Where Lilacs Still Bloom by Jane Kirkpatrick

at the slightest hint of joy. They’ll settle down once they’re married and likely be more open to their younger sister’s and brother’s lives, not so taken with their own. Especially now, with the wedding. It’ll happen for you too, one day, Martha.”
    “I’m not so sure.” Her brown eyes looked deeply into my own earth-toned eyes. “You and Daddy aren’t much different now than I imagine you were when you first married. You laugh and tease each other, and he puts his arm around you for a squeeze, even when your hands are full of flour dough.”
    I laughed. “That’s when he’s most likely to give me squeezes.” I leaned into her as though to share a secret. “Your father is a joker, and it’s my surprised squeal he likes the most. Did I tell you about the time he exchanged one farmer’s entire herd of cows with another farmer’s? On Halloween? Can you imagine those two farmers’ surprise at their morning milking?”
    She laughed. “It’s what I’d want if I ever did find a man to love. I like a sense of humor, and I like surprises.”
    “I didn’t realize that. I’ll keep that in mind.” I thought then I should plan a surprise for her on the girls’ wedding day.
    I walked the orchard, checked on new grafts I’d made, then on to the lilac nursery. We had five acres here, and I imagined one day every inch might be covered but for the paths weaving through the ornamentals and trees. Crossbreeding was tedious. I might get only one plant out of four hundred that was reusable for breeding. The rest would be thrown out. Frank said he didn’t mind the work or the toss-outs so long as he had three meals a day and my hand in his for a time on the porch at dusk. “One day I’d like to get an automobile,” he told me, “but other than that, watching you work toward that cream lilac or the one with many petals is enough wealth for me.”
    “One day.” I felt a little guilty spending so much money on the Lemoine. An auto would have made his life easier.
    I looked over the petals on an amethyst-colored lilac to see if there might be even one bloom with more than four petals.
    “Mother!” It was Lizzie. “Can you please forget those lilacs? You haven’t heard a word Delia and I have said to you, have you?”
    I might have blushed. “No, now, well, I was tending my plants for a minute.”
    “It’s been two hours, Mama. There are other things that need tending.”
    “I know, I know. Come along, then, let’s see what might be ready for your bouquets and the table dressings too.”
    The girls led me back toward the tulips where Martha knelt, then stood, the three girls “filling me in” as they called it, the way I filled in an open garden space with new plants. “Just stay here now, Mama,” Lizzie said. “Don’t go off with your hoe. What about lavender for our bouquets?” I nodded. Whatever they wanted would be fine. I owed them that.
    I had humbling to do about being as attentive to my children as I was to my flowers. Mr. Burbank wrote a book professing that raising plants was like raising children. Both were vexing and a privilege. He didn’t have family as far as I could tell, besides a mother who he brought out west to visit now and then—but otherwise, he was alone with his workers and his plants. That was enough for him. I wondered if one day it would have to be enough for me if I outlived my Frank.

S IXTEEN

N IGHTMARES AND D AYDREAMS
Hulda, 1904
    I n early June, just two weeks before the wedding, I startled awake. “Frank. Your horse must be out.”
    “Huh?” He woke groggy from my elbow poke. I heard a horse whinny, and Frank said, “That’s ours, in the barn.”
    “Cows, then,” I said. “Can’t you hear them?”
    I rose and grabbed my robe, tossing my long braid outward, feeling the pressure of it along my back. “They’re running around the house,” I said. Bobby—we named all our dogs Bobby—our new dog, had started to bark from the potting shed, and I shushed