A Cup of Silver Linings Page 8

  Sofia gave Sarah, Kat, and Aunt Jo a quick lesson on what to look for, and soon they were all working.

  Kat pulled a plant closer so she could see it better. “You didn’t mention looking for aphids or anything like that. Should we keep an eye out for those, too?”

  “I doubt you’ll find aphids,” Sofia said, not looking up from where she was examining a leaf. “We use organic, natural pesticides like lemon oil and basil. Still, if you see anything unexpected, let us know.”

  Kat nodded and went back to work.

  Not seeing anything amiss with the plant she’d been examining, Ava moved to a new one. Right now, the three canisters of messed-up teas were safely locked in a cabinet in the tearoom’s kitchen. As soon as she figured out what had gone amiss, she’d get rid of them. She’d kept them just in case she needed to have them analyzed by a lab. Which I’ll do if we don’t find anything today.

  They continued to examine the plants. A half hour later, Ava pulled a dandelion plant closer, trailing her fingers over each leaf, flower, and stalk. They all hummed with health, not a leaf out of place. What could it be? I don’t—

  “My gosh.”

  She turned around to find Sarah staring at a peppermint plant.

  “Look at this.” Sarah pulled the pot to the edge of the metal table.

  Everyone moved closer. The side facing Ava looked normal enough, the leaves green and healthy. Sarah turned the plant, and Ava’s eyebrows rose. The other side of the plant was a wilted, brown-spotted mess. “Oh dear.”

  “What caused that?” Aunt Jo asked. “A blight of some kind?”

  “I’ve never seen a blight like that.” Sofia peered at the leaves. “It looks as if it’s been burned, but only in spots.”

  Ava reached out and ran her fingers over the closest leaves. Instantly, a tingle rose through her fingers to her arm and then her heart—a deep darkness that ripped her breath away and left her gasping.

  She yanked her hand free and stepped back, waving her burning fingers in the air. “Ow, ow, ow!”

  Aunt Jo’s eyes were as round as saucers. “Lord, but I thought you were going to pass out.”

  “Are you okay?” Sarah demanded. “You went white.”

  “I’m fine,” Ava said shortly. But she wasn’t fine. Not even a little. Her hands were shaking, her head ached even more than it had before, and her stomach was faintly sick. In all her years of working with plants, she’d never felt such a strong reaction. She looked at the poor thing. Dear God, what happened to you?

  Sarah touched the damaged leaves. “Sofia’s right; these look burned. You’re sure there was no fire?”

  Ava shook her head. “Are any of the other plants this way? We should check them all.”

  Everyone hurried to look.

  After a few minutes, Sofia set the last pot of dandelions down. “Nothing here.”

  “None of the ginger has those spots,” Kat announced.

  “The rest of the peppermint looks fine too,” Sarah said.

  Sofia looked at Kristen. “How about the lavender?”

  The teen blinked. “I didn’t look. I was— But I’ll check them now.” She spun on her heel and hurried to the lavender plants and looked through them. “They’re fine.”

  “It’s settled, then,” Aunt Jo announced. “This is the plant that messed up your teas.”

  “It’s not enough to know which plant caused the problem.” Ava eyed the wilted, blackened leaves. “If we don’t figure out what harmed this plant, we can’t keep it from happening again.”

  Sarah sighed and touched the leaves closest to her. A few fell off, drifting to the countertop. “You might as well destroy this one. You can’t use it in your teas anymore, and—”

  “No!”

  Everyone turned to where Kristen stood. She flushed. “Please don’t hurt it.” She looked ready to burst into tears. “Mom loved peppermint. I used to take her sprigs of it. She’d put them under her pillow so she could wake up to the smell.” Kristen’s lips quivered as she spoke.

  Oh dear. I’ve been so wrapped up in the tea mystery that I forgot how raw Kristen’s feelings are right now. “That was very kind of you. But don’t worry; I’m not going to destroy this plant.”

  “You promise?”

  “Of course. I’m going to take it to my house and make it healthy again. It may take a while, though.” Ava held her breath and gently removed a crumbled leaf, fighting the wave of despair that rippled through her at that simple touch. “I just wish I knew what happened to the poor thing.”

  “Can’t it tell you?” Aunt Jo asked.

  “They don’t communicate like that.”

  Aunt Jo glanced at Sarah and asked hopefully, “Have any books asked to visit your sister? Maybe one of them knows something helpful.”

  Sarah shook her head. “I walked through the gardening section twice today, but nope. They were all quiet.”

  Ava rubbed her hand on her jeans, trying to ease the burning sensation. “I don’t understand this at all. This plant… it felt as if she had been through something horrible. I just don’t know what—”

  “I know what happened to her,” Kristen said.

  Sarah and Ava exchanged surprised glances while the others stared at the teenager. Ava finally found her voice. “Kristen? Did you… did you do something to this plant?”

  “I might have. But I didn’t mean to. I was… I didn’t know…” Kristen swiped a tear from her cheek. “The night Mom died, I needed to get away from the house. I didn’t want to see them put her in the ambulance with a sheet over her, so I came here. I took one of the peppermint plants, it must have been this one, and I—I was just going to hug it, but I was crying and… I guess it was bad for the plant.”

  “You wept over it,” Ava said slowly. Which explained the wrenching emotion she’d felt when she’d touched the leaves. The plant must have absorbed Kristen’s grief along with her tears. I’ve never seen anything like this.

  “How did you get in?” Sarah asked.

  “She has a key,” Sofia said. “She sometimes stops by to do the watering and pH testing when I’m busy.”

  Kristen nodded miserably, another tear rolling down and joining the others, her face streaked with wetness.

  “Oh, sweetheart.” Aunt Jo picked up her huge purse from where she’d set it on a low shelf and dug out a packet of tissues.

  “Thank you,” Kristen said in a choked voice.

  “That’s quite all right. Keep the whole pack. I have ten more in my purse, and they’re just getting in the way. I almost couldn’t find my sandwich at lunch.”

  Kristen swiped at her eyes. “Ava, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean any harm. I just—” Another tear leaked out, and she wiped at it with her crumpled tissue. “Ugh! I hate that I keep crying.”

  “Don’t,” Ava said. “That’s just normal.”

  “Nothing feels normal right now. I’m so over it.” Kristen’s gaze moved back to the plant, and she walked closer to it, reaching out to touch one of the wilted leaves. “I didn’t mean to hurt it.”

  “Of course you didn’t.” Ava watched Kristen, remembering her own grief when Momma died. “Do you come here often?”

  The teenager shot Ava a sad, guilty look. “Once in a while, when I can’t stand being in the house anymore. I rarely stay long. Well, except that night. I came here and took this plant, and we sat on the couch in the office and waited until—” She winced. “I waited until I thought it was safe to go home. Ava, I promise I didn’t know my tears would hurt the leaves. They didn’t look any different when I left. But I should have told you I’d been here. I didn’t think it would matter. When I heard that some of your teas were acting up, I didn’t even think about that night.”

  “I wouldn’t have thought about it, either.” Ava went to Kristen and gave the girl a hug. “But now we know, don’t we?”

  “I’m so sorry.”

  “Pah! Stop worrying about it.” Ava smiled and kissed Kristen’s cheek before releasing her.
“I’m just glad that the mystery has been solved.” She turned to Sofia. “What day did I make those teas?”

  Sofia picked up the clipboard and flipped through some pages. “Two days after Julie’s death. I collected the leaves you needed and left them on the table for you. So they must have come from that particular plant.”

  Ava nodded, a slow roll of relief easing the tightness in her chest. It won’t happen again. That’s all that matters. “I’ll be taking this plant home with me.”

  Kristen still looked worried. “The teas didn’t hurt anyone, did they? I mean—”

  “No, no! No one was hurt. The teas acted up in silly ways, plus I never make them full strength, so they wear off.” That was one mistake she’d made early, early on. Never again.

  Kristen wrung her hands. “I won’t come back to the greenhouses without permission again. I—”

  “Kristen, stop. You’re always welcome here. If you want some space or privacy, you have the keys, so use them. Or, if you want, come to our house. Sarah and I would love to have you any time you need a little break.”

  “You could visit me, too,” Kat added. “Mom would love more visitors.”

  “Kristen would be happier at my house.” Aunt Jo cupped her mouth and said in a stage whisper, “I always have cake, and I have Moon Pie. He loves a visitor.”

  “Thank you.” The sadness on Kristen’s face softened. She looked around the conservatory. “It’s peaceful here, though, and sometimes I just want to be alone.”

  Ava looked at the plant that had soaked in Kristen’s grief and suffered with her. She put her arm around Kristen once more. “The plant will recover.”

  Kristen looked hopeful. “Really?”

  “Yes. And so will you. It’ll just take some extra care and some time.”

  “I’m embarrassed I cried that much.” Kristen gave an awkward grimace as she hugged Ava back. “It was an ugly cry, too.”

  “Tears are angel breaths,” Aunt Jo said. “You were just giving your mom a proper send-off. She would have approved, too.”

  Ava had to agree. “If there was one thing Julie was an expert at, it was emotion. She understood it deeply. Probably because she had a bit more than the rest of us.”

  Kristen nodded. “I used to wonder what it would be like to be inside her head.”

  Sarah smiled. “Your mother used to come to the library all the time. When she was on the upswing, she’d check out happy books, hopeful books, books about love and friendship and happiness—mostly romances.”

  Kristen’s gaze locked on Sarah. “And when she was on the downswing?”

  “Books about struggles and the people who overcame them. She found hope in those stories. She never once checked out a negative book, even when she didn’t feel well.”

  Kristen smiled. It wasn’t a big smile, but a tiny, almost hopeful smile, one that might, if given the chance, grow into something bigger. “Mom was different, but I loved that about her.” Kristen’s voice thickened. “I loved everything about her.”

  Ava thought she knew what would help the plant, but she had no idea how to help Kristen. Experience, and a certain book Sarah had given her long ago, had taught Ava that grief wasn’t eased from the outside in, but from the inside out.

  Kristen sniffed and pulled out her tissue pack, mumbling, “Sorry.”

  Aunt Jo chuckled. “Lord love you, child. Tears are a testament to the strength of a person’s memory. I hope y’all weep for months when I decide to float up the golden ladder.”

  Sarah pretended to be shocked. “Months?”

  “Well, two days, anyway.”

  “Tell you what. I’ll make it three if you’ll bake me some of your cinnamon scones.”

  Aunt Jo pretended to consider this. “That’s three whole days of weeping? And lots of sighs, too?”

  Sarah’s eyes narrowed. “How many scones?”

  “A dozen. But you have to weep in public.” Aunt Jo leaned closer to Kristen. “It’s nice to be publicly acknowledged.”

  “Deal.” Sarah held out her hand.

  Aunt Jo shook it. “I do love to bake. Kristen, I can drop a batch of scones off for you and your grandmother, too, if you’d like.”

  “I’d love that, but I’m not sure about Grandma Ellen. She doesn’t eat a lot of carbs.”

  “Unnatural creature!” Aunt Jo declared, making Kristen laugh.

  Ava picked up the sagging plant. “Kristen, would you mind putting this in my truck? It should be safe on the passenger-side floorboard.”

  Sofia added, “And when you’re done with that, would you mind heading to the shed and putting those new pots on the correct shelves? I haven’t had time to do it today.”

  “Sure.” Looking relieved to be busy, Kristen picked up the plant and carefully carried it out of the greenhouse.

  Ava watched her go, glad they’d been able to get Kristen to smile, at least for a moment. Grief was tricky. It came and went like the surf, knocking a person off their feet when they least expected it. It would take a thousand little smiles before Kristen’s grief-stricken heart healed enough to give her the stability to fight off those waves by herself, but time would see to that.

  Ava eyed the spot where the plant had been and picked up a browned, curled-up leaf that had dropped. It crumbled under her touch, and she felt that sweep of anguish yet again. “I can see how grief affected the plant, but I’m not entirely sure how it changed the purpose of those three teas.”

  “We should consider the effects one at a time,” Kat suggested. “The tea you gave Jon, the one that infuses romance into tired relationships, made him speak nonstop. What does grief have to do with that?”

  Ava didn’t know.

  Sofia shook her head slowly. “That’s the question, isn’t it?”

  They all stared at the empty spot where the plant had been.

  Sarah fiddled with her braid, absently running the ends through her fingers. “Some people want to be around other people when they’re sad. Maybe grief makes them all want to talk to someone?”

  Ava pursed her lips. “I don’t think that’s it. Jon felt like he had to express his feelings, but Erma’s uncle had something specific to tell her, while Jessica didn’t talk at all and just kept staring at her own reflection.”

  “That’s true,” Kat said, scrunching her nose. “I don’t see what those three cases have in common with grief.”

  There had to be something. Ava frowned, trying to think of an answer. The silence lengthened, and Ava, unable to think of a single thing, had just opened her mouth to suggest they all go home and ruminate on the puzzle for a few days, when Aunt Jo snorted.

  “I know what it is,” she announced. “If there’s one thing I’ve learned over my lifetime, it’s that grief can be brutally honest. When you’re young, you think you’ll live forever, so it’s easy to pretend things are okay when they’re not. It’s when you know without question that you have no more time that you’re forced to face the truth.”

  “What truth?” Sarah asked.

  Aunt Jo shrugged. “Whatever truth you’ve been avoiding. Grief can cause people to blurt out their most brutal truths. That’s why there are so many arguments at funerals. And there was Jon, blurting out his feelings nonstop.”

  “So the grief in the plant made Jon more honest,” Ava said thoughtfully. It was possible.

  “Ah. I can see that,” Sofia said. “Jon is friends with my husband, so I see him and Ellen often. It drove Ellen bonkers he wasn’t comfortable talking about his feelings because she’s the opposite. It was obvious, though, that he was crazy about her, but just couldn’t put it into words. Maybe all the feelings he’d bottled up just poured out and kept pouring out.”

  “Brutal truth,” Aunt Jo said, nodding.

  “What about the tea that was supposed to ease Jessica’s anxiety?” Kat asked.

  “That one’s tougher,” Ava said. “What does anxiety have to do with truth?”

  “I know all about anxiety,” Sofia said. “My s
on has Asperger’s, so worrying is second nature for me. I’ve found that if I don’t have a reason for feeling anxious, I’ll start looking for one.” She winced. “That’s silly, but anxiety does that. In those instances, it would make sense if I looked in the mirror to remind myself of who I really am. That I’m Noah’s mother and that we’re both okay, and that while I may make a few mistakes, I’m doing the best I can.”

  “Another brutal truth,” Aunt Jo announced. “Jessica is fine; she just doesn’t feel fine. That’s a big difference.”

  “You do great with Noah,” Ava said to Sofia.

  She sent Ava a grateful smile. “Thank you. I try. That’s all I can do.”

  Aunt Jo rubbed her hands together. “Look at us, solving mysteries like Sherlock Holmes! Ava, what exactly did Erma’s tea do?”

  “It was supposed to help her sleep,” Ava answered. “That part worked, but while she was sleeping, her dead uncle visited her and yelled at her for giving something to his ex-wife that he’d wanted Erma and her sisters to have. Now that I think about it, that’s a brutal truth all by itself.”

  “Well, there you have it, then.” Aunt Jo beamed at them. “Three teas and three brutal truths. Problem solved!”

  “Apparently so.” Ava let out a deep sigh, grateful all over again for her friends.

  Aunt Jo picked up her purse. “Well, children, now that you’re on your way to salvation, I’d better go. Poor Moon Pie will wonder where I am. Plus, I have to get ready for the deacon’s meeting. If I’m not there, Evelyn Fabrizio will vote out the annual bake sale. She’s a devil in a blue dress, that one, and I don’t trust her as far as I can throw her, although she doesn’t weigh much, so I could probably throw her a long way.”

  “She’s a pain,” Sarah agreed. “I’m surprised Preacher Thomas named her a deacon.”

  “I wasn’t,” Aunt Jo said. “Keep your friends close and your enemies closer.”

  Ava had to laugh. “Good advice, always. Aunt Jo, I’ll take you home after we rescue Moon Pie from his spa day. I need to get that plant to the house, and then I want to stop by the tearoom to see the new cabinets.”

  “Don’t forget you owe me scones,” Sarah said.