I set my coffee mug down on the chestnut table.
Admiral Mercer walked to my side, setting the brass transit down on the wood with a soft, steady clink:
“Our father’s line holds true, Eleanor,” David said softly.
Running up from the garden terrace along the newly planted flower beds, her hands carrying a fresh basket of blooming red and yellow marigolds…
Came young Eleanor, the Second Circuit Judge.
She had left her judicial robes in Washington for the weekend. She wore denim dungarees, gardening gloves, and a warm cardigan, her eyes shining with that fierce, untroubled brilliance that no tyrant on earth could ever extinguish.
Young Eleanor set the basket of flowers on the chestnut table between our plates.
She leaned down, wrapping her arms around my shoulders, pressing her warm cheek against mine:
“Aunt Eleanor?” she whispered into the morning breeze:
“The garden is in full bloom.”
