"Catherine, stop. Sh.e.l.ly is your brother, not your son. Your parents will take care of him. They always have."

"I suppose you're right," Catherine said. "But oh, G.o.d, Kit, Sh.e.l.ly just breaks my heart."

Chapter 12.

New York, 1988 Catherine had intended to go straight back to Blooms after confronting Sh.e.l.ly, but she discovered that she was oddly weak. Instead, she indulged in the rituals that usually refreshed her: a long perfumed bath, a lazy meal eaten in her robe, and phone calls to Andrew and Lily, who were happy and so busy with their own lives that they couldn't stay long on the phone. Still she felt bone tired. She fell asleep at once, grateful for oblivion.

She was not surprised to be awakened by the ringing of the phone while the windows were still black with night. It was as if all along she had been expecting this call, and she thought: Sh.e.l.ly. Something has happened to Sh.e.l.ly, and the police are calling to tell me.

"Catherine?"

The old woman's voice was so weak and whispery that for a moment Catherine couldn't hear her grandmother speaking.

"Grandmother! Are you all right?"

"Come to Everly. I need to talk to you."

"Grandmother, do you need a doctor? Is Clara there?"

"Don't make me waste my breath. Tell me you will come here now."

"I'll dress and leave at once."

Next to her, Kit struggled up from his own deep sleep. "Your grandmother?"

"She wants me there now. She sounded so far away-I think she's dying, Kit. I've got to go." She was already pushing back the covers.

"I'll drive you."

They dressed quickly, efficiently, without speaking. Catherine pulled on her most comfortable clothes, jeans and a sweater, perhaps not perfect for the occasion, but what clothes were perfect for the occasion of death? While Kit walked to the garage to get the car, she made a Thermos of strong coffee. Once they were on the road, she poured coffee for Kit, then took his advice and put the seat back and closed her eyes.

"Catherine? We're here." She awoke to see that day was dawning. The dark fall sky was streaked with gold.

Two strange cars were already in the drive: a navy blue Mercedes and a police car.

She raced from the car almost before Kit could bring it to a full stop and tore into the house. The front hall lights were blazing, and so were the lights up the winding staircase to her grandmother's bedroom.

"Good. You got here in time," Kathryn said.

The old woman was seated in her vast four-poster bed, propped up on pillows, a shawl over her shoulders, her fine white hair pulled back with a ribbon. Standing next to the bed was a man Catherine had met before, Kathryn's doctor, George Holdgarten, and a young man in police uniform. Clara sat on a rocking chair in the corner of the room.

"Grandmother, how are you?" Catherine sat carefully on the bed and bent over the wizened old lady. Kathryn's fingers were as bony and her eyes as beady-bright as a chicken's. But her breath was labored.

"I'm dying. Oh, don't puddle up on me. It's about time, and I'm ready. Reach under the bed."

"What?"

"Catherine. Do you think I have the energy to say everything twice?"

Catherine knelt by the bed and raised the dust ruffle. After her eyes had adjusted to the darkness, she saw what she at first thought were boxes but quickly realized were large books. Three of them. Old and magnificent. She pulled them out.

"Those are my botanicals," Kathryn said.

Dr. Holdgarten bent to help Catherine lift the heaviest book from the floor.

"Dr. Robert Thornton. Temple of Flora. Extremely rare," Kathryn said.

Catherine opened the cover of the huge book. Inside were colored engravings of plants and flowers against a background of landscapes.

"A copy of Basilius Besler's Hortus Eystettensis. Seventeenth century. And a Redoute. These are yours, now. I'm giving them to you."

"Thank you, Grandmother."

"You should thank me. They're worth a fortune. A fortune, Catherine."

"Thank you."

"h.e.l.lo, Kathryn." Kit entered the room.

"h.e.l.lo, Kit. You brought Catherine out, I see. Clara will be down to fix you some breakfast in a few minutes."

"Thanks. I'll wait for her in the library. I brought my briefcase," Kit said to Catherine. "I'll catch up on some work. Don't worry about me."

Catherine smiled, then turned back to Kathryn, who was already speaking again.

"Look, I've asked these kind gentlemen to come here, and I don't want to keep them waiting. Clara."

At her name, the old servant rose and crossed the room with a sheaf of papers and a pen in her hands. She handed them to Kathryn.

"I've made out my will seven or eight times. Always, I've written the same thing. I'm leaving Everly, and everything in it, to you. You sell those florilegia books and you'll have enough money to do some restoration on Everly." Kathryn paused for breath. "Now, doctor, officer, if you will be so good as to witness my signature-you do think I'm in sound mind, don't you? Reasonably sane? Would you like me to give you the names of some state capitals or discuss current events?"

"That won't be necessary, Mrs. Eliot," Dr. Holdgarten said. He watched the old woman sign her name on the will, then he took the doc.u.ment and signed his own as witness. He pa.s.sed it to the young policeman, who also signed.

"There. That's done, thank heavens," Kathryn said. "Thank you for coming, gentlemen." They were dismissed.

Dr. Holdgarten touched Catherine's arm. "I'll wait for you downstairs. I'd like to speak with you."

"Clara, would you please fix Dr. Holdgarten some coffee, and a nice full breakfast for Catherine's husband?"

Soon, Catherine and her grandmother were alone. Catherine sat on the bed holding the older woman's hand.

"Sh.e.l.ly gets the Jaguar. It hasn't been out of the garage in decades, but it's in beautiful shape. I hope that makes him happy. Ann gets the Audubons. They're worth a lot. Be sure she's aware of that. Your parents will get the family silver. The rest is yours. Your parents will be angry about this. Probably they'll try to fight it, but my will should hold. It should hold."

"Thank you, Grandmother."

"Don't worry about Lily and Drew." Kathryn was breathing hastily now, almost panting, in her hurry to say it all to Catherine. "Be patient. These things often skip generations. If your children don't love flowers and Everly the way you do, you're bound to have a grandchild who will."

"Grandmother-how can I say thank you properly? I promise I'll restore Everly."

"I know you will. I would have if I'd sold my books, but I wanted them near me. And I didn't want the mess of strangers in the house." She closed her eyes and caught her breath. Just when Catherine thought the old lady had fallen asleep, she opened her eyes and glared at Catherine. "I've always loved you best."

"I know. And it's made all the difference."

"You're the one who inherited my love for flowers. From the beginning you took after my side. You think like me, and you look like your grandfather."

"I look like Grandfather Eliot?"

"Certain traits are everlasting, you know. Genetic. Like flowers."

"I wish I had known that when I was a child."

"Why? To have something to lean on? It's good that you're so independent. You know that."

Catherine opened her mouth to argue, but Kathryn closed her eyes and swallowed painfully, exhausted. She rested against the pillow, catching her breath. When she could speak again, she said, "Stay here. This won't be a picnic for you, but you're strong enough. It will be a big help for me."

"Grandmother, you'll be up and around in a few days."

"I haven't been up and around for months. Don't be a fool. I'm dying."

Clara came into the room. "Would you like me to stay with her a while so you can go down and have a cup of coffee and a chat with Dr. Holdgarten?"

"No," Catherine said. "I think I'll stay here. I can talk to the doctor later."

"She knows what he's going to tell her anyway," Kathryn said, laughing wryly, then choking on her laughter.

Catherine sat with her grandmother. She held her hand. Now it was her turn to talk, and Catherine spoke of what she knew her grandmother loved best. Flowers, gardens, their time together at the British Everly. Mazes, walks, arbors. Shrubs, trees, bushes. Annuals, perennials, everlastings.

What is everlasting? Catherine mused as she sat in silence, holding her sleeping grandmother's hand. The everlasting flowers, sea lavender, immortelle, pa.s.sionflower, and feverfew, kept their color as they dried but lost their softness, moistness, and flexibility. The swamp cypress tree growing in the southeastern United States was so unusually resistant to decay that it had earned from the lumber trade the name "wood everlasting." Its cousin, Cypress funebris, or mourning cypress, was a symbol in Mediterranean cultures of death and immortality.

An interesting combination, that: of death and immortality, Catherine thought, watching her grandmother.

But although Kathryn opened her eyes now and then, she said only, "Still here? Good girl," before falling instantly back into a deep sleep.

Dr. Holdgarten came into the room to listen to the old woman's chest and check her pulse. "I'll be back later on."

"Wait," Catherine whispered. She pulled the doctor out of the room into the hallway and in a low voice asked, "Why does she think she's dying now?"

"She's been ill for a long time. She's had a series of small heart attacks. The Lord only knows what else ails her because she won't come into the hospital or even into my office for a decent checkup."

"If we made her go to a hospital-"

"Then you'd probably make her die in a hospital. She's old, Catherine. Her body's tired and worn out. It's shutting down on her. She can't breathe. Her lungs are filling with water. She's got congestive heart failure. If you'd like, I could give her a shot to make her more comfortable, but she's not complaining about any pain. The shot would also make her less clearheaded. I think she'd hate that."

"Is there anything I can do?"

"Only what she asked. Be with her."

"How long-"

"I can't say. But old people often know when the time has come for them to die. It might be a day. It might not be that long."

"She doesn't seem to be afraid of dying."

"She's much too tired to be afraid."

Catherine sat with Kathryn. Her own body was tired, her own spirit weary and strained. But she was not too tired to be afraid, and she was not too tired to be greedy for all the pleasures she knew life could still hold for her.

By early afternoon Catherine was stiff from sitting. Her grandmother was fast asleep. Catherine rose and hurried downstairs. Old Clara slept on a recliner in the same room, snoring loudly.

Kit was in the library, reading legal briefs. He rose when she entered and held her against him.

"How is she?"

"Asleep. Fading. But not in pain."

"How are you?"

"She's leaving me Everly. Kit, so much has happened, and now this. I can't take it all in."

"Have you eaten anything?"

"I'm not hungry. She wants me near her. I can hardly sit there chewing, dropping crumbs on the sheets." Catherine giggled giddily.

"You need something. Wait here."

Catherine sank onto a chair and simply stared into s.p.a.ce, not even thinking, until Kit returned with some coffee, juice, and toast covered with jam.

"I'll go up and sit with her while you eat," he said. "If she wakes up, I'll come get you."

"Kit, what would I do without you?" she asked. He touched her hair softly in reply before leaving the room.

Catherine ate quickly, each bite reviving her. Perhaps, she thought as she finished her meal, perhaps Kathryn wouldn't die today after all. Perhaps she would recover. If she did, Catherine would force her to accept some household help. Clara couldn't do anything but look after the two of them and had let the rest of the house fall into disrepair. Dust coated every surface, and cobwebs laced through the chandeliers and curtains. If Kathryn lived, Catherine resolved to spend one day and one night every week out here.

Back in her grandmother's bedroom, Catherine and Kit talked softly. Yes, he had called Blooms to tell them she wouldn't be in today. Yes, he'd called his office. Should he call Catherine's father? Drew Eliot was, after all, Kathryn's son. Still, she had not asked to see him. Better to wait. Catherine would ask her grandmother the next time she awoke.

Kit sat with Catherine for a while, then went back downstairs to his reading. Catherine pulled back one heavy, dusty drape and looked out. It had turned into a glorious autumn day, brilliant with colors. All the gardens, even the purple-and-white one, were a tangle of overgrown gra.s.ses and flowers shriveled by frosts. b.u.mpy apples and pears lay at the base of the neglected fruit trees for the birds and bugs to pick at. Orange, yellow, and wine-hued mums blazed along one wall. The climbing roses were still there, too, blossoming with frilly, summery, pale pink roses.

Catherine opened the window just a little, so that fresh air could sweep into the overheated, stuffy room. The rush of cool air with its tang of salt braced her. She shut the window and went back to sit with her grandmother.