Holly Blues (5 page)

He sighed. “Do you want me to be a party to this . . . chat?”

“I’d love it,” China replied wistfully. “But somebody has to pick up Caitlin. She’s got soccer after school. And anyway, maybe it’s better if it’s just the two of us—Sally and me. You know. Girl talk.”

“Yeah, right. Girl talk.” McQuaid suppressed a sigh of relief. He was glad to be off the hook. “Did she say where she’s staying?”

“No.” China paused. “Her luggage isn’t exactly conventional. She has a duffle. Looks pretty full. Looks like she’s planning to stay awhile.”

McQuaid slitted his eyes. Damn. “She’s up to something.”

“Undoubtedly.”

“Has she been in jail?” If so, it wouldn’t be the first time. There was that business a few years ago about a forged check. On another occasion, it had been a DWI.

“If she has, she didn’t tell me. But she wouldn’t. Tell me, that is. Looking at her, though, I’d say it’s a possibility. A very distinct possibility.”

“Tell her to go away.”

“You have no pity, McQuaid.”

“Damn straight. Tell her.”

China sighed. “I would if I could, but I can’t. She’s Brian’s mother. She has visitation rights.”

“Which she only exercises when it’s in her interest to do so.”

“Of course. But that doesn’t dilute the right.”

“I hate it when you talk like a lawyer,” McQuaid said testily. “I thought you were supposed to be on my side. And she could at least call before she shows up.”

“I am on your side. Our side.” China paused. “Anyway, I’ll point that out—about calling, I mean, although it won’t do a dime’s worth of good. You know Sally.”

McQuaid knew Sally, all right. Impulsive, unpredictable, unreliable Sally. Five-alarm-heartburn Sally. The one good thing she had done for him was to let him have the divorce without going after custody—and that was only because she was in such bad shape, psychologically, that her lawyer counseled her to forget it. The judge would never have let her have the boy.

But if she’d been responsible for Brian, maybe she would have stayed out of trouble. Maybe Juanita would have stayed away—motherhood was not exactly
her
career path.

Or maybe not. There was no way to know.

China was going on. “Oh, and when you get home, please stir the corn chowder I left in the slow cooker. That’s what we’re having for supper tonight.” She paused. “I think there’s enough extra for Sally. I’ll get some bread out of the freezer, and we’ll have coleslaw. Oh, and there are some of Cass’ peppermint cupcakes left from today’s lunch—I’ll bring those.”

“You’re not inviting her to supper!” McQuaid exclaimed, alarmed.

“Yes, I’m inviting her to supper. She’s Brian’s mother.”

“I wish you’d stop saying that. I’d like to forget.”

China chuckled. “Just don’t forget Caitlin. Soccer field, four o’clock.”

“I’ll remember,” he replied huffily. Actually, he was looking forward to picking Caitlin up. He planned on asking the soccer coach if they needed a volunteer. He’d helped to coach Brian’s team when the boy was in middle school. It would be a chance to encourage Caitlin, who spent too much time alone in her room. Reading was good, sure, but she needed to get more physical exercise. Not that he wanted to push her into competition, just get her moving more, get her out with other girls her age. She needed friends who could help her forget.

“Thanks, McQuaid,” China said seriously. “I love you.”

“Love you, too.” As soon as he had put down the phone he remembered that he had forgotten to tell her about going to Omaha for Charlie. Not the best time for a trip, with the holiday coming up—even worse, with Sally-the-Bad-Penny on the scene. Or Sally and Juanita. Or Sally, Juanita, and some hippie chick with a duffle bag. He grinned ruefully. Destitute Dottie.

And then he thought, Well, maybe not. Maybe it was good timing. While he was in Omaha, Sally could rediscover her inner mother, spend a couple of days with Brian, maybe the weekend, and then be on her way wherever she was going.

But that was a cop-out. And anyway, it wouldn’t be that easy. Nothing was ever that easy with Sally. He rubbed his forehead with his fingers, feeling the headache behind his eyes. She wouldn’t show up just before Christmas unless she meant to hang around until after the holiday. And of course, she’d have to pick
this
year, when everything was sort of up in the air. China was worried about cash flow. He was trying to decide whether to take Lyle’s offer of a second course for the spring semester or put more effort into marketing his agency. Caitlin was getting used to living with two grown-ups again plus a big brother. Brian was getting used to having a little sister.

And Sally? Well, as far as he was concerned, Sally at Christmastime was pure disaster. Brian would be on edge when his mother was around, wanting to please her, but deep inside, knowing she didn’t really care. Sally, always the performer with a love for the dramatic, would hog all the attention, so Caitlin would slip back into the shadows. They might even be treated to a surprise visit from Juanita or from this new character, this hippy, whoever
she
was. And China . . .

He sighed. He loved China with all his heart—loved her quick mind, loved her firm, responsive body, loved the way she loved him. But it could not be said that patience was one of her virtues. Before long, Sally would begin bitching about something inconsequential. China would be annoyed. China would tell her where she could go and what she could do when she got there. And he would be caught in the middle.

His grading pencil had rolled onto the floor. He picked it up and went back to the exam with something like relief. All things considered, it was probably a good thing that he was grading papers tonight and going to Omaha tomorrow, before the war broke out.

He might be a coward, but at least he’d be out of the line of fire.

I finished talking to McQuaid and went back to working on my column until the lunch crowd, happy and no longer hungry, came into the shops to browse, buying enough to keep the cash register ringing at agreeable intervals. An hour later, Cass finished up in the kitchen and went off to deliver a batch of her gourmet meals to her regular customers: mostly singles who commute to jobs in Austin and don’t have time to cook, but want to eat healthy, good-tasting meals. Working out of our kitchen, Cass gives them what they want at less than they’d pay for a restaurant meal. Less fat, salt, and sugar, too, with most vegetables locally grown.

Later in the afternoon, after Ruby got back from her visit to her mother at Castle Oaks, I took a basket and went out to the garden to harvest the last of the fall herbs. Our first frost is officially scheduled for mid-November, but autumn seems to be lengthening in the past few years (yes, Virginia, there really is such a thing as global warming). It’s not unusual for us to wait until the winter solstice for our first hard freeze. And if we’re extra lucky, December might even bring us a couple of inches of rain.

But today, like many of our Texas cool-season days, was bright with sunshine. The leaves had fallen from the cedar elms and hackberries, but the live oaks were still hanging on to their foliage and the yaupon hollies—one of our native holly species—were bright with berries. The yaupon bears the unappetizing name of
Ilex vomitoria
, and its leaves and twigs contain about as much caffeine as China tea. If you ever run out of tea or coffee, you know where to look. Natives of southeastern North America brewed the leaves into a tea they called
Asi
, known to the colonists as “the black drink.” In some tribes,
Asi
is reported to have been used as a ritual emetic, meaning that the men (this was a guy thing, and women weren’t allowed to participate) drank buckets of the stuff and then threw it up. There’s some disagreement about this, however: a few anthropologists say that the men only threw up the tea if a woman happened on the scene and saw them drinking it. Seems extreme to me, but what do I know?

Later, settlers brewed yaupon leaves as a caffeinated hot or cold drink, sometimes flavored with other fruits. I’ve drunk it myself, and it’s tasty, especially when you flavor it with a fruit. The red berries are said to be mildly toxic, but the birds, deer, raccoons, skunks, and armadillos don’t seem to care. After the first couple of freezes soften the fruits and make them more palatable, wildlife will have a royal feast. Until then, our native hollies are a feast for the eyes.

Like neighboring New Braunfels, Pecan Springs was settled in the 1840s by German emigrants, which accounts for what’s called the “German vernacular” architecture you see so much of here in town. The century-old two-story limestone building that houses Thyme and Seasons, the Crystal Cave, and Thyme for Tea was built by a German master mason who knew his business so well that every piece of square-cut stone still fits snug and true. There’s a second floor, too, unfinished, that I’ve been thinking of renting out as retail space for crafters. In the meantime, I call it the “loft” and use it for drying herbs and storing supplies and out-of-season decorative items. The building sits about ten yards back from the street on an attractive, sunny lot. I bought it with the wad of cash that I took out of my retirement fund when I left the law firm, settled down to make the herb shop a paying proposition, and filled every inch of the lot with herb gardens, both for display and for harvesting.

And yes, you are welcome to gather your own herbs. (If you didn’t happen to bring a basket and scissors, I’ll provide them.) As you walk along the mulched, brick-bordered paths, you’ll find a culinary garden planted with thyme, basil, dill, rosemary, sage, parsley—all the herbs you need to prepare dozens of delicious meals. The apothecary garden offers healing herbs: echinacea, comfrey, garlic, horehound, lavender, and roses, as well as more rosemary, dill, and thyme. (Many culinary herbs are also medicinal, and vice versa.)

There are other gardens, as well: a dye garden, a tea garden, a butterfly garden, a fragrance garden, and more. All this takes a heckuva lot of work, yes, but I have help from friends who trade a couple of hours’ work in the gardens for credits they can spend in the shop—an idea I got from the gardens at Mount Zion, the Shaker village that I visited with Martha Edmonds a few months ago. (If you’re interested, there’s always room for another helper at Thyme and Seasons.) And when I’m feeling anxious, a half hour of weeding or planting or harvesting seems soothing. Especially harvesting, which reminds me that the earth is abundant, even when I’m feeling the pinch of scarcity.

With Sally on the scene, I was definitely in need of soothing. I had a big basket, so I clipped plenty of sage, lavender, rosemary, oregano, and savory, planning to hang them to dry in the loft. Parsley is a biennial here, and since it stays green all winter, there’s always fresh parsley for Cass’ kitchen. I kept myself occupied for a half hour, letting the autumn sun warm me, the earthy fragrances wash through me, and the chipper song of a chickadee cheer me. I would like to say that I didn’t once think of Sally, but that wouldn’t be exactly true. I stayed pretty busy
not
thinking about her, though.

At the back of the lot, near the alley, is Thyme Cottage, where Ruby, Cass, and I teach classes and hold workshops. If you didn’t know, you’d never guess that the building—also made of stone—was originally built as a stable, in the long-ago days when everybody in Pecan Springs had at least one horse. When live horsepower was replaced by the gasoline engine, the stable became a garage. It was eventually renovated by the architect who also refurbished the main building, where our shops are located. He lived there for a time, so the stable-cum-garage-cum-cottage has a fully equipped kitchen and spacious main room with a fireplace and plenty of comfortable seating. A couple of years ago, I redecorated the large, airy bedroom that opens out onto the deck, so I can rent the place as a bed-and-breakfast when it’s not otherwise in use. It’s listed in the
Pecan Springs B&B Guide
and online, so the rentals have been coming fairly regularly.