls, her excitement gave way to dark trepidation.
She told herself there was nothing ominous here. Just the tangle of vegetation, the thick, creeping kudzu that snaked out of the forest to slowly engulf the property, banking up against the carriage house, swallowing up the shrubs that had once had their own distinctive shapes and colors but were now slowly being strangled under the thick tentacles of twisted vines. Even the enormous oaks, willows, and magnolias were on the verge of succumbing to the tendrils, which had reached all but their highest branches; soon they, too, would be choked by the invader.
Yet even the devastation brought by the kudzu couldn't completely erase the vision in Janet's mind. Despite the decades of grime that still fogged the lower portion of the windows, she could see the possibilities. Tomorrow-maybe even this afternoon-she would start hacking away at the encroaching foliage. She'd start with the trees; once she cut through the thick stems of the vines, cutting off their connections to their roots, they would quickly die off, and pulling them down would be much easier. She would cut those that were climbing over the house, too. And this weekend Jared could begin clearing off the rest of the property, stripping the kudzu away. The lawn, of course, had been ruined years ago, but some of the larger shrubs might yet be saved. And halfway between the conservatory and the woods, she could just make out the shape of what looked like a fountain. In her mind's eye she stripped away the tangle of vines to reveal…
What?
Marble! Yes, of course. It would be made of marble-though limestone would be almost as good-carved into some wonderful pattern over which the water would shimmer and ripple as it flowed. She could almost see the plumes of water that would rise from the restored fountain, nearly hear the gentle sound of its spray splashing back into the catchment basin. Perhaps they could even put some goldfish in it.
The vision took on more details, and Janet could see the beginnings of a painting. Or better yet, a trompe l'oeil mural big enough to cover an entire wall of one of the house's huge rooms. It would depict the grounds as they would have looked when the house was new, when Ted's ancestors had first built it. The gardens would have been formal, she was sure, with perfectly manicured box hedges bordering beds of azaleas and roses. A profusion of flowers, in every color of the rainbow. There would have been furniture, too-white-painted wrought iron, upon which graceful women holding parasols would lounge.
Pointillism. That was it. And perhaps she would give it a French cast, to fit with the New Orleans influences of the town. She would do it in the style of Georges Seurat, filling it with light and texture and-
A sudden sharp rap on one of the French doors leading to the terrace outside the conservatory jerked her out of her reverie, startling her so badly she almost knocked over the ladder upon which she'd been so precariously perched only a few minutes before. "Hello?" a voice called from outside. "Is anybody here?"
Steadying the ladder, Janet went to the French doors, fumbled with the lock, then pushed the handle down. When she pulled on the door, the upper corner stuck fast, the frame warped so badly that the glass threatened to break.
"Stop!" the voice from outside called. "Let me push from out here!"
Janet let the door go fully shut. Then, as she tried to ease it open again, the person outside struck the upper corner sharply and the door came free.