The Sparrow Sisters (9 page)

“Lurgy? You have a cure for lurgy?” Henry blurted.

“More like some teas and a lot of water.”

Ben had followed Patience's instructions to the letter even though he'd come to her hoping to find a way to ask Nettie out. Patience suspected that Ben was in her barn because he was in love with someone. She could taste it in the air around him. But he didn't ask for help with love.

“And it worked?” Henry asked. “Your remedy?”

“Don't sound so skeptical,” Patience said.

“Is lurgy a real ailment?” Henry asked as Patience stepped around him.

Patience turned at the door, one foot already out. Henry saw heat rising from the pavement behind her and vaguely acknowledged that it was well and truly summer.

“You know, I don't appreciate your jokes. This town has gotten along perfectly well with my help now and then. I've been just fine without you.”

If Sorrel had heard how sharp Patience's voice turned, she might have slapped her. As it was, Henry was the one who looked like he'd been hit. His cheeks reddened and his hands curled into fists, not to hit back but to keep himself from reaching out to grab Patience. He couldn't believe how suddenly angry she was. Only hours before he'd felt slightly heroic as he worked over Ben; he'd felt accepted. Now it was as if he'd been repelled.

The two stared at each other for a minute. Patience caught Pete's eye over Henry's shoulder. He was staring too. She banged out of the door before Henry could see how much she regretted her outburst. She wanted to drive away so she didn't
have to examine why she'd said, “I've been just fine without you” to a man she didn't know.

“Juniper,” Pete sniffed. “She's wicked mad, but it'll pass.”

Henry inhaled and realized that Pete was right. The air was rich with the smell of pine, crisp and fresh but somehow sweet. Gin, it smelled of gin, and for a second Henry thought that maybe Patience had dropped her package.

“Funny thing about Patience Sparrow,” Pete said. “It's like she's part of that Nursery, she smells of it and when her moods change, so does her smell. Once she gives you a remedy, she's connected to you so”—he sniffed again—“sometimes we guess at how
she's
feeling.”

“Oh, come on,” Henry groaned. But he remembered the scent of chamomile in his waiting room, the eucalyptus at Nettie's throat, the aroma that rested on the air in front of Ivy House.

“You'll find out if you last,” Pete said.

Henry ran out the door. Patience was sitting in her truck, her head back on the seat, eyes closed, an ice cube to her cheek. If she responded to her own gift, Patience would have prescribed arnica and comfrey-root tincture and a cool bath. But she had never reacted to a single remedy. Not even when she needed one.

When Henry came up to her window, he was so relieved she was still there that he laughed.

“What now?” Patience asked. She didn't open her eyes or turn her head.

“I came to apologize,” Henry said. “Although, to be fair, I don't know why.”

“Maybe because all you've done is judge me. You raise your eyebrow at me. You think I don't get that?”

Henry brought his hand to his face. “It's not raised now.”

Patience opened her eyes. “Give it a second.”

“Listen,” Henry said, putting his hand on the door. “I don't mean to come off like an asshole.” Now Patience raised an eyebrow. “I've had a day, well, it's been a long one.”

“Yeah? Me, too.” Patience sat up. “Are we done?”

“No,” Henry said. “I don't think this is how we should be.”

Both Henry and Patience heard the truth in his words. Neither of them acknowledged it.

“Tell me what you do. Show me why the people in this town trust you almost more than they trust me. Help
me
trust you.” Henry willed his voice to settle. It sounded too low, too intimate, and he cleared his throat.

“
Almost
more?” Patience asked.

Henry shrugged and waggled his hand. “Almost,” he said.

“Say I cared to explain myself, which I'm not saying I do,” Patience said. “Would you want to come to the Nursery?”

“Yes.” Henry held very still. What if she reconsidered? What if she bolted?

“Now?”

“Yes.”

Patience held up the bottle. “There could be drinking involved.”

Henry laughed. “Not for me. I'm going to see Ben at the hospital later.” The thought of it, the loosening that came with a drink and some soft summer air, was enough to make Henry want to close his eyes and hold out a glass.

“That's good.” Patience nodded. “I guess you really do make house calls.” She gestured at the passenger door. “Well, get in, Dr. Carlyle.”

“It's Henry.”

“Don't make me regret this, Henry. I'm not entirely sure why I invited you in the first place.”

Patience did know why and she didn't regret it, yet. For starters, she wanted to sit beside Henry Carlyle. Embracing the heat that had settled in her stomach, Patience grabbed her bag off the passenger seat and threw it onto the floor at his feet. She wanted to be next to him, she wanted to talk to him, to listen to his growly voice, watch to see if he pushed his hair off his forehead as they jounced down Calumet Landing. She wanted to get close enough to find out what Henry smelled of.

As for the doctor, he might have run after the truck if Patience hadn't invited him. He was almost sure that as they talked inside the liquor store, they'd leaned toward each other, even as she snapped at him. He was eager to see if he was right, to learn if, when he stood in her space, surrounded by her things, he might understand why he wanted her so. He needed to know if what he felt was ridiculous or returned.

Henry pressed his hands against the dashboard of the old
truck as Patience took a corner on what felt like two wheels. His right foot pushed reflexively at a phantom brake pedal.

“Is it far?” he asked. He hadn't been carsick since he stopped riding in military jeeps. He swallowed several times.

“Almost there.” Patience steered one-handed, her left arm out the window, her fingers spread in the breeze. She looked at Henry. “Are you all right?”

“Fine,” Henry said and swallowed again. “You have a very personal driving style.”

“Yeah, my sisters taught me.” She made a sharp left. “We're here.”

They bumped down the road and pulled up in a slide of sand. Simon Mayo's car was parked in front of the office, and Patience decided she'd box him in so he'd have to ask her to be able to leave.
Sorrel's right, I am a bitch,
she thought.

Henry climbed out and was hit with such a wall of scent that he staggered, his bad leg giving under him. He felt transported, empty and full at the same time, as the smell of clover and rue, peony and Russian sage fell over him. He didn't know the names of all the smells, or why they made him feel so unsteady. He was embarrassed by his graceless lurch and kept his head down, hoping that Patience was already in the little barn. Henry didn't want her to see him like that, defined by his weakness.

But Patience had seen. She'd turned her head at the sound of the truck door and caught Henry's stumble. She winced with him and whispered, “Poppy, valerian, St. John's wort.”

Henry followed Patience into the barn. The sun was beginning to set a hot orange behind the building, and when he stepped inside, it was dark and cool. If anything, the smells were even more intense. He looked around. It was a peaceful place: the long soapstone sink—clean now—Patience's table covered with at least a dozen small bottles, a stack of labels and an open notebook, the deep drift of petals, leaves, and stems on the floor. The tableau was as close and compelling as a Dutch still life.

Sorrel was standing at the high counter, the arrangement in front of her just as Charlotte had requested, only more beautiful than she could ever imagine. Simon stood on the other side, and neither of them could see the other through the flowers. Patience came up behind him.

“Wow, Sorrel.”

Simon turned around and saw Henry at the door.

“Doctor,” he said, smiling.

“Lawyer,” Henry said, smiling back.

“Indian Chief,” the Sisters finished.

It took Henry a second to get the joke. Standing just behind Patience in the shadowy room had disoriented him. He wasn't sure if he was smelling Patience, her hair curling up at the nape of her neck, dirt and sand sprayed up the back of her calves, or only the flowers. Henry had seen how Patience's back straightened when she saw Simon Mayo, and he was reminded of how Simon's voice had flattened when he asked Henry about his house call to the Sisters. He was sure that Simon Mayo was
married; he was certain the party invitation he'd received had come from Simon and his wife. Then, when he saw how Simon's eyes searched for Sorrel, Henry was ashamed at his relief. He didn't know what he'd do if this blond charmer looked at Patience that way. All these thoughts and ludicrous mental gyrations ran through Henry in the time it took him to laugh at a lame joke.

“So, Simon,” Patience said, “you going to fit that in the back of the Merc?”

When Patience pulled up, Henry had been in the throes of minor terror and nausea, but he now realized that the silver blur on his right had been a Mercedes convertible.

“I am, P,” Simon came around the counter and held out his arms. Sorrel's face was a study in conflict. For a moment she thought Simon was going to embrace her, but he reached for the arrangement and hoisted it up. “Someone get the door,” he said as he sidled away. “Am I going to knock anything?”

Henry pushed the door open and eased back from the flowers. “You're fine,” he said.

Simon nestled the big glass cylinder into the back seat and came around to the front. The car looked like some kind of parade float.

“Patience?” he asked, pointing at her truck.

“Oh, am I in your way?” she asked.

“Cute, P,” Simon said. He turned to Henry. “The Sisters all pretend they don't like me, but I know better.” Simon opened his car door, keeping his eyes on Patience's truck.

Patience swung into the cab, scattering sand and clamshells beside the sports car as she backed up. Her bumper came a bit too close to the Mercedes, and she grinned at Simon's face.

“You'd better drive slowly, Simon, or the whole thing'll be nothing but stems by the time you get home,” Sorrel said. She stood at the barn door, her arms crossed over her chest. Simon looked back at her with a nod. Henry saw that his eyes strayed to her bare feet. A smile twitched the corner of his mouth as he climbed in.

“You know, Sisters, you are both welcome at the party, and then you could see this thing in situ,” he said and looked at Henry. “The Sparrows are founders too. We invite them every year, and they never show.”

Patience snorted as she climbed out of the truck and came to stand beside Henry.

“Seriously, Patience, why don't you accompany the good doctor? We haven't had nearly enough gossip lately.”

Henry waved his hand at Patience. “You don't have to do that.”

He couldn't imagine how he could concentrate on the names and faces of current and possible patients if this woman stood beside him. Even now, he could feel her warmth; smell the hay-like scent of her sweat. He wondered if that was a good sign, the sweetness beneath the heat.

“I'll think about it,” Patience said. Sorrel's eyes snapped to her sister. Simon drove off, and the three of them stood in silence listening to the evening settle.

“As if Charlotte Mayo would be caught dead socializing with the Sparrow Sisters,” Sorrel finally said, her voice low.

“Ha,” Patience said. “As if you would be caught dead mingling in the Mayo house.”

Sorrel frowned, and Patience felt guilty

“Sorrel, I'm showing Dr. Carlyle around,” Patience said in a voice that dared her sister to ask any questions. But Sorrel was already turning back to the barn, separating the strands of her heavy braid until her black and white hair fell across her back in a fan.

“I get the feeling that your sister and Simon have a history,” Henry said as he followed Patience into the reclaimed pasture. It was divided into dozens of plantings—gardens—each with a distinct character. Henry felt as if he were moving through the rooms of a great house.

“Well, they
should
have a history. Sorrel is stubborn and Simon is stupid. He's not so bad, not like his father, for instance. He was a real ass. Pushed his kids until one of them, Simon's brother Howard, fell. He dropped out of school, went to L.A., took up cooking, and never came back. That is worse than insanity to the Mayos.” Patience turned to Henry. “That was the year before Simon came home from Harvard with Charlotte. I guess he was afraid to push his father back.”

Patience walked through the rows of young box and round containers of chartreuse oakleaf hydrangeas. Henry followed, wondering at the billowing mounds of white and purple lilac and drifts of pale cherry blossoms and clusters of ripe cherries,
although he didn't know enough to question how they were all blooming and fruiting together. Patience gestured to the greenhouses. “Come on,” she said. Henry kept his eyes away from how the light played through her dress, limning her slim hips as she walked. He watched the clear sky, the nearly full moon that was just visible against the deepening blue.

“Granite Point is a very small place,” Patience said. “I mean, I went to kindergarten with two firemen and at least three cops, and to high school with the head of the EMS. We are all tangled up with one another. Ben Avellar, for instance; he and Nettie graduated the same year. The minister, John Hathaway, grew up here and then went to England to study. He came back with a wife, and half the women in town had their hearts broken.”

“And Sorrel and Simon?” Henry stood in the aisle between a long parade of flats full of small deep-pink ruffled flowers.