first, but it might be best if I checked it out for any snakes or other hazards.”
“Have at it,” Elaine said.
“I’m not fond of snakes either,” he said, grinning. “But here goes nothing.”
Elaine chuckled. “Woodmont would be in ruins if not for you.”
Libby sensed a comradery between the two that came as close to friendship as an employer and employee might have. However, in this part of the world, the line between their places in life would always exist, regardless of respect or love of the land.
Colton stepped into the greenhouse, pulling a small flashlight from his pocket. Libby took pictures, wishing now she had a wide-angle lens to capture more of the eerie beauty of the space.
Libby listened to the steady thud of Colton’s footsteps as he stepped deeper inside. Midday light did little to penetrate the darkness or dull the dank smell. She could barely see his shape pass in front of the glass, hazy with moss and mildew.
“Have you ever been inside, Elaine?” Libby asked.
“Yes,” Elaine said. “I used to go in with my grandmother when I was a little girl. She and I planted together, and she even gave me my own little garden journal so I could keep notes like she did in hers.”
“If she kept gardening journals, then you have a record of what she grew in here.”
“I have very detailed records. She created her first journal in 1942 and created a new one each year until the greenhouse was closed in the eighties.” Elaine regarded the greenhouse, as if she saw all her regrets reflected back in the murky panes.
Curiosity captured Libby’s full attention. “Why did your grandmother stop maintaining this?”
“I’m not sure why she stopped coming down here.”
“You must have been really close to her,” Libby said, struggling to forge a connection.
Elaine stared at the greenhouse, her thoughts appearing to drift back in time. “She was an amazing woman in so many ways. And she had more influence on my life than anyone. She would have done anything to protect me.”
“Is it safe for Colton to be inside?” Libby asked.
“Colton did a preliminary structural examination of the exterior and said the support beams all appeared sound.”
“No offense, but he’s a gardener,” Libby countered. She imagined the entire thing falling in on their heads and made a mental note to add hard hats to her photography equipment.
“He’s a gardener with a mechanical engineering degree,” Elaine said.
Colton appeared at the door. “It’s clear. Just watch your step. There’s a lot of muck on the ground.” He looked at both dogs. “Stay.”
“You want to go first?” Elaine asked Libby.
“No,” she said. “This is your project. You should be the first.”
Elaine’s eyes suddenly filled with nervous energy, and she hesitated at the threshold.
“I’ll be right behind you,” Libby said. What was she afraid of?
“No, you first,” Elaine said. “I don’t want to hold you up.”
Libby had been born with a natural curiosity and daring. When she was little, she had challenged her parents with endless questions and had often argued with their answers. Her thirst to see and do had compelled her across country to California to attend nursing school. And it had given her the courage to try for the third pregnancy.
In the last few years, her inability to risk anything had grown out of control. She had thought her choice to retreat was strategic, as it had been when she was a kid. However, in the old days, she’d found a way to move forward again. Now, she wondered if she would ever leave her dad’s house and get back on the horse.
Here she stood, afraid to go in a damn greenhouse because she was worried about the stupid roof caving in or a snake biting her or whatever. The world was passing her by, as the images of Jeremy and Monica had proved. That realization pushed her over the threshold. After all, what could go wrong? She glanced up at the greenhouse’s domed ceiling covered in moss. Ceiling collapse. Rats and snakes. Broken glass.
Her first impression of the greenhouse’s interior was the smell. The deep, earthy, fetid smell reminded her of vegetables left too long in the crisper. The damp air was musty and nearly suffocating.
Her gaze was drawn to the center of the room, where a fountain stood silent like a sentry watching over its domain. Dirt had filled the three tiers, allowing grass and weeds to take root in all three. Around the fluted base were brick pavers smeared in green