The Line Read Online Free Page A

breathtakingly gorgeous, but there were orchids that looked more like creatures than flowers. There was one orchid— Dracula tubeana— that looked exactly like a bat.
    Ms. Moore checked on Rachel’s progress once a week, watching while Rachel carried out the daily tasks required to keep the orchids growing and healthy. She commented on what Rachel was doing, quizzed her about the particular variety she was misting or feeding.
    “Why are you giving the phals that mix?” Ms. Moore, perched on a stool, watched Rachel as she worked.
    “It’s to help with bloom strength,” said Rachel. “This fertilizer has a higher phosphorus content, and that helps the flowering process.”
    Ms. Moore looked pleased. “Correct. Now, let’s move on to how one would repot those dendrobiums.” Ms. Moore indicated several pots of orchids sitting on the workbench. Their roots were creeping up over the lips of the pots, seeking out new territory to conquer. “Tell me the steps.”
    “First, I would carefully remove the plant and medium from the pot. Then I would very gently get all of the old potting medium off the plant’s roots.” Rachel looked at Ms. Moore to see if she was right so far.
    “Go on.”
    “Then I would check the roots for any damage or disease. I would check the leaves too.”
    “And what are you looking for when you check the roots?”
    Rachel thought about the notes she had studied the night before. “Soft spots. Or roots that are all dried up?”
    “And if you find that?”
    “I would remove those roots from the plant.” Rachel bit her lip. There was something more . . . and then she remembered. “I have to sterilize the scissors. Because orchids can get infections and so all the cuts have to be sterile.”
    Ms. Moore nodded. “Very good, Rachel. You’ve got a lot more to learn, but you are doing well.”
    “Should I repot these?” Rachel pointed to the dendrobiums.
    “That’s why they’re here. I’ll observe.”
    Rachel picked up the nearest pot and got to work. For a few minutes there was silence while she brushed dusty potting medium off the roots of the first plant. As she became less nervous about her task, Rachel decided to take a risk.
    “Ms. Moore?” Rachel kept her eyes on her work.
    “Yes, Rachel?”
    “Um.” Rachel wasn’t sure how she should start. “How do you like, um, how do you like living here?”
    “Careful with that leaf.” One of the leaves on the dendrobium was being bent too far because of the way Rachel was holding it.
    “Oh.” Rachel adjusted her grip.
    “By ‘here’ I assume you mean The Property?” Ms. Moore looked at Rachel quizzically. “Not here near the town of Bensen, or here in the Unified States?”
    Rachel nodded.
    “I like living here just fine.” Ms. Moore’s reply rang with a certain finality, as if there were nothing more to add to the subject.
    “Why do we call it The Property ?” Rachel realized as she asked the question that she had never wondered about it before. “They don’t call it that in Bensen.” She had heard a vendor ask her mother once, in a half whisper, how it was to work “out there on the Moore place.”
    “We just always have.” Ms. Moore sounded quite piqued that Rachel was still asking questions, but she continued. “Long ago that’s all it was—a piece of property. There was no greenhouse, no business, no home. I imagine my grandfather had lots of conversations with my grandmother about ‘the property,’ about his dreams for it, his hopes.” For a moment Ms. Moore seemed as though she might share something more, but the moment passed.
    “That one is done. On to the next.” Ms. Moore gestured to the row of pots waiting on the workbench.
    Rachel untangled the roots of the next dendrobium from the drainage hole of its pot. It took her a few moments, but she gathered the courage to press on with her investigation.
    “So, have you ever noticed anything . . . strange happening here?” She snuck a quick look at