Light blazed hot in the greenhouses, beating down on Sam and his classmates as they lined up in front of a wizened old woman with pure white hair and deep laugh lines around her eyes and mouth.

“Out with it. What have you lot done now?” she asked.

“It was just a little musical performance, Mrs. Jackson,” Eleanor said as she twisted her hair into a bun at the nape of her neck. “We didn’t even interrupt class with it—much.”

The old woman smiled, deepening several of the laugh lines. “And I see you’ve pulled a new one into your mischief. What are we going to do with you, child?”

“Set me and Sam to picking strawberries?”

The old woman sent a piercing stare Sam’s way. “You’re Sam, hey?”

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