Mulch ado about nothing

time. I’m used to lecturing knowledgeable graduate students, however, not amateurs.”
    Jane bridled at the way he said “amateurs,“ as if it were a slightly obscene word. Someone gave a small and very ladylike snort. Jane guessed it was Miss Martha Winstead. It wasn’t nearly raucous enough to be Ursula.
    Ursula herself promptly spoke up, though she hadn’t been addressed. “My good sir, most of thegreat discoveries of mankind were made by amateurs, though that fact is often covered up. “ She waved her arm victoriously and an eyeglass repair kit fell out of her sleeve. “Intelligent amateurs can often see on overview what experts are too deeply into precious details to see. ‘Amateur’ is a flattering term.“
    “This isn’t getting off to a good start,“ Jane whispered to Shelley.
    “Probably more interesting than a ‘lecture,’ though,“ Shelley replied just as quietly. “This looks like a man who could bore us to sleep in five minutes or less.”
    Another man entered the room and aborted any reply the professor might have made by asking, “Is this the botany class?“ He was around forty years old and looked as if his slacks and shirt, as well as his thinning hair, had just been starched and ironed a moment ago. He had a round, shining clean face, eyeglasses that gleamed, and highly polished shoes.
    Stefan Eckert said, “It is. But our scheduled instructor has been injured and we have a wonderful substitute who has graciously volunteered to fill in. Time is getting away from us, folks. I suggest we start and if anyone else joins us, they can just slip in and catch up. I want to introduce our guest speaker and then each of you will give your name and a brief explanation of why you’re interested in this course.”
    The well-groomed newcomer took a chair at the front of the room and found himself next to Martha Winstead. “Miss Winstead!“ he exclaimed. “I never expected to find you here.“
    “Why is that, Mr. Jones?“ she asked curtly. Jane noticed that the woman’s hands tightened on the handle of her purse.
    He looked confused for a moment as to how to reply, then said, “Well, your gardening is so... so haphazard... I just thought you wouldn’t really be interested.”
    Miss Martha Winstead gave him a smile that could have frozen over a volcano and said, “Haphazard. How very interesting.“
    “If you wish to take notes, I have a few spiral notebooks here that the local nursery contributed,“ Stefan said in a shaky voice. “And some pens from my father’s office supply store,“ he added with desperate good cheer.

Four

    Stefan took a protective stance behind the desk ‘: at the front of the room and read off an introduction to the speaker. It was a long list, obviously prepared by the professor himself, of incomprehensible degrees and honors, initials of presumably high-status organizations Dr. Stewart Eastman belonged to or founded or served as president of, and awards Jane had never heard of. Stefan must have pronounced a number of them incorrectly, because every now and then Dr. Eastman, standing next to the desk, cringed ever so slightly.
    When Stefan stepped aside with a little bow, Dr. Eastman took his place, saying, “Since Mr. Eckert suggested introductions, we might as well proceed with them. Tell us who you are and why you signed on for this class. You first,“ he said, pointing to Jane.
    She gave her name and added, somewhat idiotically in her own view, “I’ve spent most of my adult life raising children and pets, but as a once- upon-a-time child of a member of the diplomatic corps, I lived my childhood all over the world and saw many gardens and have always thought I’d like very much to have one of my own. So far I’ve only taken the slightest stab at it and want to learn more.”
    Shelley was next. “My adult life has been much like Jane’s, but my children are growing older and more independent, giving me time to develop other interests. Gardening is high on my list of priorities. I’m Jane’s next-door neighbor.”
    Jane smiled to herself. This was a surprisingly meek self-description of Shelley. Shelley had finally been caught out in something she knew very little about and couldn’t even fake the dominant role that normally suited and served her so very well. Shelley made a tiny shoulder movement like a shrug or shiver, as if she were reading Jane’s mind.
    Charles Jones, the terribly neat, clean, freshly pressed man, was next. He stood up