Carolina Mist

by Mariah Stewart

  “Alex, this interrogation is starting to get on my nerves. I don’t know what your problem is with Drew, and why you are so intent upon finding some nefarious motive where none exists, but I have no problem with him, and, quite frankly, that’s all that matters, isn’t it?”

  “In other words, ‘Butt out, Kane, this is none of your business.’ Well, Miz Abigail, do forgive me if I seem to have forgotten my place.” He tossed the eggshells into the trash with a vicious and well-aimed pitch. “And I do thank you for that well-needed reminder that I am, after all, just the handyman, I promise not to interfere with your business again.”

  “Alex, you are being ridiculous. It’s not necessary to…”

  “Umm, something smells just lovely, Alexander.” Belle opened the door just enough to poke her diminutive nose in the direction of the morning’s offerings. “I do adore French toast. Alexander, do you remember how your grandfather always made French toast on Sunday mornings? But of course you do, dear. Is the water ready for tea?”

  “Almost, Gran. Why don’t you go sit at the table and chat with Abby while I fix it for you? It’ll only be a minute.” Alex glared meaningfully at Abby.

  “Fine. I will go sit with your grandmother while you…”

  “While I prepare your breakfast, Miz Abigail. After all, that was the deal.”

  “Alex, you are being an absolute jerk.”

  He prepared Belle’s tea to the proper degree of amber, then, without another word, pushed past Abby to deliver the cup to his grandmother, who was already seated in the morning room awaiting her breakfast.

  Now, if that doesn't beat all. Abby shook her head angrily. What difference could it possibly make to Alex if Drew is or isn’t a Cassidy?

  And just what, she wondered, is eating Alex Kane?

  “I do not recall that you are color-blind,” Naomi said pointedly on Monday afternoon after listening to Abby’s recitation of the weekend’s events. She leaned against the wooden frame of Abby’s front door, her dark green vinyl poncho glistening with the large drops of water that ran in rapid streams to puddle at her feet. She had braved the sudden storm to bring Abby the book that had kept her up reading till the early hours of the morning, a “yummy romantic suspense that I guarantee you will not be able to put down.”

  “I’m not.”

  “Abby, that man is turning green right under your nose, and you don’t even see it.” Naomi flinched as yet another crack of thunder bellowed from the heavens.

  “Alex?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “You think he’s…”

  “Green as new grass, honey.”

  “Why would Alex be jealous?”

  “Maybe he doesn’t like the thought of Drew hanging around here.” Naomi attempted to squeeze some excess water from her tangled hair, which was beginning to look more and more like Brillo.

  “Drew doesn’t hang around here. Saturday was only the second time he was here.”

  “Does Alex know that? And you greeted Drew like he was the dearest of friends. I saw you from my front lawn, Abby. You looked like you were mighty glad to see him.”

  “Well, I was. I was happy that he felt comfortable enough here to take me up on my invitation to come back. I know what it’s like to feel disjointed, to feel like you have no one. I have been where Drew is, Naomi. I want him to know that he doesn’t have to feel that way anymore. That he has family…”

  “Girl, you may be moving way too fast.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You don’t know anything about this man.”

  “Good grief, you sound just like Alex. He thinks Drew is an impostor.”

  “Maybe he is, and maybe he’s not. Let’s assume that he is Thomas’s grandson. That alone doesn’t automatically make him a good person.” She raised a hand to silence Abby’s protest. “You hear me out. He may be a good guy, he may not. The fact is that neither you nor I nor Alex nor Belle knows one way or another. Time will tell what’s what. In the meantime, certainly, be pleasant to him, leave the welcome mat out. But don’t start handing over any of the Cassidy family silver, you know what I mean?”

  Abby nodded. “Naomi, do you realize you’re the first person who’s had anything to say on the subject who has made sense? Belle cannot be objective, and Alex is being positively obnoxious.”

  “Jealousy will do that.” Naomi nodded, a satisfied grin crossing her face.

  “You really think that’s it?”

  “There is not a doubt in my mind. Abby, those two were circling each other like a couple of suspicious old dogs. I mean, it was all I could do not to stand at the end of my driveway and yell, ‘Why don’t you two just sniff each other’s butt and get it over with?’ ” Naomi grinned.

  “But, Naomi,” Abby said when she had stopped laughing at the image Naomi had conjured up, “why would it matter to Alex? He has Melissa.”

  “Umm, well, we don’t know what he’s got going with her, now, do we? He’s been spending a lot of time in Primrose these past few weeks, and Melissa has been nowhere in sight.”

  “Alex said she’s busy with the preparations for her sister’s wedding.”

  “And just when is that little event to take place, do you know?”

  “In two weeks.”

  “Well, I guess after that, we should get a pretty good idea of just where Miss Melissa stands.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Naomi grinned over her shoulder as she opened her umbrella and started down the steps. “She’ll either be here with him in three weeks, or she won’t.”

  27

  “Come on, Abby. Let’s take a walk out back and see what we can do about resurrecting Leila’s garden. It’s a gorgeous day, much too wonderful to waste indoors, and, besides, you’ve been breathing too much stale air and plaster dust for far too long.” Naomi stood and stretched out her stiff leg. Grabbing an old sweater from a hook by the kitchen door and tossing it to Abby, she pointed toward the backyard. “I, for one, cannot wait to see what is lurking under the vines and the weeds.” She followed Abby through the doorway and down the steps. “I do know that at one time, Miz Cassidy’s garden was the talk of Primrose.”

  Naomi led the way down the worn path that bisected the immense yard.

  “Oh, look.” She knelt and, beckoning Abby to join her, gently nudged aside some green leafy things growing in what had once been Leila’s prized perennial bed.

  “What am I looking at?” Abby frowned.

  “Old-fashioned geranium.” Naomi fingered leaves of green filigree. “Beautiful. It’s a wonder they survived all these weeds and the overgrowth of clematis and morning glory and sweet pea that you have here, not to mention the plantain and the dandelions. What a mess. Ooh, look here. Lily of the valley. Purple violets. Some old roses. What’s this… shasta daisies, maybe? And oh, Lord, peonies. Abby, you have to get these uncovered. The vines must be two or three feet thick over these peonies. It’s a wonder they haven’t been choked to death down there.”

  On and on Naomi went, from one bed to another, carefully parting the weeds, seeking out the remnants of Leila’s garden, punctuating her survey from time to time with “Wow! Columbine!” or “Rose campion, thick as grass!” Abby trailed behind, trying to share Naomi’s enthusiasm, attempting to distinguish the treasures from the trash and memorize the names and foliage of the specimens displayed before her.

  “I’ll never remember all this,” Abby finally said with a sigh.

  “Of course you will,” Naomi assured her. “Once everything blooms and you can see the flowers, you’ll remember. Look here, Abby, this must have been Leila’s herb garden.” Naomi tugged at the thick web of vines that grew atop the entire bed along the right side of the path.

  “Leila must have loved lavender. Why, there is an absolute mass of it!” Naomi exclaimed.

  “Lavender was Aunt Leila’s favorite fragrance,” Abby told her. “She wore it as perfume, scented her drawers and all the closets with it—even the bed linens an
d the tablecloths. She had sprigs of it in the trunks in the attic and the clothes in storage. The scent still lingers in her bedroom and her sitting room. Why, sometimes, I even imagine I catch a whiff of it here and there throughout the house.”

  “This will be absolute heaven when it blooms.” Naomi beamed. “Umm, just think of the potpourri you can make, with all this lavender and the roses you’ll have after we rescue them from that canopy of clematis.” Frowning, Naomi tugged at a thick vine, following its length to where it sank into the earth at the root. “Honestly, for something so fragrant, this stuff sure is a pain in the neck.”

  “What is it?”

  “Honeysuckle. It is all wrapped around everything and everywhere and all intermingled with the clematis and the morning glory and sweet pea.” She stood and shook her head. “It is like vine-o-rama out here. It will take us forever to sort this stuff out.”

  “Us?” Abby asked hopefully.

  “With all this wonderful stuff”—Naomi waved her arm in a sweeping gesture—“waiting to be uncovered, do you honestly think I would turn an amateur like yourself loose to work out here alone? You, who do not know dandelion from delphinium, will be closely supervised, at least until you pass the first and most basic identification test.”

  Abby laughed and followed behind Naomi, who was clearly in her glory.

  “I cannot get over the variety of herbs, Abby. Anise, lemon balm, chamomile, red sage, rosemary, echinacea,” Naomi whispered as she uncovered yet another leafy plant. “Abby, do you think Miz Cassidy may have been an herbalist?”

  “Well, obviously, she grew herbs…”

  “I think she may have grown them to use for medicinal purposes. I can’t think of one other reason why she would have this combination of plants, if she wasn’t into natural healing.” Naomi nodded slowly, a tiny smile just starting at the corners of her mouth. “Wouldn’t that just beat all?”

  “Well, I know she always used the herbs from her garden for seasoning—basil, dill, rosemary…”

  “And teas? Didn’t she ever give you teas when you were sick?”

  Abby sat on an old stone bench which was partially obscured by overgrown vegetation.

  “I remember one summer when I had a really vile chest cold.” Abby frowned, trying to recall. “She gave me some really odd-smelling hot tea to drink. She said it would take the fever down quickly.”

  “Well, just looking around at the variety of herbs, that tea could have been just about any one of these—yarrow, red sage, peppermint.” Naomi folded her arms over her chest. “It looks like your aunt had a regular little home pharmacy here.”

  “Belle said Leila had some gardening journals,” Abby recalled. “I should find them and see if she left any notes.”

  “I’ll bet she did.” Naomi’s eyes sparkled. “And I can’t wait to get my hands on them.”

  “Are you serious?”

  “Am I ever! I am a true believer in herbal therapy.”

  “You mean for colds and fevers.”

  “I mean for just about anything that ails you.”

  “I wasn’t aware that we had a healer in the neighborhood,” Abby teased.

  “It’s no joke, Abby. Oh, I admit that I used to make fun of my grandmother when I was young. She always had the answer to everyone’s problems in some ground-up powder in a tiny glass jar.” Naomi shook her head ruefully. “All those years, I thought my grandmother had just been into the Native American thing, you know? After my accident, I learned just how powerful those powders were.”

  The two women walked slowly among the tangle of plants reaching out from either side of the path, Abby waiting expectantly for Naomi to continue.

  “Oh, comfrey, nice.” She broke her stride to lean over and touch the leaves of yet another plant. “Did I tell you I almost lost my leg to gangrene after the accident?”

  “No. Oh, my God, Naomi. That must have been terrible.”

  “I’ll tell you what was terrible.” Naomi frowned at the memory. “It was terrible knowing that the doctors just sort of accepted it. ‘Oh, we tried to treat it, but we’ve failed. Guess we’ll have to take the leg off.’ ”

  “No doctor said that!”

  “Of course not, but that was the attitude. ’We can’t cure it, so we’ll have to cut it off.’ ” Naomi broke into a grin. “They did not, however, reckon on my Nana Dare showing up with her little satchel of powders and poultices.”

  “Your grandmother cured your gangrene?”

  “Now, sugar, does this look like an artificial leg to you? Now, it may get stiff, and the knee sometimes locks up, but, by God, it’s all mine.”

  “What did she use?”

  “A poultice of charcoal, some herbs, whole wheat flour, God knows what else.”

  “And the doctors let her do this in the hospital?”

  “There was no way they were going to stop her.” Naomi chuckled. “Of course, when my leg started to improve, they took the credit for the cure. But I knew what saved my leg. And let me tell you, as soon as I started to come around, I sat down with my grandmother and picked her brain, wrote down everything she could tell me. What plants for what ailments. What for teas, what for ointments. What parts to use, what to grind into powders. I could write a book, Abby.” She brightened. “I should write a book.”

  “You really believe in all of this, don’t you?”

  “Abigail, what were the gifts brought to the Christ child by the Magi? Gold, frankincense, and what?” Naomi tapped her foot impatiently on the hard dirt path. “Diamonds? Sapphires? No, my dear, it was much more valuable. Gold, frankincense, and myrrh.”

  “What is myrrh, anyway?”

  “It’s a gum resin, actually. And a natural antiseptic, for one thing. Useful in treating everything from gum disease to infection.” She laughed and added, “They didn’t call them wise men for nothing, Abby.”

  “Well, I’m intrigued. And the first thing I will do after lunch is find that journal of Aunt Leila’s and see if your theory is correct.”

  “Which you will, of course, promptly share with your best friend.” Naomi draped a casual arm over Abby’s shoulder as they walked to the side of the house. “I guess Miz Cassidy didn’t much practice her little hobby those last few years, but I sure wish I’d known about this while she was still alive. I’d have loved to talk with her about it. I’d love to know, for one thing, who her teacher was.”

  “Aunt Leila probably learned from her mother.” Abby paused at the edge of the garden and thought of the elegant woman whose portrait hung in the parlor. “Or maybe from her grandmother, who was a full-blooded Cherokee. And that whole side of the family—the Dunhams, the Hollisters—all lived out in Montana in the middle of nowhere.” Abby recalled her trips out west as a child, and her fascination with the ranch and the endless valley her cousins called home.

  “Well, right there you have the ways and the means and the need,” Naomi said. “Your—what would she be, great-great-grandmother?—would have been familiar from an early age with the healing properties of plants. And being in an isolated area like that, where traditional medical treatment must have been almost impossible to get, there would have been times when the survival of her family would depend on her expertise—colds, flus, fevers, not to mention snakebite, bone fractures…” Naomi looked at her watch and frowned. “Too bad it’s so late, or I could help you look. I’m going to have to pick up Meredy in about fifteen minutes at school, and from there, I have to run on out to my sister’s to pick up Sam. He’s been playing with my nephew this morning, and I guess he’ll be about ready to come home and have his nap by now. But I’ll be home later this afternoon. Give me a call if you find Leila’s journal. And don’t do anything in the garden—and I mean not one thing—until I can come back to work with you. You don’t know what you’ve got there, so leave it alone until I can help you to sort it out.”

  “Belle,” Abby asked over lunch, “you wouldn’t happen to know where Aunt Leila kept her garden journal, would you?”


  “I believe she used to keep it in her sitting room. The one off her bedroom. Probably on or in that table in the alcove.” Belle put her soup spoon down and eyed Abby curiously. “Thinking about taking up gardening, are you?”

  “I’m thinking of cleaning up that mess out back,” Abby told her. “If what I have left resembles a garden, I think we’ll be lucky.”

  The scent of lavender was particularly strong in Leila’s sitting room. Odd, Abby mused, how at different times the scent was stronger or weaker. Maybe it had something to do with the temperature of the air.

  She found the journal, a thick notebook with a heavy dark green leather cover, on a small table next to Aunt Leila’s reading chair. Abby sat down and carefully thumbed through its yellowed pages. She only needed to read a few entries to realize that Naomi had been right. Aunt Leila had had a thorough knowledge of herbs and their medicinal properties. For each plant, Leila had drawn a sketch of the leaves and flowers and, in her small, precise script, had jotted down the usable parts of the plant and how to use it to treat which ailment. Fascinated after having read but a few pages, Abby decided to take the notebook outside to see if she could identify any of the plants from the carefully drawn pictures.

  Because of the dense growth around the herb bed, Abby had to pull some weeds—she hoped they were only weeds—before she could test her new knowledge. Leila’s sketches were, she found, accurate to the most minute detail, and Abby had no difficulty distinguishing between the geranium and the valerian, the lobelia and the tansy, which grew in a huge clump covered with morning glory. Abby put the book down on the bench and proceeded to extract the vines from the tall, leafy stalks of the herb. Before she knew it, she had spent the better part of the afternoon carefully cleaning up first one section, then another, of Aunt Leila’s herb garden.

  The lengthening shadows from the pines told her that the day had, for the most part, passed. She chucked the unwanted greenery into the trash, then walked back to the stone bench to retrieve the notebook. She sat for a second to survey the yard, her mind’s eye seeing things as they had been, so many years ago, when tending the beds had been Leila’s most welcomed task and the results of her labors brought joy to all who strolled the old brick paths.