Widow's Tears

by Susan Wittig Albert

  Claire flipped the switch on the coffeemaker and the light came on. She chuckled wryly. “I told you, Ruby. The ghost has killed your phone. You’re cut off from the outside world.”

  “What about your cell phone? I could try texting with that.”

  “Sure,” Claire said. “I keep it in the kitchen, since I don’t use it very often.” She opened a drawer in the table and took it out. But when she flipped it open and turned it on, she frowned. “That’s weird. No battery on this one, either. And I know I charged it up before I turned it off.” She pulled out the charger and plugged it into the outlet. “Damn,” she muttered, shaking her head. “Nothing’s happening. What in the world is going on here?”

  Ruby got her keys out of her purse and dropped them—and her phone—into the pocket of her yellow sundress. “How about the cars?”

  “Smart idea,” Claire said approvingly. “We can leave them running with the phones plugged into the chargers while we walk up to the graveyard.”

  It was a smart idea, Ruby thought. But she wasn’t so sure it was going to work.

  Chapter Nine

  In Greek mythology, parsley sprang from the blood of Opheltes, infant son of King Lycurgus of Nemea, who was killed by a serpent while his nurse directed some thirsty soldiers to a spring. For centuries, Greek soldiers believed any contact with parsley before battle signaled impending death.

  The Healing Herbs

  Michael Castleman

  In later Greek and Roman times, parsley wreaths were used to crown the winners of athletic contests. The herb came to symbolize strength and victory through competition and struggle—getting the upper hand, so to speak. Parsley growing in the dooryard meant that the woman of the house was its master—and not a kindly one, either.

  In the language of flowers, parsley represents competitive victory and points to the “mistress who is master.”

  China Bayles

  “Herbs and Flowers That Tell a Story”

  Pecan Springs Enterprise

  Traffic had slowed down by four o’clock, so I asked Dawn to keep an eye on both shops and let me know if somebody called or came in with a question that she couldn’t handle. I picked up the trug I keep loaded with gardening tools and went out to the medicinal garden for an hour’s pleasant work.

  Both Brian and Caitlin take their turns in the garden: Brian under duress (what do you expect from a senior in high school?), Caitlin more or less willingly, when I can tear her away from her flock of chickens and her violin. But I got smart last year and organized a team of regular customers—the Wonder Weeders—who are willing to swap garden work for shop credits, who know quack grass from lemongrass, and who don’t mind getting dirt under their nails. It turned out to be a good move, because the theme gardens are much neater now, and the plant bullies are kept at bay, more or less. The big thugs—especially the unruly mints and artemisias—live in pots or in areas all to themselves, but they still bear watching.

  Today, I was replanting a section of the medicinal garden using some of the larger plants from the for-sale rack. In my tray: echinaceas (both E. purpurea and E. angustifolia); a sturdy Spanish lavender, which does well in our hot, dry climate; and several varieties of oregano and thyme, as well as our native bee balm, Monarda punctata, also known by the inelegant name of spotted horsemint. Oregano, thyme, and bee balm are endowed with the plant chemical thymol, which has a long tradition of use because of its antiseptic, antimicrobial properties. And I do mean “long”: Some 5,500 years ago, the ancient Egyptians used oils from these thymol-rich plants to make mummies. I’ve designed garden labels for these plants, giving some of their history and uses; if you’re interested in knowing more, there’s a plant list in the shop.

  I loaded a tray with a couple dozen pots and headed for the medicinal garden. I slipped on kneepads to keep my jeans decent and got to work. The sun was warm, the breeze was pleasant, and the earth was sweet, and forty-five minutes went by in a flash.

  I had only a couple more plants to go when I heard my name and looked up to see Ruby’s sister, Ramona. She was wearing sandals, a blue tank top, khaki slacks, and a couple of loose gold bracelets. Her red hair was cut short, her makeup subdued. She’s not nearly as stylistically outrageous as Ruby. If you were looking at the two of them together, you might not guess they were sisters.

  “Oh, hi,” I said, straightening up. “I hope you found Doris.”

  “I did.” Ramona laughed triumphantly. “Cornered her in the adults-only video store a couple of blocks off the square. The clerk thought she was a little weird, he said, so he called the cops—although I don’t know how he could distinguish Mom’s weirdness from the weirdnesses of some of his other customers.” She rolled her eyes. “I never would have guessed that Pecan Springs had any cross-dressers. But there they were, two of them. Big as life and twice as natural, babysitting my mom until the cavalry showed up. She was thrilled with the attention.”

  I had to laugh at that. Pecan Springs may be a small town, but it faces some of the same interesting challenges that the big cities are confronting, and more, because of its location. Austin is creeping south and San Antonio is crawling north, and the spillover from these two big cities—along with the drug traffic that flows north from the border along the I-35 corridor—is changing the nature of our community.

  “Well, anyway, she lost that round,” Ramona added. “She’s back at the nursing home. They’ve locked her in and promised to throw away the key.” She paused. “Were you able to contact Ruby?”

  “I sent her a text message,” I said. “That’s the best I could do. No idea if she got it. What have you heard about Grace’s tonsils?”

  “Amy says they’re keeping Grace overnight for surgery early tomorrow morning. She should be home by tomorrow afternoon.” She hesitated. “Do you have time to talk for a few minutes, China?” There was a metal garden chair nearby, and without waiting for a yes or no from me, she pulled it forward and sat down. Obviously, we were going to talk whether I had time for it or not.

  Ramona shares her sister’s red hair and leprechaun freckles (there must be an Irish grandmother or two on their family tree) but she’s short and round and fully packed, where Ruby is tall and angular. She’s also inclined toward self-dramatization in a way that I find…well, trying. A little of Ramona, in my opinion, goes a long way. And she’s ditzy. Things happen to her that don’t happen to ordinary mortals, although some of that probably isn’t her fault. I don’t actively dislike her (not yet, anyway). But I could probably go all day without talking to her and still fall asleep at night feeling perfectly complete and happy. But I adore Ruby and Ramona is Ruby’s sister, so I make an effort to be nice.

  I reached for a pot of echinacea. “Sure, we can talk,” I said. “As long as you don’t mind if I get these plants in the ground.” I tapped lightly on the bottom of the pot to loosen the plant’s roots. “What did you want to talk about?”

  She cleared her throat. “Have you noticed something going on with Ruby?”

  “Something’s always going on with Ruby,” I said. “She’s one of the busiest people I know.” I pulled the plant out of the pot and frowned at the mass of roots. The poor little echinacea was already root-bound—happens when a plant stays in its pot too long. “She’s not having any health problems, is she? I know she said she got an all-clear on her checkup last month.” Ruby had breast cancer a couple of years ago and elected to have a mastectomy. She belongs, she says, to the Tribe of One-Breasted Women. She can laugh about it, but I can’t. I was afraid I might lose her, and the thought was very, very scary.

  “Yes, she got an all-clear, but—” Ramona waited, tilting her head to one side, eyeing me as if we were playing some sort of game and the next move was mine. When I didn’t take the bait, she said, “I guess you haven’t noticed, then.”

  “Noticed what?” I tried not to sound irritated. If Ramona had something in mind, I wished to heck she’d come straight out and say so. I don’t like people who try to ge
t you to guess what they’re thinking. It’s manipulative.

  “How burned out she feels.” Ramona gave me a sly, smug smile that said, You can’t be much of a friend if you hadn’t noticed that. “She’s been doing way too much. It’s getting to her. She’s dying to take a long break. That’s why she wanted to go away this week.”

  I was nettled by the smugness in Ramona’s tone, which seemed to imply that, as a sister, she had a privileged view into Ruby’s inner life and knew secrets that Ruby’s other friends would never be able to share. But maybe she didn’t mean that. Maybe I was letting her push my jealous button.

  “I know she’s doing a lot,” I agreed evenly. “Ruby enjoys being a businesswoman, but she’s taken on quite a load, with the shop and the tearoom and the catering service. All three of us have—Ruby, Cass, me. Sometimes it’s hard to keep our heads above water.” It was true. We enjoy our three-ring circus, but there are days when it feels like the lions are in charge.

  “I’ve noticed,” Ramona said with an irony that bordered on sarcasm. She sat back in the chair and crossed her legs. “That’s what I wanted to talk to you about, China. I’m sure you know that I’ve been looking around for a business opportunity here in Pecan Springs.”

  I pulled apart some of the plant’s tightly packed roots so they would grow out into the soil. “Yeah, I know,” I replied, and dug an echinacea-sized hole with my trowel a foot away from a flourishing parsley plant. Ramona’s business aspirations were no secret. For a while, she’d thought she had a deal to buy half of Molly McGregor’s Hobbit House Children’s Bookstore next door. But the more time Molly spent with Ramona, the less Molly liked the idea, and she had finally decided it wouldn’t work. Molly’s rejection hadn’t fazed Ramona, of course. She was also considering buying half of an advertising agency, going into the real estate business, and opening a boutique coffee bar on the square.

  “She has eclectic interests,” Ruby said when she told me about the options Ramona was exploring. I didn’t say so out loud, but I thought that unfocused might be another word for it. Or scatterbrained.

  “And you know I’ve gotten my divorce settlement,” Ramona went on, swinging one sandaled foot. With a tiny stab of envy, I noticed that her pretty toenails were painted black and sprinkled with glitter, although I don’t think I’d paint my toenails like that even if I had the time (which I don’t). “I can afford to invest in a business—not just my expertise,” she added expansively, “but money, as well.”

  “Yes, I know,” I muttered, settling the echinacea in its new hole and patting the dirt around it with my bare hands. I couldn’t avoid knowing, because Ramona has been bragging about it for weeks. She not only got a big-as-Dallas cash settlement out of her doctor ex-husband, the poor jerk, but a substantial monthly payout as well. The way Ramona described it, she was fixed for life. And the way Ruby described it, Ramona didn’t actually have to go into business: she just wanted something to put her energies into. I picked up my shears, reached into the parsley plant, and nipped off a few dead leaves, neatening it up. As far as expertise was concerned, well, I wasn’t so sure. Ruby says that Ramona’s a very good manager with lots of administrative experience. I have yet to see her in action, though. Mostly, there’s been just a lot of talk.

  Ramona leaned forward. “So I’ve told Ruby I’d like to buy into the Crystal Cave,” she said, as if she were imparting a great secret.

  That got my attention. Immediately. “Buy into the Cave?” I asked.

  Ramona heard the disbelief in my voice and narrowed her eyes. “Sounds like that surprises you.”

  “Yes, a little,” I admitted. Actually, the idea surprised me a lot. The Cave is Ruby’s baby, her pride and joy. She might complain at the amount of time she had to spend on the administrative stuff, but I would never in the world have thought she’d sell even the tiniest fraction of it. And especially to Ramona. They might be sisters, but being sisters didn’t mean that they would be good business partners. Ruby doesn’t like being bossed around any more than Molly does. Any more than I would. Ramona is competitive, especially where Ruby is concerned. I suspect that it’s one of those sibling things, where the younger sister is continually trying to one-up the older sister.

  “How does Ruby feel about this?” I asked, trying for a neutral tone.

  “Oh, she loves it,” Ramona said, and raised her chin. “After we talked about it, it was clear that she’s willing to sell out entirely, which in my opinion would be a really good thing for her. She could stay on to teach classes and do consulting, while I would handle the shop, the taxes, the bookkeeping, all that administrative stuff that Ruby hates. This would give her the time she needs to do more of the things she’d really like to do.”

  “Which are?” I asked cautiously, wondering where Ramona got the idea that Ruby hates administration. She’s definitely good at it, which might come as a surprise to some people. She is creative and imaginative and she thinks outside the box—not the hallmarks of an administrator. But under her Orphan Annie hairdo there lurks the brain of a whiz-bang accountant.

  Ramona waved her hand. “She wants to teach more classes. Give more readings. Spend more time with Grace. Spend more time quilting. She’s often told me that she wished she had time to do more along those lines.”

  I sighed. I couldn’t argue with any of that, and I cared for Ruby deeply enough to want her to do whatever was best for her. I just wished she had talked to me about the way she was feeling before she came up with something as drastic as selling out to Ramona. Maybe we could have worked something out—hired a bookkeeper who would handle both the shops, for example. I’m not saying that Ramona wouldn’t do a good job with the Crystal Cave, or that she doesn’t have good marketing ideas. But I’ve been around her long enough to know that when she gets excited about something, she has a tendency to shift into takeover mode. Which was exactly the reason Molly had pulled back from their discussions about the Hobbit House. “I’m afraid I’d end up feeling like I was harnessed to a runaway bulldozer,” she had told me in confidence. “I want a partner, not a boss. Especially a bossy boss, who always knows what’s right, even when it’s wrong.”

  I dropped the plant shears into the trug and reached for the last pot, a Spanish lavender. “Well,” I said, “that’s between you and your sister, Ramona. If you want to buy in to her shop, or even buy the whole thing, it’s none of my business.” Losing Ruby as a neighbor would be terrible, and I’d hate having Ramona take over the shop next door. But I couldn’t stop either of them from doing it.

  “Oh, it isn’t just the shop,” Ramona said with a careless wave of her hand. Her bracelets jangled. “We’re talking about the whole package. The Cave, the tearoom, the catering business, everything.”

  “The whole…package?” I asked incredulously, feeling suddenly chilled. I put down the Spanish lavender I was holding and pulled in my breath. “I mean, I knew that Ruby has been feeling a little besieged. That was why I was glad when she said she wanted to take a few days off. But I had no idea she was considering selling part—”

  “In fact,” Ramona said, leaning forward, “I am offering to buy her out completely, if that’s what she wants me to do. And I have the feeling she will, when she’s had some time to weigh all her options. I can afford to make her an offer she can’t refuse.” Her tone became confidential. “That’s why I thought you and I should have this little chat, China. If Ruby says yes, you and I will be partners. You and I and Cass, of course.” She smiled. “Won’t that be fun?”

  Now, wait just a minute. Ruby’s shop is one thing. She can sell all or part of it to whomever she chooses. Heck, she can give it away if she wants to or even close it, as long as she pays the outstanding rent on the space she rents from me. But our partnership is another thing altogether, and we have an agreement that says so. What’s more, our agreement spells out what happens if one of the partners—in this case, Ruby—has an offer from somebody to buy her share of the partnership. She is required to notify th
e other partner in writing, giving the name of the person who is making the offer and how much that person is offering. The other partner—that’s me—has thirty days to purchase her interest, at that price. There’s a provision for mediation and evaluation if the offer seems unreasonably high, which it might, if Ramona was dead set on buying Ruby’s share and offered her a great deal more than it’s really worth. This is called the right of first refusal. It’s standard boilerplate in most partnerships. I wouldn’t be worth my salt as a member of the Texas Bar if I had failed to include it.

  I dug a hasty hole, tipped the Spanish lavender into it, and firmed the dirt around its roots. Then I got to my feet and started unbuckling my kneepads. This was serious stuff, and attending to it took priority over garden work. I didn’t intend to discuss this matter with Ramona until I sat down with Ruby and got the word directly from her.

  Ramona was frowning. “You’re leaving? I thought we were going to talk.”

  “I’ve heard enough for the moment,” I said, and dropped my kneepads into my trug. I don’t have piles of extra money lying around. In fact, things have been a little tight lately, money-wise. If Ruby was dead set on leaving our partnership, I would manage to scrape the dollars together somehow or another—how, I didn’t know. But I knew one thing: if Ruby meant to leave, I was not going into partnership with her sister. Ramona and I wouldn’t last a week together—heck, we wouldn’t last an hour.

  “Wait, China.” Ramona pushed herself out of her chair. “Before you jump to any conclusions, I hope you’ll stop and think. Think of Ruby, I mean. You might be comfortable with your workload, but I know my sister well enough to know that she’s really overwhelmed. And she’s still not over Colin—she thinks about him all the time. If you ask me, she needs a change of scene, something new and different to take her mind off her grief. That’s really why I made the offer. I want to help.”