Page 89 of Just for a Taste

“Gardening, then tea with Doctor Ntumba,” I reminded myself as I immediately put on a pair of gloves before even examining the clearly overgrown shrubs in depth. “Then lunch, tea in the aviary, dinner and time alone. Like always.”

Chapter 49: Scordatura

Snip. Snip. Snip. The shriveled head of an old bloom joined the rest of the old foliage littered across the ground. I took a step back and glanced at my watch. An hour had passed, and the smell of fresh cuttings filled the air, but I still had plenty of work to do. Tea roses had reached crookedly to the grow lights, prairie roses crawled lopsided on its trellis, and a young addition to the garden had overextended itself by focusing on flowering before developing a healthy root system. Most pertinently,La Rosa di Santa Dymphnahad not only germinated while I was gone but had already begun its awkward adolescence.

“Sorry, but I’m already late for tea,” I said to them, sitting on my heels. “I’ll be sure to take care of you first thing tomorrow.” Then, just before leaving, I added, “I’m proud. All of you were so brave and strong while I was gone. I’m sorry it took me so long to come home.”

As I soon discovered, tea and cookies were waiting for me in the library, but Doctor Ntumba was not.

Sorry.Won’t make it,read a simple note folded neatly beside the plate. I didn’t even see Signora Carbone drop it off—it was as though the still-brewing chai and cookies, so freshly baked they were still hot to the touch, hadpoofed into existence. They were as fragrant and spiced as ever, but rather than digging in, I watched the steam. Whether it was because of medication in my system or anxiety, the thought of eating or drinking anything in front of me was nauseating. Worse, it brought flashbacks to that affogato that Basilio’s friend had given me in Cisternino, and theSorrywritten on the napkin beneath.

The plate screeched in tandem with my chair as I pushed it away and left. A walk was in order, I decided. Some fresh air to settle my mind and stomach.

The door to the courtyard was heavier than I remembered, or maybe I was weaker. I was forced to ignore the pain and lean into it, but the result was immediately worth the effort.

It had been a long time since I had been to the abbey, and yet everything appeared as it did the first day I arrived. The fountains burbled with their usual crystal-clear water, the statuaries grinned down at me from above, and even the sky itself was the same marbled mixture of orange and pink. There was a distinct, sweet fragrance—the final, desperate blooms from Sicilian flora trying to attract wildlife.

Signora Carbone (and, I realized with a chill, probably Signore Urbino) had maintained the shrubbery almost identically as when I had arrived long ago. The sight made me feel as if I were transported back to that simpler time, but this only lasted a few seconds. I could ignore the annoying swishing of the hospital gown, could mask the lingering taste of medicine on my tongue, and could even push away the steady ache that had started up the moment I tried to walk again. But the thing that brought forth chills was the realization that there was no audible wildlife. Though I hadn’t always paid much attention to it, the Abbazia di Santa Dymphna was always bustling, especially at this time of year. Birds called to one another at dusk, rabbits grazed, and countless other animals had their typical schedule around the abbey. This evening, however, I heard nothing.

I paused to examine the tree line and discovered there was no avian movement there, either, or hopping among the grass. In fact, not even the wind was blowing. I felt excruciatingly small.

Not again.

There was a good excuse for this, I convinced myself, just as the tingling began. I glanced at the door, ensuring it hadn’t magically locked behind me, and walked further. I had just finally felt at ease when suddenly, a soft, barely audible coo rang out in the distance.

My heart raced, and within seconds, my fingers were tingling. There were several species of doves in Sicily—in fact, I used to watch a nesting pair of wood pigeons from the abbey. But this coo belonged to none of them. Within this country, I had only heard the gentle song of a Barbary dove within the walls of the abbey.

Then, despite everything I knew and despite that sinking feeling in my chest, I sawher. A white Barbary dove fluttering in the distance, a collar of red around her neck.

“No—no, no, no!”

I staggered back but was able to catch myself on a pillar. When I looked back, she was gone, not even a white dot in the distance.

I blinked back tears and focused on my breathing.Nothing is there. It’s just the painkillers.

A contralto voice reverberated behind me. “You shouldn’t be out here.”

My breath hitched at the sight of Signora Carbone. I couldn’t help but associate her with Signore Urbino and his duplicity. Of course, I logically knew that if she were involved, Zeno would have already sent her away. Yet days later, the association was as strong as ever.

“O-oh, Signora Carbone!” I stammered. “I didn’t see you.”

She softened at my expression, and part of me felt the need to apologize for wounding her. Instead, I averted my gaze and festered in the guilt.

She repeated, albeit in a gentler tone, “You shouldn’t be out here.”

“I came outside because I heard . . .” I trailed off.

“It isn’t wise to follow ghosts,” Signora Carbone warned. “Especially not into places you aren’t meant to be.”

But my ghosts were gone. Zeno had said so himself. I had not seen my parents or Peachy for weeks, and for all intents and purposes, the abbey should have been entirely unhaunted. But I had just seen Leonore, and now I wondered if I would have to see others. I got the terrible feeling that Basilio, Urbino, and Zeno’s father would now inhabit the Abbazia di Santa Dymphna. Perhaps worst of all, maybe I would have to face the bruised and swollen version of Zeno that had haunted me weeks ago.

I shook away the distressing thought and instead inquired about the second half of her sentence: “Why am I not supposed to be out here?”

Signora Carbone looked over her shoulder at the manor, gaze boring into Zeno’s room, then back at me. Like Lucia, her eyes were unusually bleak with heavy circles beneath them, and she blinked slowly as she answered me. “He doesn’t want you outside of the abbey.”

“That doesn’t exactly answer my question,” I responded with a frown.

Her eyes lingered on me a moment longer before she responded, “He said you aren’t well and should remain indoors.”

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