Forget-Her-Nots by Amy Brecount White

Author:Amy Brecount White
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2010-03-21T16:00:00+00:00

The next day Laurel hurried from her class to the library tower. In all the excitement she’d forgotten about Tara’s threat to snitch. Her hands shook as she unearthed the antique book from the newspapers and slid it back into its slot. Now no one could hassle her about the book.

“Yes, of course,” a familiar voice said from the stairs. “I’ll look, too.”

Sucking in a breath, Laurel threw her backpack onto a table, grabbed a random book, sat down, and pretended to read.

“Laurel?” whispered Ms. Suarez, coming around a bookcase.

“Oh, hi, Ms. Suarez.” Laurel struggled to keep her voice even. “How are you?”

“Fine.” Ms. Suarez’s beaded earrings brushed her shoulders. “Come here often?”

“Pretty often.” Laurel giggled nervously. “The dorms get so loud.”

“I love the scent of old books.” Ms. Suarez walked directly to the shelf, which once again held the antique flower book. “Ah. She has magically returned. The librarian told me this book was missing even this morning.”

Laurel stared down at the scramble of words on the page, but Ms. Suarez pulled out the chair directly across from her and placed the antique flower book between them.

“We need to talk.” Ms. Suarez’s face was solemn. “I’m sure you’re relieved that this rare and valuable book has returned.”

Laurel knew she’d never get away with playing dumb, not with Ms. Suarez. “Yes.”

Ms. Suarez leaned forward and whispered. “I don’t know exactly what happened, but this book cannot leave this library again. Okay?”

Laurel twisted a string that hung loose from her backpack. “Maybe it never left the library. Maybe it got misplaced, and then someone found it and put it back.”

“Ah.” Ms. Suarez seemed to be waiting for more, but Laurel needed to shift the conversation. She lightly touched the book between them.

“Did this one belong to Gladys du Valle?” she asked.

“No. She would have had her own copy. What do you know about Gladys?”

“Not much. I—I think she’s interesting,” said Laurel.

Leaning back, Ms. Suarez started to toy with a pendant she was wearing. “She was a fascinating woman. Troubled but fascinating.”

“Troubled?” Laurel pressed. She could feel the tension dissipating.

“I’ll tell you what I know of her story.” Ms. Suarez took the deep first breath of a practiced storyteller. “Over a hundred years ago there was a family in England with three daughters named Daisy, Lavender, and Gladys.”

Two flower names, Laurel thought. Like mine.

“Their mother had the gift of flowers, but she could be careless. She—”

Gift? Laurel leaned forward on her elbows. “You said something about my gift before—in the woods with the orchid. Should I call it that? The gift of flowers?”

Ms. Suarez looked down at the table. “Have you heard from your grandma yet? She should be the one—”

“No.” Laurel jumped to her feet. “She might as well be dead.”

“Laurel!” Ms. Suarez admonished. “Don’t talk like that. She’s one of our elders.”

“Our elders?” Laurel sat down.

“Yes.” Ms. Suarez looked around and lowered her voice. “The elders are ones who have mastered all the flowers and herbs after many years of study and practice.

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