Monarch butterflies, big as blowing mulberry leaves, passed back and forth through the windows, heralds of Carter’s return. One stopped to rest upon his knee, and he and Mr. Hope, the lawyer seated next to him, admired it a moment before it flitted away. The grass was green; sweet william and alyssum grew beside the road; it was summer. Carter sniffed the air, fragrant with coming rain from the clouds building in the west, breathing in his own nervous excitement. “The hills look right,” he said. “From the time I was old enough to travel I have searched for Evenmere, both while I attended Bracton College, and later, while serving as secretary to Kraighten Manor. I’ve become quite a hiker because of it. I had despaired of ever returning.” “And your father never corresponded with you, not in all those years?” Mr. Hope asked. He was young, with a pleasant, round face, dark hair, serious gray eyes, and a short laugh like a barking dog. They had met only the day before, briefly, in the attorney’s office.
