Daisies For Innocence

by Bailey Cattrell

  Glancing down, I noticed the engraved river rock by the fairy path I’d been forming earlier appeared to have shifted.

  For a second, I thought it read BEWARE.

  My head whipped up as I wildly searched the garden. When I looked down again, the word BELIEVE cheerfully beckoned again.

  Just a trick of the light, Ellie.

  Still, I stared at the smooth stone for what felt like a long time. Then I shook my head and continued to the patio. After giving Tally a quick pat on the head, I wended my way between two rocking chairs and opened the sliding door to Scents & Nonsense.

  Nabby slipped outside, rubbing his gray velvety self against my bare leg before he touched noses with Dash, threw Tally a warning look, and padded out to bask in the sunshine. A brilliant blue butterfly settled near the cat and opened its iridescent wings to the warming day. As I turned away, two more floated in to join the first. As the cat moved toward his preferred perch on the retaining wall, the butterflies wafted behind him like balloons on a string. It was funny—they seemed to seek him out, and once I’d seen two or three find him in the garden, I knew more blue wings would soon follow.

  CHAPTER 2

  INSIDE Scents & Nonsense, Astrid had brewed coffee and now stood behind the register chatting with a young woman. The customer sported straight blond hair and a T-shirt advertising Fat Tire beer. I poured my second mug of caffeine and opened the curtains over the big plateglass window that looked out onto the garden. Then I ducked behind the low counter on the east side of the shop, where I manufactured many of the Scents & Nonsense signature products.

  I’d discovered early on that there was no way to tend the shop and make my perfumes, bath oils, and the rest unless I combined the two. It turned out that people were actually interested in watching me stir and pour and bottle and label. During working hours I made sure to stick with items that could be easily interrupted for long stretches, so I could take my time with patrons, answering their questions and finding them exactly what they wanted or needed. In addition, I could sample and mix custom perfumes right on the spot, which snagged me a few more sales from tourists who wandered in off the covered boardwalk intending to “just look.”

  “I need a gift for my mother-in-law,” the customer said as I sidled up beside Astrid. “Tomorrow is her birthday, and she’s downright impossible to shop for.” Her mouth twitched ruefully for a second before her pleasant mask descended again. Her gaze went up to Astrid’s five foot ten and back down to me, a full foot shorter.

  Astrid’s eyes flashed with humor as she put her palm on my shoulder. “Ellie can help you out, I guarantee.”

  I stepped forward, and my friend gracefully sidestepped and began to load a plate with snickerdoodles. Astrid loathed cooking of all kinds—except baking cookies. She’d gotten into the habit of whipping up a batch every morning and dropping them by the shop. Called it her “therapy.” I wasn’t about to ask her to stop, either. The woman wouldn’t boil an egg on a bet, but she was a cookie-baking genius.

  “Let me guess,” I said to the customer. “Your mother-in-law either has everything—or doesn’t want it.”

  Her lips turned down in a slight frown, but her shoulders relaxed a fraction. “Exactly! I thought I’d get her a candle or soap or something. Everyone has to bathe, right?” Her bright tone seemed a little forced.

  “I certainly hope so,” I teased. “What are her favorite scents?”

  “I . . . I don’t know. She used to like jasmine. But . . .” She trailed off, looking uncomfortable.

  “But?” I prompted.

  She shrugged. “Her husband passed away a while ago. She hasn’t been the same since.”

  Sad. Sad for a long time. I felt the heavy weight of the unknown woman’s grief settle someplace near my sternum.

  “I have an idea.” I came out from behind the counter and went to a shelf on the far wall. She followed with a curious expression. I selected a quart-sized, Mason-jar candle, unscrewed the top, and took a deep sniff. The tight sensation in my chest eased as the fragrances of strong essential oils filled my lungs. I held the jar out to the woman, who took a tentative whiff, then with widening eyes, a longer, deeper inhalation.

  “Oh, that’s wonderful. What is it?”

  I explained. “Cedar.” For courage. “Cinnamon.” For warmth and safety during times of change. “And lemon.” Which in this combination would inspire clarity when things seem muddled.

  A smile widened on her face. “You know, I think she’ll like it. A lot.”

  I nodded. “Personally, I find the scents of those oils quite uplifting.” In fact, I’d developed that particular combination to help me get through the past year. Starting over at thirty-five could feel pretty scary at times.

  She breathed in the scent again and nodded. “I’ll take it. But I’d like to get her something else, too. Any suggestions?”

  “You mentioned soap. I think this one might go over well.” I reached for a creamy ecru bar packaged in cellophane to keep the volatile essential oils from dissipating into the dry California air.

  “What’s in it?” she asked.

  I pulled the tiny stopper out of the blue glass tester bottle at the front of the display and handed it to her to smell. My sensitive nose could detect the combination from a foot and a half away. The remaining pressure in my chest eased, and I knew it was the right choice for her mother-in-law. “Bergamot and jasmine. Cheerful scents, happy scents. The jasmine is the high note, the most noticeable, and you said she’s partial to it. The bergamot underlies it with subtle charm. I’d suggest a box of high-quality Earl Grey tea—which gets its distinct, citrus flavor from bergamot—and make up a little gift basket. Tessa at the tea room down the street has a nice selection of Earl Grey, and I have some unique baskets over here.” I led the way to a selection of sturdy baskets crocheted from stiff multicolored twine. “If you want a little something more to fill out the basket, a couple of packets of rose bath salts would do the trick.” Rose was a scent of deep compassion.

  My customer’s head bobbed. “That’s a great idea. Oh, and I’ll take a bar of that soap for myself.” She blushed, then shrugged. “It smells heavenly, and I deserve a treat.”

  “Good for you,” I said with a grin, and gathered her purchases.

  The door swung open, and Josie Overland strode in, bouncing on the balls of her feet with each step. Her long brown ponytail swayed back and forth.

  “Hi! Sorry I’m late! Oh, but golly, it’s so gorgeous up on Kestrel right now!” Her sunburned nose wrinkled in delight, and she bounded into my small office to stow her backpack. “It’ll just take me a sec to change out of these hiking clothes,” she called.

  I wrapped the gift basket items and rang up the sale. As the door closed behind the blond woman, Astrid came up and leaned her elbows on the counter. “You okay?”

  “Sure. Why wouldn’t I be?”

  She quirked an eyebrow. “You know. That”—she waved her hand—“superpower you use to find the right scents for your customers.”

  “Ha! I wouldn’t call it that,” I said. “My sense of smell is just . . . fine-tuned, I guess. If that’s a superpower then your ability to diagnose what’s wrong with an animal, or the way Maria can know exactly what book someone at the library needs are superpowers, too.”

  “It’s not the same, and you know it,” Astrid said.

  I said, “Everyone has something they’re really good at. Or more than one thing. Some people just train and practice. It’s no different from being a good dancer or talented baseball player.”

  I truly believed that, though to be honest, my senses of smell and empathy were a unique combination that gave me the ability to sometimes read what scents could help someone. It wasn’t infallible, and some people I couldn’t read at all, but it was so satisfying when I could truly make someone feel better. The first time it had happened, I’d given our ne
ighbor, Mr. Finder, a sprig of lily of the valley because he’d looked tired.

  I’d been three.

  Later, Gamma had told me that Mr. Finder had been working double shifts at his job, but that my present had helped him feel better. Over time, my ability to decipher people had evolved into something I mirrored on a physical level.

  Now Astrid shook her head. “Okay, call it whatever you want, but I saw your face. Was it bad?”

  “Not too bad,” I said. “And the fragrances took care of it. That’s how I know.”

  “That you’re giving people what they need?”

  I dipped my chin. “Yes.”

  “But this was by proxy, you might say. How can you know how to help someone you’ve never met?”

  I frowned and leaned against the counter. “I don’t know. That doesn’t happen very often.” I shrugged. “Maybe it didn’t this time, either. Maybe she was the one who needed help.” I gestured toward the door where the customer had departed.

  Astrid looked skeptical but didn’t comment. Still, I pondered her question until Josie emerged from the office, her shorts and T-shirt replaced with white Capri pants, a coral blouse, and boat shoes. “Ready for work, boss! Where should I start?”

  • • •

  ASTRID left to jog a German shepherd for some clients who wanted their baby to have her exercise while they were out of town. I started Josie on a labeling project, then called to let Inga Fowler know that the custom perfume she’d ordered was ready for pickup. She didn’t answer, so I left a voice mail and settled in at the counter to make a list of errands.

  The beginning of the week tended to be slower for retail shops in tourist-oriented towns like Poppyville. Josie came in for most of the day on Mondays and Tuesdays, which gave me the opportunity to do some of the other things life requires during regular business hours. I’d been happy when she’d applied for the part-time position, since she bartended at the Roux Grill, and I already knew she was a great employee.

  “Let’s see,” I said under my breath. “Bank, grocery store, library. Stop by Thea’s and get a bag of mushroom compost for the new herb bed. And Dash is almost out of cookies from Doggone Gourmet.” I paused and tapped my pen on the counter, thinking.

  The Greenstockings, a loose-knit group of independent businesswomen in Poppyville that Astrid and I belonged to, were meeting later in the Enchanted Garden. The name was based on the famous Bluestocking Society in eighteenth-century England, which was made up of intellectual women discussing culture and literature. The Greenstockings, however, got together to talk about marketing and business strategy. The “green” in our name was short for “greenbacks.”

  Astrid would bring cookies—naturally—and Gessie King had promised to bring her signature guacamole. Cynthia Beck, who owned Foxy Locksies Hair Studio, could always be counted on for wine.

  I texted Thea Nelson, who assured me she’d be at the Greenstockings meeting.

  I put my phone away and went back to my list of errands.

  “Um, Ellie?” Josie’s voice wavered from behind me.

  I turned to look at her. She shuffled from one foot to the other in the doorway of the office.

  “Can’t find the labels for the milk bath?” I asked, ready to climb down from my stool.

  She raised her hand to reveal a roll of yellow stickers. “They were right where you said they would be. But, um, I kind of need to . . .” She bit her lip. “I need to tell you something.”

  My brow knitted in concern. Josie was normally anything but tentative. “Sweetie, what is it?”

  She took a deep breath, and her pale eyes opened wide as she seemed to brace herself. “I’m, uh . . .” She looked away. “Harris and I . . .”

  I was vaguely aware of the pen dropping from my fingers. In the ensuing silence, it rolled to the edge of the counter and fell to the floor with a tiny clatter.

  “What?” I asked stupidly.

  “Harris asked me out to dinner about a month ago, and I said yes. We’ve been seeing each other pretty regularly ever since. God, Ellie, I’m so sorry!”

  Slowly, I shook my head. “No need to be sorry. It’s just—” I stopped myself. It’s just that you’re ten years younger than he is. And he’s your boss. And you’re bright and positive and he’s . . . Harris. “I’m just surprised, is all.”

  She hung her head, her chestnut ponytail swooping down over her shoulder. “I should have said something earlier.” She looked up again before her gaze shunted to the side. “It’s not that we were trying to keep anything from you, Ellie. Like it was a secret or anything. It just sort of happened. I didn’t know I’d end up liking him so much. I mean, I’ve worked at the Roux for a long time now, right?”

  I forced a smile and nodded. She’d started bartending there two years ago when I was still running the place with Harris. At twenty-nine, two years might seem like a long time to her.

  Come to think of it, two years still seemed like a long time.

  Her eyes filled with tears. “Are you going to fire me?”

  My half smile dropped. “Of course not! Josie, you don’t have to worry about your job here at the shop just because you’re dating my ex.”

  “Really? You’re so nice!” She threw her arms around me and squeezed tight. I returned her hug with somewhat less enthusiasm. Then I thought of how charming Harris had been when we were dating, how romantic and attentive. And how all that had seemed to drain away the second the rice finished raining down on us outside the chapel. I thought of that, and I hugged her back as hard as I could.

  “You just be careful, you hear? Harris isn’t the most faithful guy.”

  She stepped back and beamed at me. “Oh, he’s different now. He’s changed. He really has.”

  I nodded, unable to speak. I hope so, honey. For your sake.

  • • •

  A MOTHER brought in her six-year-old daughter to see the Enchanted Garden. They were in town only for the day, but a friend of theirs had urged them to visit.

  My favorite kind of referral.

  I happily gave them the tour, pointing out the miniature succulent garden, the tiny bridges, a diminutive cottage, and the winged fairy figurines arranged in the rock cress and creeping thyme. By that time, the group of blue butterflies Nabby regularly attracted had grown to two dozen. They’d taken up residence in the magenta Buddleia—commonly known as butterfly bush for good reason. Nabby had crept into its shade to sleep. As we approached, he deigned to open his eyes long enough to stretch into a more comfortable position.

  Enjoying the child’s open-mouthed, head-back wonder as she gazed up at the electric blue wings, I asked, “Did you know a bunch of butterflies like that is called a kaleidoscope?”

  Silently, she shook her head.

  “Stunning,” the mother said, her eyes glued to the insects as firmly as her daughter’s were. “A kaleidoscope, you say?”

  “All that color swirling together when they fly—it makes sense,” I said. “Feel free to grab a drink and some cookies. Sweetie,” I said to the girl, “there’s lemonade in the little fridge under the coffee urn inside if you want some. Spend as much time out here as you’d like.”

  “Thank you,” the mother murmured, a smile now tugging at her lips. “We’ll do that.”

  I asked Josie to check on them and left her labeling bottles of vanilla-scented milk bath. Dash and I went out to Corona Street.

  “Hey, Ellie! How’s business been?” Zach Porter asked. He was hanging a colorful box kite on the wall outside Flyrite Kites.

  I smiled. “Pretty good. Yours?”

  “It’s picking up. There’s a kite festival over in Silver Wells next week, so that helps.” He lifted his hand in farewell and went inside his shop.

  Reflecting that festivals were the lifeblood of tourist towns in the summer months, I walked across to the public lot, where I gen
erally parked so as not to take up a space in front of any of the downtown businesses. After hoisting Dash into the passenger seat of my battered old Wrangler, I used the running board to boost myself in, started up the engine, and began driving toward First Bank over on Gilmore Street.

  The butterfly visitation normally would have made me smile for the rest of the afternoon, but not today. “Distracted” didn’t even begin to describe how I felt. Mostly I was torn between anger at Harris and a worried sense of protectiveness toward Josie. However, there was also the vague, sticky shadow of the same humiliation I’d felt at Harris’ betrayal during our marriage. Apparently, that was going to take a bit more time to fade away entirely.

  Of course, he wasn’t betraying me now.

  Maybe I should start thinking about dating. Dating. Ugh. The thought of shopping for a boyfriend on the Internet made me shudder.

  I found myself turning into the parking lot of the stables on the north edge of town, bank deposit still in hand, with no recollection of how I got there. I put the Jeep in park. Dash put his front paws on the door and panted out the open window.

  The distinctly musky smell of horses floated in the air along with dust particles that glittered in the sunshine. In the outdoor arena, Gessie King called instructions to a girl riding a buckskin quarter horse. Finally the animal broke into a canter, and a wide grin spread across the teenager’s face. Her hair waved out behind her as she bent the horse around a corner.

  “Can I pet your dog?”

  Startled, I turned to find a broad-faced man who smelled of tobacco and earth looking in through the open passenger window.

  “Sure, Pete,” I said. “He loves attention.”

  His lips turned up in a wide smile, and he whirled around to show me the back of his T-shirt. It read KING OF THE BONGOS.

  “Bongo Pete,” he said, turning back around and reaching in to pet Dash. Lacking a tail, the corgi wiggled his entire behind in delight.