PART I

"…and when the fire of love is ablaze,

it burneth to ashes the harvest of reason."

The Seven Valleys

PROLOGUE

The beads of sweat were gathering on Maddie‘s upper lip and she tasted the salt. She‘d been told

not to wear her blue jeans, only skirts below the knee, but it didn‘t matter, she was still dripping. She

could see the vapor rising off the banana trees. She pinched her shirtfront and shook it.

They had left the university vehicle behind and were traipsing thru the dry, narrow footpaths in the

mountainside. Places you couldn‘t get to in a car. The pace of their walking was limited by the

temperature, off course. Sometimes she looked down at the ground and saw deep cracks in the red

earth. When she looked up into the distance she saw wispy clouds hiding the mountain peaks.

Now they came upon a stick fence and Joseph Mliko, the interpreter, clapped his hands and yelled

out a greeting before stepping tentatively inside the small compound.

―Wait,‖ Maddie whispered. ―Shouldn‘t we wait for permission to go in?‖

A small black woman peered out of the thatched hut and then emerged with a child in her arms.

This is how Maddie first met Mama Tsongo in Nyasa village, in Malawi.

―Hi! How are you? I‘m Maddie Hawkins. I‘m from…the United States.‖ Did the woman know

where that was? Maddie spoke slowly and enunciated clearly. ―I‘m here because…to gather some

data…information.‖

She paused to let Joseph catch up on the translation of Chichewai to English. Her eyes flicked

down to the two little faces hanging onto Mama Tsongo‘s skirt, to the other curious eyes peering from

behind her. It was a small crowd of children. The little one in Mama Tsongo‘s arms had a fly crawling

all over his face. His droopy eyelids were crusted with a gritty white substance. The ones standing

behind her had round bloated bellies, matchstick legs. Kwashiorkor, Maddie recalled, clear signs of

malnutrition. Lack of protein, actually. She panicked, trying to remember if she had any snacks in her

backpack.

Was this woman their mother or their grandmother?

She looked back up because the woman had become excited. She spoke rapidly and her voice rose

and fell like a Miriam Makeba song.

Joseph translated , ―She says, welcome back, tall daughter of Ahhfrica. She says you are home,‖

his round face smiled the words.

―Thank you. That‘s nice,‖ she smiled at the diminutive woman, then asked Joseph, ―What does

she mean? Welcome back? I‘ve never been here.‖

"She thinks you are one of the lost children," he answered.

―The lost children?‖ She puzzled.

―The children that disappeared. They were taken by the slave traders.‖ He gestured to indicate

some remote point back in history.

Maddie felt a sudden jolt. ―Oh my God!‖ she said, looking into the little woman‘s eyes. Mama

Tsongo reached up and pulled her down gently, cupping her face and patting her arms with a worn

black hand. An uninvited lump pained Maddie‘s throat. Things she had been taught—the Middle

Passage, the journey of Africans to America, the grievous holocaust of nine million souls—these

welled up in her mind. How surreal.

She had gone to Malawi for a simple college internship in agriculture, and discovered she had a

deeper connection. It had become sort of a pilgrimage, a return to a heritage and a past imprinted in her

genes.

***

Her internship with Malawi University lasted three months. Whenever she came from Lilongwe to

Nyasa village to gather data on the heirloom bean mixtures grown by the Malawi farmers Maddie went

to Mama Tsongo, ostensibly to document her farming practices, but more out of attraction to her wise

ways.

She appeared well over fifty and had the air of an elder, but Maddie discovered she was in fact

only twenty-nine years old. She was the third wife in a polygamous marriage and she claimed she was

the mother of thirteen children.

―Thirteen children? You‘ve borne thirteen children?‖ Maddie wasn‘t sure she‘d gotten the number

right. Her Chichewa was very rudimentary. Holy Mother of God! Hadn‘t she ever heard of birth

control pills?

Don’t be stupid Maddie. Here? How? From whom would she get them? How many crops would

she have to grow and sell to afford a month‘s supply?

Abstinence then. But would she have a choice about that?

―Only seven are living,‖ Joseph added.

Maddie drew in a thin stream of air. Slowly, to assuage an ache in her chest. How did a woman

endure the loss of six children?

She couldn‘t just let it pass. It wasn‘t just a survey question anymore. Something was required of

her. So she used the words she knew, to speak to her directly.

―And…and you‘ve lost six?‖

―Six.‖ She nodded, an ancient smile in her eyes.

This figure could have been attributed to poor counting ability because it was so fantastic, but

Maddie found she could not discount it, because Mama Tsongo actually described the placing of the

dead children by introducing the living children who flanked them in the family line. She put her hand

on the head of each child as she pulled them gently to stand before Maddie. Some tried to go back and

hide behind her skirt, others just stood there gawking at her, showing all their teeth in their smiles.

My God. So much innocence. Mama Tsongo‘s pride seemed to be in how many of her children she

had managed to keep alive, despite miscarriage and infant mortality.

Maddie asked to walk around her plot and Mama Tsongo showed her the rocky field, no bigger

than a postage stamp, on a hillside with a forty-five degree slope. Like many African farmers, eighty

percent of whom are women, she grew her beans on a plot she neither had the right to own nor inherit.

With that same devotion with which she had nursed each one of her children, she wielded her hoe and

tended the hillside. And all her watchful effort yielded no more than a few bushels of beans.

Bundles of dry bean plants hung from the sides of the hut to dry. Mama Tsongo showed her the

clay pots where she stored her harvest. If the beans were covered with ashes, they might be protected

from weevils, and feed her family until the next crop.

Maddie sensed that for Mama Tsongo, farming was a high stakes game, with a deadly margin of

risk. A bad rust infestation that reduced her harvest could also reduce her family.

Maddie saw a lot in those three months. With the mind of a privileged American she registered

shock at every new discovery, every sign of ingrained and wrenching poverty. She dreamed of making

a difference. She dreamed of producing some revolutionary new bean variety, with high yield and

immune to disease. But she felt powerless to change the pattern of things.

Then she came home and became engulfed by the seductive apathy of the academic grind. Mama

Tsongo and her brood receded slowly into a realm of unreality, far and distant as the outer orbits of a

self-centered universe.

But the mark left by that waif-like woman lay dormant until the day, mid-way through her Ph.D.,

when Maddie found herself angrily crying in a bathroom stall. That day, the memory of Mama Tsongo

took on a symbolic importance in her affairs. A saying drummed into her from childhood resurfaced,

"Be anxiously concerned with the needs of the age ye live in and center your deliberations on its

exigencies and requirements.”

And it was the combination of this saying, that ebony face, and the ignoble circumstance of the

moment she found herself, sniveling in a bathroom stall, that propelled her to break the inertia that

bound her, to finally assert herself. And to move her dreams from the nebulous province of longing,

into the realm of possibility.

Chapter 1

To merit the madness of love, man must abound in sanity…

The Seven Valleys

John Pitts, a second year doctoral student at the University of Wisconsin-Madison, walked up the

steps of Linden Hall bright and early on Monday morning. When he opened the door to the main

office, he caused a bit of a stir. Barb sighed, Jennie salivated, and Alma offered a friendly, businesslike

greeting.

"Hi, John, you're back! We thought you'd be gone the whole semester." Her chirpy voice matched

her plump figure.

"No way, Alma," John flashed a smile. ―I couldn't afford to stay away that long. I have my prelims

this term."

After being gone all summer in Puerto Rico harvesting experimental linesii, the grand stairway at

the entrance of the Plant Breedingiii

Departmentiv

and the dark wood of the archways had seemed

oppressive to John, in stark contrast to the whitewashed simplicity back at the Isabela Experiment

Station.

"Oh, well. Let me get your mail then,‖ Alma said. ―It's been piling up."

She walked off into the back room to retrieve it. John looked up to see a smiling Jennie at the file

cabinets. The top drawer slid closed and she leaned her body up against it, offering him a full frontal

view. Jennie was much younger than Alma.

"Boy, do you have a nice tan, John!" she said. "Bet you had a good time, knowing you."

John shrugged off the veiled allusion to his ―party animal‖ reputation. "Nah, Jennie, I had to work

twenty-four seven to get the harvest in and get back here in time for classes." He felt dead tired. The

flight had gotten into O‘Hare at ten last night, and then he‘d had a three-hour bus ride to Madison.

"You're late. Fall semester started two weeks ago."

"I know."

"Didn't you have enough workers?" she asked.

"A couple. It wasn't enough."

"Yeah. Dr. Pinkerton‘s an old tightwad, isn't he? Tries to squeeze blood out of a turnip." Since she

was the departmental bookkeeper, Jennie was aware of his professor‘s accounts.

Alma came back and handed him a box. "There! Have fun sorting through that!"

He looked at the box filled with junk mail and lab equipment catalogs and groaned. "Well, I better

get busy. Goodbye ladies." His smile flashed indiscriminately.

Alma went back to her typing, but Jennie looked at his retreating form. The backpack hung off

broad shoulders and the blue jeans fit his long legs perfectly.

Barb threw her a barely audible whisper, ―Go on, I dare you!‖

Jennie made as if she were going to the mailboxes near the door and said, "Hey John…"

He looked back. ―Yeah?‖

"Call me sometime." Her eyes held a warm promise.

As he took the wide stairway two steps at a time John thought about it, but he wasn't sure he

would take her up on her offer. Maybe, if it didn‘t get complicated. He couldn‘t afford to goof off

much this semester.

He walked into the grad-student office on the second floor and was greeted by Pete Shalley‘s high-

pitched voice. "John! There you are, you lucky dog!!‖

―Hey, guys, how‘s it going around here?‖ His greeting took in Dave Rankin at the next desk. The

office was the same: books and papers piled on top of and under every desk; the two bookshelves

covered with dusty printouts, manuscripts, lab books and what-not; somebody‘s dirty boots in one

corner, boxes of seed samples stacked on the floor; notes taped to every available space, but not a

picture, a plant anywhere. It was a thoroughly male bastion.

Pete was all curiosity. ―How was Puerto Rico? How were the beaches? Did you catch some rays?

What about the bikini babes, huh?"

John was reminded of a panting puppy dog. He put the box of mail down on the desk and his

backpack on the chair. He looked around for the garbage can.

Pete turned to Dave, "Hey, knowing John, he caught more than a few of those Puerto Rican

beauties. And he didn't just look, either. How about it John, did you score big-time? Spill the beans,

man!"

"No. I was too busy harvesting your plants, remember?" He'd be damned if he'd share any details

of the few times he had taken time off. Girls in Puerto Rico weren‘t all living the vida loca, despite the

popular song.

―Yeah, I owe you one, man,‖ Pete said. Then he smiled as if he‘d figured out a way to repay John.

"Hey! Maybe you can get some action around here. Dr. Gates has this new graduate student."

―Oh?‖ John dumped the mail out on his desk. ―What‘s she like?‖ he asked. It didn‘t take much to

turn Pete into a babbling idiot.

―She's a goddess! A ripe papaya ready for the picking." He looked over his shoulder. ―Right,

Dave?‖

Dave talked slower, but in the same vein as Pete. "Yeah. Talk about fruit. The girl's definitely got

some.‖ His lazy voice droned on, ―Hey! Why don't you go over and meet her, John?"

―Yeah, yeah!‖ Pete‘s voice always did raise another pitch when he was excited.

John didn't care much for their metaphors. The guys were crude and their thinking on the subject

of women lacked elegance. It was amazing how much those two had in common, one being from rural

Georgia, the other from Cicero. But his curiosity was mildly peaked.

―So, if she‘s so gorgeous, how is it that you‘re offering her to me?‖ He methodically discarded

pieces of junk mail into the garbage after a cursory examination.

―Oh, she‘s, well, she‘s out of our league, you could say,‖ Pete explained, glancing sideways at

Dave.

―Yeah, you could say that,‖ Dave agreed.

John‘s eyebrows went up. ―You too, Dave? Didn‘t you take a crack? You‘re only half as ugly as

Pete here.‖

―Well excu-u-use me! We can‘t all have your sex appeal.‖ Dave got loud, then got sincere. ―Truth

is, she‘s a little scary. But why don‘t you take a stab, pretty boy?‖ John shrugged. ―Fine, I‘ll take a

look.‖ He dumped the last of the junk mail into the gray metal basket. ―I've got to go over and give

Dan Gates his seed I brought back, anyway."

As he headed across the hall he thought he sniffed a rat. They were a little too anxious for him to

meet this paragon. Either something was seriously wrong with this woman, or she was unbearably

ugly.

***

After John closed the door, Pete jumped up from his swivel chair. ―Ha! Won‘t that be a match!‖

Dave sneered. "This‘ll be one chick that won't come when old John Pitts whistles."

"Hey, don't be too sure,‖ Pete countered, ―They're pretty hot to trot."

"Nah, they stick to their own kind. Plus, you can get the tar beat out of you if you mess with them.

Haven't you seen the big guys walking around campus?‖

"Yeah, I've seen them. You know, you can only get so many of them on the football team. Or the

basketball team. What else do you think they‘re here for?‖

"Well, Plant Breeding, for one," Dave answered, his thumb motioning across the hall where the

goddess lived.

Pete frowned. "How do you suppose she got here?‖

―Had to be that affirmative action shit,‖ Dave answered.

Pete settled back down at his desk and picked up a horseracing pennant hanging off of it. ―You

know. We got a saying back home.‖

―Yeah?‖ Dave leaned back in his chair and crossed his hands behind his head. ―What?‖

―Just ‗cause a filly got let out of the gate doesn‘t mean it‘ll make it to the finish line.‖

***

Although forewarned, John was unprepared for his first meeting with the goddess. As he opened

the door to Dr. Gates' graduate student office, he was confronted with the back of a laughing woman

reaching her hand out for the doorknob. She was exchanging some joke with Lisa Burnett and she

nearly bumped into him. In a flash he absorbed a tall slim body, a little white T-shirt under the

spaghetti-strap dress, beautiful feet in gold sandals. But the most salient features tickling his

consciousness were those LEGS. Long, smooth, cinnamon legs, with slight dimples on the backs of the

knees.

Even as his brain registered all this, she was turning, and, as if in slow motion, he beheld an utterly

angelic brown face, framed by a mane of honey-brown hair, with twinkling deep pools for eyes.

Orange brown eyes.

―Whoa!‖ she exclaimed, as her extended hand punched him somewhere between his chest and his

solar plexus. Her arm recoiled, whip-like. ―Sorry!‖ she smiled.

And then it seemed to John that her whole being changed. Her smiling face was replaced by a

polite expression. And the twinkling eyes became shuttered.

He heard Lisa say, "Hi John, have you met Maddie?"

"No, I haven't. How are you? I'm John Pitts."

The goddess replied "Hi, I'm Maddie Hawkins. Pleased to meet you." But the expression was still

guarded, and those beautiful brown eyes were still shuttered. He wanted to make them smile again.

He forced his eyes to focus on Lisa, "Hey, Lisa, I've missed two weeks of Dr. Anderson‘s Plant

Genetics class. Any chance I could take a peek at your notes, hon?"

"Sure John, you can look at my scribbles. But Maddie's are much better, I guarantee it. Why don't

you borrow hers?"

He looked at the creature. She had a look that said, ―I know what's expected of me."

"You're welcome to have them," she said.

"You sure you don‘t mind?‖

―Yes—I mean, no!‖ she corrected.

He smiled. ―Thanks, I'll stop by later, then."

The girls proceeded out the door. Lisa's head poked back in before she closed it. "You can shut

your mouth now, John," she whispered.

Had he been that obvious? Had she taken a dislike of him because he‘d been foaming at the

mouth?

But, goodness, he had reason. She was the most exquisite woman he'd ever set eyes on. While she

smiled, the whole room had seemed lit up. And when that smile had vanished, he'd felt like a little boy

who had dropped his ice cream on the pavement. After just one lick.

As she walked down the hall with Lisa, Maddie fought, with some irritation, to cool the fire in her

cheeks. When she'd bumped into the tall frame, she felt as if she'd been stung. His tanned face and gold

brown hair spoke of California beach volleyball, and his smooth voice resonated somewhere deep in

her core. Blue eyes, intense, magnetic, mischievous. God! Her face had become hot. She felt a

fascination against her will, an involuntary physical attraction. She had dropped her eyes and retreated

behind a mask of politeness.

Now she rebelled. No man was going to make her lower her eyes. Have some pride girl! You can

control your mind, can’t you?

Besides, she wasn‘t supposed to be looking at men that way anyway.

"Who‘s he working for?" she asked the small woman who over the last months had become a

close friend. She and Lisa had hit it off the first day they'd met, despite the fact that she was only a

Master's student and Maddie was starting her Ph.D.

"He's Dr. Pinkerton's graduate student,‖ she said. ―Actually, he practically runs his project. Dr.

Pinkerton doesn't keep a field technician like other professors, so his graduate students have to take on

those responsibilities. John ends up doing most of it."

"How come he called you honey?" Maddie asked.

"Oh that," Lisa shrugged. "John's like a big brother to me. When I was in my undergrad I worked

for Dr. Pinkerton, watering plants, scrubbing down the greenhouse, washing glassware in the lab. John

taught me the ropes."

"Oh." Maddie wasn't sure why she'd wanted to know. Maybe the term ―hon‖ had just sounded

politically incorrect. But it appeared to be based on affection between friends.

She was still getting to know Lisa‘s mannerisms. It seemed she was going to share something

further about the guy and then her brown eyes sparkled and she jumped to another subject. It was

almost as if she did it on purpose to distract Maddie.

―So how about those Badgers, huh? You going to the game on Saturday?‖

―Me?‖ Maddie looked up in horror. ―You wouldn‘t catch me at one of those things if my life

depended on it!‖

―C‘mon. You ought to try it. It‘s one hell of a shindig. Everybody goes insane for the team. The

beer, the brats.‖

―Yeah, with guys puking all over the stands, yelling obscenities at the top of their lungs.‖

―Hey. I‘ll have you know it‘s not just the guys who puke. We women can do a pretty good job of

that too.‖

Maddie did a double take. Was Lisa kidding or was she proud of that?

―When people drink, they forget all their inhibitions—‖ Maddie started.

―And their stress. It‘s good to cut loose once in a while.‖

―That might well be true. But not like that. People do all sorts of stupid, even dangerous things

when they‘re in that state. At MSU they used to grab girls and pass them up in the stands like a sack of

potatoes.‖

―Yeah. They do that here too. One time they passed a girl clear over the bleachers.‖

―What?‖ Maddie gasped.

Lisa kind of lifted up her shoulders. ―Hey, that‘s what I heard. I wasn‘t around when it happened.

People probably exaggerate.‖

―I don‘t know. Doesn‘t sound like something I want to be around for. You really dig football that

much?‖

―Oh, it‘s Ernie,‖ she explained, referring to her boyfriend. ―He loves to go. Comes down from

Stevens Point just to see the Badgers lose. He paints his face red, sometimes his whole chest even.

He‘s crazy. I think since he didn‘t go to school here, he went to UW-Stevens Point, he‘s like, you

know, obsessed. Badger mania.‖

Somehow, the picture Maddie was getting of Ernie wasn‘t very congruent with the woman

standing in front of her. ―So what‘s he studying?‖

―Oh, Ernie‘s graduated already. He drives a pizza truck.‖

***

John was strictly businesslike later in the afternoon when he came to borrow Maddie's notes. She

was sitting at her desk and had to look up at him.

―Here they are.‖ She handed him the neat binder.

"Okay," he said, "I'll run down to the copy shop and have these back to you in an hour."

"Oh, no hurry,‖ she said, "Our next class isn't till Wednesday, and I've already reviewed them,

anyway."

And she's organized, too. Watch it John. You're staring again.

She reached for a pen and started twirling it around in her fingers. "How…how come you missed

the first two weeks of the term, anyway?" she asked.

"Oh, I was down in Puerto Rico.‖ John leaned against the bookshelf. ―That's where Dr. Pinkerton

grows all the F2 populations for the beet breeding project. I had to supervise the harvest."

"Sounds interesting. How was it?" she asked.

"Oh, lots of sun," John murmured, recalling backbreaking hours of labor in the midday heat.

Her eyes seemed to be avoiding contact. "Well, just put the notes on my desk when you're done

with them,‖ she said.

"Okay, thanks." John felt he'd been dismissed.

Back at his desk, he was impressed with the caliber of her notes. Even, rounded handwriting, very

neat. But what he admired was their content: she hadn‘t missed much. He wondered if the fact that

their graduate student office was almost clinically clean had anything to do with her presence there.

The bookshelves were lined with neat rows of reprints and journals. The coffee maker on the counter

had sugar and creamer, and stirrers, for God‘s sake! Each of the six desks had some semblance of order

to it. And somebody had put a collection of African violets on the windowsill.

He would have been happier to discover that she was somewhat stupid and incompetent, so as to

lessen an impulsive attraction that could complicate his life. He did not need any distractions before his

prelims.

Prelims…That dreaded rite of passage anyone seeking official admission to doctoral candidacy

had to pass. The three-hour exam, which was conducted orally by five professors, involved a review of

all knowledge pertinent to the field of Plant Breeding and Genetics. He would be grilled on everything

he'd studied since kindergarten. Graduate students usually took their prelims after completing all of

their coursework, and they studied for months beforehand. He would have to study while at the same

time taking classes, practically running Dr. Pinkerton's project single-handed, and conducting his own

research. Nope, he really didn‘t want any distractions.

The door swung open and Pete walked in and threw down his backpack. "Hey, John. Did you meet

her? Did you meet the goddess?" he asked. John frowned at the overloud voice.

Glancing at the open door he answered quietly, "You mean Maddie Hawkins? Yeah, I met her. I'm

looking over her notes right now."

"Oh, wow!" Pete came to look over his shoulder. "I wouldn't mind looking over her notes myself.

I wouldn't mind that at all." He lowered his insinuating voice, "Hey, John! Did you notice those…‖ His

hands looked like they were weighing two large grapefruits.

John felt the hairs on the back of his neck rising. "All right, all right, Pete, that's enough." Why

wouldn‘t he drop it?

"Hey, just because she's… you know… doesn't make me blind. In fact," he grinned, then went on ,

"they say that they have double the umph, these hoochie coochie mamas."

―Jesus!‖ John nearly catapulted from his seat to shut the door to the grad office. "Look, man, keep

your voice down," he nearly growled. ―Better yet, keep your thoughts to yourself!‖

Pete put up his palms, as if he were being unfairly chastised. "Okay, okay," he said.

They both turned back to their own desks. John found he was violently angry. He had heard racial

slurs all his life. He'd never much liked them; for the most part he just let them go by. But hearing

them leveled at the girl he'd just met somehow disturbed him. She had seemed so wholesome, almost

pure, in contrast with Pete's horny garbage. He cursed his luck at having to share a crowded office with

four other students, at least one of whom was an obvious moron.

***

Maddie, Lisa, and several other female graduate students were seated halfway down the

auditorium, waiting for the weekly Plant Breeding seminar to begin. The orange seats were not quite

comfortable, at least not if you wanted to take a nap. It was the third Friday of the semester, and

Maddie was happy her own presentation was scheduled for November, so she would have enough time

to prepare.

―God, I still can‘t get used to the idea of graduate students having to give these seminars,‖ she told

Lisa.

―How come?‖

―At my old school it was the professors who gave the plant breeding seminars. Students were

mostly spectators. Unless they were really self-confident.‖

There could be no hiding here. She would have to stand up in front of everybody and expose her

thoughts. The turnout for these seminars included everyone from the head of the department down to

the technicians.

Looking up toward the front of the auditorium, she saw John Pitts standing near the overhead

projector, talking in a relaxed manner to Dr. Castle, the seminar coordinator. She realized from his tie

and sports coat that he must be giving today's seminar.

She turned to Lisa. ―Is John Pitts the one giving today‘s seminar?‖

―Looks like it.‖

She frowned. ―Why? He just got back, didn‘t he?‖

―Well, probably because all the later dates were taken.‖

Poor guy, he really must have had to scramble to get ready. ―It doesn‘t seem fair,‖ she murmured.

―Oh pooh! This is nothing to John,‖ Lisa said.

Maddie‘s eyes found their way back to John. He didn‘t appear to her to be nervous. Slowly,

Maddie became aware of tittering among her companions.

"Yeah, sure, I'm interested in the topic…" Savannah said, snickering.

"Right, Savannah, you came just to hear about his Beta vulgarisv."

"Honey, I'd go and listen to him talk about Drosophilavi if he did it in those jeans."

More snickering. Jean piped in, "You think he'll turn around and give us a good view?"

"View of what?"

"Shh…" More laughter.

"Quit talking about him like he's a sex object," Lisa said, good naturedly.

Maddie's eyes had gone wide; she was embarrassed to realize that she wasn't the only one affected

by his good looks. She was just like everyone else! The only thing that set her apart was that she hid it

better. At least, she hoped she did.

When John was introduced, Maddie watched mesmerized as he came forward, laser pointer in

hand, and proceeded to deliver an almost flawless presentation. His topic was not the most naturally

fascinating. In lesser hands, she was sure it would have been boring. But his fluid presentation

incorporated a thorough review of the literature and the pertinent current research. Interwoven was his

practical experience of the sugar beet crop, gleaned from years of dedicated work. Forgetting her

previous train of thought, Maddie became engrossed in his world. She was conscious of really

learning. Not only did this guy move like a dream, he had the makings of an excellent teacher.

During the question-and-answer period Maddie noticed that the professors asking questions

treated John almost like a colleague. No kid gloves, but hard-hitting questions. What was the prognosis

for breaking the Hawaiian yield record? Dr. Janski had asked. What was the status of Monsanto‘s

nutrient uptake studies? Dr. Gates wanted to know. These were very broad, scary questions. He

answered them as if he already were a full-fledged breeder. As they rose to leave the auditorium,

Maddie hoped that when her turn came, she would carry it off half as well as John Pitts.

***

At nine o'clock on Saturday night, Maddie walked out of a movie with Lisa, Savannah and Jean.

They all felt it was too early to go home. Madison was not going to sleep for a long time. The Badgers

had won the game. Badger mania meant party-town, tailgate parties and lots of red banners being

waved about. But most of all, it meant binge drinking, although that had started already last night.

Victory or defeat, no excuse was needed for drinking in this town.

―So Lisa, how come Ernie didn‘t come down?‖ Maddie asked.

―Oh, he had to put in a new toilet for his mom.‖

―He must have been really disappointed.‖

―Yeah, he was pissed as hell.‖

―So what did you do with the tickets?‖

―I gave them to John.‖

―How come you didn‘t go with him?‖

Lisa spluttered. ―Yeah, right! Ernie‘d love to hear about that.‖

"Let's go around to the Madhatters," Savannah said, out of the blue. "Maybe we can bump into

somebody." She fluffed her permed platinum hair out with her fingers.

"Oh, exactly who are you hoping to bump into?" Jean asked. Maddie thought Jean already had

some idea of the answer.

Madhatters was just around the block from the University Theater. As they walked in the door

Maddie felt her usual distaste for dark, smoky places and the stench of beer. They were playing a

soulful tune, though, and that was okay. ―Let‘s give them something to talk about, babe,‖ Bonnie Raitt

sang, like a true B.B. King disciple.

The tall, circular tables were only big enough to hold a basket of peanuts and a couple of drinks.

They managed to get an empty one, but it was missing most of the stools, so the four women just stood

around it. The whole room was swaying to the loudness, dancing close in the dim light, or talking close

in the corner shadows. Savannah was scanning the large room as they gave their orders to the waitress.

But it was Jean who apparently spotted what she was on the lookout for. ―Look! There he is," she

whispered.

As her eyes moved down the length of the bar Maddie saw John Pitts with a couple of other guys.

She couldn't place all of them. John was leaning sideways against the bar and popping peanuts in his

mouth. The waitress said something to him as she went by. He laughed and she flashed him a wide

smile as she emerged from behind the bar with a loaded tray. He seemed to be one of those guys who

really liked to spread his attentions around. Maddie looked away and tried to shift her focus elsewhere.

Suddenly, there was a little flutter at the table as they found themselves addressed by the very same

John and his buddies.

"Well, hello ladies," John said in his hearty voice. It seemed to Maddie that Savannah actually

flipped her hair back and pumped up her bosom before she said, ―Hi John.‖

One of the guys took Jean out on the dance floor, a peanut-shell-covered space off to one side.

Over the music John asked, "Want to dance?" His eyes swept over all three women, then came to

rest on Maddie.

Maddie hesitated, confused at the general request.

Savannah jumped at the opportunity. ―Sure! Come on!‖ She linked her arm with his and dragged

him away.

Maddie turned to the tall quiet guy at her left. ―Hi, you‘re Joel aren‘t you?‖ she asked. ―Who do

you work for?‖

―Dr. Dobson,‖ he said.

―Oh!‖ Maddie stopped sipping on her straw. ―Tell me about her.‖

He seemed a little bit startled but said, ―Okay.‖

Dr. Marcia Dobson was the only female member of the faculty. Maddie was very curious about

her but it was doubtful she would ever have Dr. Dobson for a professor, since her area of study had

nothing to do with her own, and the courses she taught were the undergraduate ones. Besides, her

office was stuck so far back in the basement, she seldom ran into her. Nevertheless, Maddie found that

there was always an underlying awareness of Dr. Dobson in her mind. How she was treated, what

gossip circulated about her and whatever criticism was offered, seemed somehow to reflect on female

graduate students. If there was only one woman on the faculty, and she was stuck down there in the

middle of nowhere, it told you how important women's contributions were thought to be in the

department.

Joel was her first graduate student. He had been working on his Master's degree for a couple of

years but did not seem to be close to finishing. That struck her as strange.

***

John was annoyed with himself. The invitation to dance had come out of his mouth automatically

when he had looked at that woman, Maddie. He had forgotten that she seemed to dislike him. It was a

lucky thing Savannah had rescued him.

To shake off the willies he threw himself into the dance experience with gusto. The Bob Marley

song was rocking and pretty soon he was wailing at all the right places and working up a sweat. When

he and Savannah got back to the table, there were new drinks all around. He talked to Lisa, while

covertly eyeing Maddie. She was talking to Joel about something so engrossing she had barely looked

up. There was no opportunity for him to repeat his faux paux.

This time he took Jean out on the dance floor for another workout. During the line dancing his

attention kept returning to the table, however. How is it that she had so much to talk about with Joel.

He didn‘t know they were on such good terms. He would have to get the scoop from Joel ‗cause it

seems his best buddy was holding out on him.

When he went back to the table he found her standing next to him. There was an awkward pause.

"Hey, I enjoyed your seminar yesterday," she said.

"You did?" His voice came out loud due to a sudden lull in the music. John adjusted his voice,

"What did you like about it?"

―Oh…I…‖

She seemed to be having trouble remembering what she liked about it. Maybe she hadn‘t liked it

at all.

A blonde head interposed itself between them, smiling like a predator. ―John, it‘s your guy

again— Bob whatshisname. C‘mon!‖ Savannah said, pulling him toward the dance floor.

When John had asked her what she had liked about the seminar Maddie had inadvertently

remembered some of the comments made about him before it had started. Did he know what a stir he

caused? Did he enjoy it? Just like a squirrel caught by the headlights, Maddie‘s mind went blank and

she couldn‘t think of an answer to his question.

Around eleven o‘clock Lisa and Maddie came out of Madhatters and headed for home. Savannah

and Jean had decided to stay behind. Either they would get a ride home, or by the look of things, might

not make it home at all. Maddie wondered if Savannah would achieve her objective or whether the

waitress would have more luck. Because of Ernie, Lisa wasn't in the same frame of mind as the other

two. As for herself, it was quite another matter. Because she never went down that road at all.

Glossary

Prologue i Chichewa – a language spoken in Malawi, Africa.

Chapter 1 ii Experimental lines - genetic strains of any plant scientists are working to improve.

iii Plant breeding - the process by which plants are improved using crosses, propagation or more modern

methods. iv Plant Breeding Department – a fictitious department.

v Beta vulgaris – scientific name for beets.

vi Drosophila – the common fruit fly.