***
Ada asked Julian to remain while she contacted Brightline’s company director and the municipal events officer. Mara wasn’t interested in watching the calls. She stepped outside with Evelyn and found Gabriel waiting beside the food tent. He’d brought two paper cups of apple cider that had already gone cold.
“Was that the old machine?” he asked.
Evelyn nodded.
“Did it really move?”
“Yes.”
“Was anyone hurt?”
“No.”
Gabriel released a breath and handed her a cup. “Good.”
He turned to Mara. “You found what was in the box.”
“We did.”
“I’m sorry I forgot about it.”
“You didn’t know what it contained,” she said.
“Maybe not. But I knew the key mattered. I should have brought it to Evelyn years ago.”
Evelyn shook her head. “I wouldn’t have looked at it. Not then.”
They stood in the lamplight while families passed carrying paper lanterns. Across the lawn, a little girl in a wool hat asked her father why the silver flower wasn’t opening. He told her it must be sleeping.
Evelyn watched the child for a long moment. “I’d like it to wake someday.”
Mara looked at the dark dome. “Not that one. Not like that.”
“No,” Evelyn said. “Not like that.”
Before they could leave, Leon came running across the grass, holding a battered cardboard box. “You need to see this.”
He had been helping Sheila dismantle the smaller decorations when he’d found the box beneath a folding table near Brightline’s tent. Inside were thin mirrored petals made of silver card, each attached to a simple hand-operated hinge. Their backs carried a penciled mark: EV RUSK / PORTABLE GARDEN / VERSION B.
“These are yours?” Mara asked Evelyn.
Evelyn blinked. “I made those as prototypes. I thought they’d gone with the warehouse.”
Leon lifted one of the petals. Its hinge opened smoothly when he tugged a string. “There’s no motor. The whole thing works with hand levers.”
Mara took a closer look. The prototypes formed a miniature version of the Glass Garden, but instead of asking a floor to lift people, they used twelve separate fan-shaped panels on upright frames. They could be opened by twelve operators standing safely outside the display.
“Could we mount them on the existing portable stands?” Mara asked.
Leon grinned. “The choir has twelve sheet-music stands.”
Evelyn laughed in disbelief. “They’re too light to hold these.”
“We have sandbags,” he said. “And the art club made twelve wooden bases this morning.”
Mara glanced at her watch. The centennial finale was supposed to begin in forty minutes. The enormous flower could not be made safe in that time. A small hand-operated garden might be possible, provided they kept it away from the damaged machinery and checked every mounting point.
