Chapter 1
Dear Clara,
School is horrible. The food tastes like sadness and the older boys are tyrants. My roommate plays his violin at dawn. Quite badly, I might add. I may perish from lack of sleep and decent pudding.
But I've made a friend! His name is Edmund and he's from London and he's never seen a cow.
Can you imagine? Never seen a cow! I told him about our garden and he didn't believe me that we grafted a rose.
He says girls don't do gardening. I told him you do everything.
He wants to meet you to see if you're real or if I've invented you.
I told him no one could invent someone as odd as you.
How's our rose? Have a care, and let it not perish, I beseech you!”
Your friend, Gabriel
P.S. - Latin is still dead. More dead than before, if possible.
Clara wrote back immediately:
Dear Gabriel,
Of course your friend doesn't believe I exist. I'm far too extraordinary to be real. Tell him I'm actually three feet tall with green hair and six fingers on each hand. That should be a lesson well taught.
Our rose is thriving WITHOUT YOU. I've been reading to it from that book about pirates you left behind and it seems to enjoy the violence. I am under the impression that we are raising a bloodthirsty plant.
The garden misses you. The apple tree looks droopy. Even the fountain seems to leak more sadly.
But I'm managing PERFECTLY WELL. Yesterday I fixed the bench you broke last month. It only wobbled a little bit afterward.
Your extraordinarily real friend, Clara
P.S. Mrs. Weatherby was seen purchasing an unusual amount of rennet. Cheese conspiracy confirmed.