Melita sees my face. "What's the matter?"

"It's my mother. I'm afraid she's—" I stop cold.

"Still back on Earth, is she?"

   I clamp my mouth and nod. I don't want to say more, because I'm afraid I'll talk myself into a corner.

   The look she gives me is full of compassion. "I know," she says softly. "Everything is rotten up there right now. But if you haven't seen her here, chances are she's fine."

   She grabs my hand. "I can't believe how selfish I've been! I just kept blabbing about my family and never once asked who you left behind. Tell me about your mother now. It will make you feel better."

I shake my head frantically.

   "I bet she has someone to keep an eye on her, right?" she goes on. "Like Philomena—she has my mother. I know because I've been looking around and I haven't seen my mother here yet. And my husband will be back at the farm soon enough, and he can take care of everyone, family and goats alike."

   She spurts out a laugh. "That makes me remember a song he used to sing. This will take your mind off anything!"

   She starts teaching me a ballad about a wayward goatherd and his gullible sweetheart. I start to sing along, and soon, with every rowdy verse, I'm guffawing in a distinctly unladylike manner. It's lucky I made this garden down the path from the palace and not right up where everyone can see me. Melita was right: the song is doing a great job of making me forget my worries.

   We're calming down and getting back to work when an ancient man toddles over to the bench and sinks down slowly. I hold a finger to my lips and Melita nods. We'll give him some silence.

   The garden starts to work its magic on him.

   "Ah, the peace! The quiet!" He sighs. "No more, 'Why aren't you working faster? Can't you do any better?' Finally."

   He closes his eyes and lifts his face, soaking up solitude and sun.

   Turning to grab my trowel, I see newcomers coming out from the palace with their guides. I feel a flush of pride. It's one of the tours I started to help shades learn their way around.

   One group heads down toward the Lethe's grassy banks. As they pass within glancing distance of the garden, a very round woman stops and stares in our direction. She clamps little triangles of arms on her hips, then her hands fly up, and a faint shout drifts through the air. She looks like a stumpy, overfed toad, and Melita and I start giggling again. But the old man doesn't hear anything. He's intent on the music the bees make drowsing through the bushes.

   The roly-poly woman starts rushing toward us, pulling her skirts up so she can run faster. She gains momentum like a rock tumbling downhill. Soon we can see her creased red face and her screeches grow louder and louder.

   "There you are! Don't you try to hide from me. You come help me this minute!"

   The old man moans, his eyes still closed, as if in a bad dream.

   "Thought they could palm me off on that guide, did they?" shrieks the toad. "But a guide can't help me with these achy old legs. Come help me! Now!"

   The man opens his eyes. The woman is no dream. He lurches up, grabs his cane, and starts to hobble—but in the opposite direction! She's gaining. He tosses the walking stick aside and starts a lopsided run.

   Melita and I clamp our hands over our mouths, trying not to laugh out loud. But that tornado of a woman wouldn't hear us no matter what we do.

   "You come back here, you old good-for-nothing! Come help me drag these ailing bones."

   The old man flees toward the Lethe as fast as his rickety legs will carry him. Like an army scouring the countryside, she surges in his wake, flattening grasses and bushes as she goes. The gap narrows.

   "Don't you recognize me?" she hollers. "It's me, your sweetie pie!"

   Melita's shoulders are shaking like leaves in a windstorm, and my eyes are watering. Our laughter finally explodes, blasting our hands away. After a while I begin to catch my breath. Then I see Melita hugging her sides, gasping, "It's me, your sweetie pie!" And I'm off again.

   It feels so good. I wish I could laugh like this forever.

   "Well, it would have been a nice place for him to rest," says Melita, collapsing on her back in the grass.