There was, of course, a simple explanation for the nature of the paths and roads and the placement of the farms: the island was a mosaic of steep hills and jutting knees of rock, sheer cliffs and half-overgrown stone bluffs, tiered systems of lakes and streams, magnificent stands of old-growth forest full of moss-hung trees that resembled bearded old men, marshland that was passable only at certain times of year . . .
As Señora Castellan informed Kara, newcomers either loved or hated Isla Fiero. Unable to imagine that someone could hate such a place, Kara fell in love with it from the start.
With the wonder of a child, and with surprisingly relentless drive, she tackled what remained of the old vegetable garden, turning over the rich soil until her hands were blistered and calloused, her back stiff and sore. Within days she had planted hills of potatoes, rows of onions and garlic, more hills of cucumbers and zucchini, more rows of peas, cabbages, lettuce, radishes, rhubarb, carrots, corn, bush beans, parsnips and turnips, acorn squash and melons, until every last seed and plant from the garden shed was in the ground.
Guiseppe, in the meantime, removed an old disused set of lawn furniture from the shed and placed it beside the garden, freshly and brightly painted. 'A garden is better enjoyed when you can sit and look at it, eh?' he commented. 'Here, you make me tired just watching you. Sit down under the parasol awhile- the sun is very hot today.'
'Yes, and where is your hat I gave to you?' Maria admonished, coming to join them with a pitcher of lemonade and glasses. 'I don't want you working outside again until I see you wearing it.'
'I planted a whole big row of parsnips, just for you and me, Maria,' Kara told her, having discovered that no one else seemed to like her favourite vegetable. 'Was that a wagon I heard a while ago?'
'Señor Estevan is here with his wife and daughter,' Maria told her. 'Señor Estevan is a merchant from Port Haven.' With an unreadable quirk to her eyebrow, she added without looking at Kara, 'He expects that his daughter, Camilla, will be wed our Roman sometime in the near future.'
Kara found herself struck speechless by this unexpected bit of news, and to her own incomprehension, found that her heart felt as though it had turned over.
'Wh- what? Roman? To be married?'
As if in answer, a number of people emptied out of the house into the back garden but Kara had eyes only for two of them- Roman, erect and formal as always, and the beautiful girl in the white dress with flowing tumbles of raven-black hair who clung possessively to his arm. At that moment Kara's eyes and Roman's locked, and as if through his eyes she saw herself, a small nondescript sort of girl wearing a peasant dress, with sun-browned skin, bare dirty feet and dirt under her fingernails. Though the sun shone brightly the day seemed immediately dimmer, more remote, and Kara suddenly felt very acutely an outsider.