Part 1

      Mary chuckles at this, nodding her agreement. “It is, but it's one of my favorite little etiquette books. Now I have to think that anyone reading it would take it with a grain of salt – how often does anyone now set their table in the 'proper' manner? I know my cookbooks still have a page or so about just what angle your glass should be at in relation to the plate, but, I've certainly never paid it any mind.”
      I grin, nodding as I flip through the first few pages – a blank leaf, a few words on each page--- “Ooo!” There are gorgeous linework illustrations: large intricate calligraphic lettering, a full page showing several different scenes of people presumably doing things politely, and then stunning little borders and line-breaks of flowers and swirls.
      “I knew you'd like it!”
      “Oh I do, this is absolutely lovely.” One flower looks rather like Evelyn's canterbury bells, and another is... chicory, maybe? I'm still pretty shaky on the whole flower identifying thing, but I've been happily surprised at how much is sticking, especially when it's a flower I've drawn. I continue until I reach the table of contents, and grin as I see the wide array of social mores that are outlined in such detail. Manners, introductions, salutations, etiquette on making calls... all of these with sub-headings, of course, clearly summarizing wasn't the author's strong suit. “The bow, its proper mode.” “Words of salutation.” Ha! “How to avoid recognition”, I can't wait to see the polite mode of that one. “Receptions, balls, and parties,” that might actually be useful in helping to understand Cora and her eight million activities. “Etiquette at Washington, Etiquette of foreign courts,” I wonder if traveling abroad was just taken for granted by the upper classes at the time? “Colors and their harmony in dress”! I wonder if those rules have changed over the long years?
      “There,” Mary pokes a finger at the next page I turn to. “My favorite – 'Language of Flowers'.”
      I raise an eyebrow, and look up at her, a bit puzzled. “It's not, like, a translation guide, for hearing flower spirits or something, is it?”
      She laughs. “No, though I'm sure one of the thousand psychics and new-agey people in this county could find you one of those. But around Victorian times, there was a whole branch of floral arrangement devoted to mixing flowers with different meanings. Like... I can't think of an exact example, but, say some rather obnoxious young lady wasn't picking up on the fact that you hated her guts. Send her a bouquet of... say daisies and marigolds, assuming that daisies mean “thoughts of you” and marigolds mean “repulsion”.”
      I laugh aloud at this. “Really? Flowers would mean such awful things?”
      “Really! Oh, so many of them are fantastically morbid and absolutely horrible. Here, let's see...” She lifts the book from the table and flips through to the applicable chapter. “Adonis vernalis – which is that tiny little bright yellow flower that blooms through the snow half the time – means bitter memories. Asphodel is 'regrets beyond the grave', in case of zombie lovers. Wild licorice is 'I declare against you'...”
      Giggling with her, I move the book to where we can both see, and scan the lists with her. “'The ambition of my love thus plagues itself'... oh that gives me shivers! I wonder what a fuchsia looks like.”
      “Probably a pinkish-purple.”
      I roll my eyes at her. “Why thank you. You know, they never really did teach us much about colors in my art major classes.”
      She looks absolutely angelic, and I can't help but giggle. “...I do actually have a few flower identification books, and there's always Google.”
      “Ah, Google. Making research librarians everywhere completely irrelevant.”
      “Oh please. I can't tell Google, 'find me stuff I'll like', and have it bring me such goodies as these.”
      She smiles warmly at this, and pats my shoulder. “Always here to help, dear. This book isn't usually in full circulation, we keep the lovely old books stashed away where small children won't pick them up for use as projectile weaponry. But I'll just make a note in the records that I've loaned it out to you, and you can take it home with the rest if you'd like.”
      “I'd love to, thank you! These should keep me plenty busy for awhile. I was going to pick up a nice cozy book of ghost stories while I was here, but... I think I have ghosts enough around me just now.”
      “Well, adult fiction's over in that corner, and young adult is on the left wall there – I continually find some of my old favorites filed in young adult, so I refuse to feel guilty for pulling books from there for my own reading.”
      “Oh I know... Anne of Green Gables is usually in there, and I seem to pick that back up every few years again.”
      “Oh, Gilbert.” She sighs dreamily, putting folded hands beneath her chin and looking far away. “I always get so frustrated with Anne for refusing such a handsome young man.”

      Back at home that evening, I flip through the books a bit. I'd planned to start in on one of the town history books, but, I can't help but go back to that list of flowers. I wonder how prevalent a thing that was back then? Would everyone have known at a glance what every common flower meant? Or was it something that only a few people got really into? Like, I could rattle off the names of a couple video games, but I couldn't tell you what their plot lines were or anything, I have a vague sense of them from commercials, and might get one out of a dozen jokes made about them, but I've only actually played a few.
      Canterbury bells! Do they have a meaning? I turn the pages carefully – they smell so wonderful, I really do love old books like this. The warm, spicy, woodsy scent of the paper, the ivory pages darkening to golden ochre at the edges, the occasionally irregularities in the typesetting... and, naturally, the illustrations. I'm so fascinated by detailed linework like this, whether it's a cross-hatch laden woodcut or... I don't even know what the other options were for printing illustrations at the time! I'm sure the full-color presses weren't too different from how offset printing works now, with plates and layers of color... but what about in-line illustrations like these? Were they just big fancy blocks made from the same stuff as the letters?
      I should have taken a printmaking class or two, I have no idea how any of this stuff works. All I have are vague memories of learning how newspapers are made when I was in elementary school – though it occurs to me, I'm sure that's all changed in the years since, I'm sure layout work is done on computers now. How weird, that big a change in my lifetime already.
      Page 410! There. Let's see... there's a page or so of introduction, and... I stop to stare confusedly at an illustration. It's a big clear bowl, sitting on a table or something, with water plants sticking out of it... some kind of lily I think, a few others I don't recognize, and fish. There are like four fish swimming around in this big vase. Or maybe that's just how aquariums were done then? It just looks so funny, it's like a big trifle dish or something, with flowers and fish.
      Here we go, alphabetical list... While a few of the names are in Latin, thankfully most are in English, using the common names wherever possible I suppose. Flower-newbie-me appreciates this. “Cactus – Thou leavest me, Calla Lilly – Feminine beauty...”
      “Canterbury Bell – Gratitude.”
      I stop and stare at the words for a long moment.
      “Kimberly, do you like flowers? I'll plant some for you! Promise!” Both times that I've seen Evelyn, she's worn light blue dresses. I don't know if that's enough to assume it's her favorite color, but clearly she's drawn to it, and something... Those were the first flowers I weeded around, the first real connection I made with the gardens, and while she wasn't the first person I saw...
      I'm sure it's all my overactive imagination making the connections it wants to make, regardless of logic and reason, but... I have to think she planted the canterbury bells for me, and that she knew the meaning of them.
      I skim the list for awhile, interesting meanings or flowers whose names I recognize catching my eye now and then. I'll have to make a copy of these pages – would it be okay to put paper this old on a copy machine, or should I just write it out by hand?
      “Honeysuckle – The bond of love.” That, is really lovely. Cora was seated among some honeysuckle, and she'd looked so faraway and sad as she looked at the flowers... I wonder. Coral honeysuckle is “the color of my fate”, I don't even quite understand what that means but it makes me shiver a little.

      Shortly after I've decided that I should get up and find a sketchbook to jot down notes on the flowers I've seen around people and what the associated meanings are, I open my eyes and realize I'd dozed off. It's just starting to get dark outside, I wonder how long I was out? I pause a moment, trying to remember if I'd dreamed anything... but no luck. Not that I need to search my dreams for drawing ideas any more – the Masons are giving me far more than I have time to process! I gently close the old book, and look around to find somewhere safe I can put the library books. Uncurling a little stiffly, I clear a space on my over-crowded bookshelf, and lay them there together. Hopefully, if I keep them all together as best I can, I won't forget to bring one or another of them back.
      Yawning, I look dully around the room. My eyes are so foggy, I won't try to draw tonight. But I pick up a small sketchbook from the couch, and a pencil from my desk, and bring them into the bedroom to set on the nightstand. Memory may be serving better than imagination just now, but I'm still not going to pass over any sudden brilliant ideas from my subconscious.