Chapter 8. Juniper
Sunday, December 22nd, 1929
He had gifted her with juniper.
Not the innocence of white carnations, not the good wishes of basil, not the daintiness of aster, or the slighted love of yellow chrysanthemums, not the folly of geraniums or the loyal love of daisies, not the loveliness of white hyacinths or the elegance of yellow jasmine. She could have understood the sadness of willows, the grief of marigold, even the distrust of lavender.
But, on their first date, Harry had chosen juniper. He had chosen to gift her with cleanliness and protection—all she could do was wonder…
protection from whom?
Whose cleanliness was he concerned for?
Did he feel the need to cleanse her soul and protect himself from her?
Perhaps he had read into her soul. Perhaps he knew what darkness lay beneath her alabaster skin, what monsters lurked in the pit of her stomach.
"They're great for cooking," he said as she looked down at the shrub of juniper.