Page 14 of Trick of Light
“Tamara had nothing to do with any of the medical incidents,” Barnaby told them. “She doesn’t use toxic plants.”
“That’s not entirely true. I do use them in some of my blends, but only in the tiniest?—”
Barnaby shushed her with a hand, probably trying to stop her from incriminating herself. “She had nothing to do with it,” he repeated firmly. “She works with very small doses and has never given a patient an adverse reaction.”
Luke scratched at the back of his head, flicking away a leaf scrap that had gotten stuck in his hair. He didn’t seem to be paying attention to anything his brother said. He kept looking from one to the other of them. “I don’t understand. How do you even know Tamara?”
“Tamara is…” Barnaby glanced down at the tiny woman, who gave a small shrug of one shoulder. “She’s my grandmother.”
7
The little clearing went silent. Barnaby watched his brother’s mental gears turn, then turn again, then stall out. Gabby, on the other hand, lit up with sudden interest.
“Wait…you aren’t a Carmichael?” she asked. Then shook her head. “Of course you must be. You have the same eyes as all the rest.”
He was almost flattered that she’d noticed his eye color.
“Yes, I’m a Carmichael.”
“Your mother isn’t Annabeth?” Luke asked slowly.
“No. My mother was Sophie, Tamara’s daughter. She died giving birth to me.”
Gabby looked at Barnaby, then at Tamara. “I’m seeing it now. Ma’am, you look like my grandmother down in Georgia. If you don’t mind me asking, do y’all have some African-American in that family line?”
Barnaby answered that one. “A little, sure.” It didn’t seem the main point right now, but as long as no one was accusing Tamara of poisoning her patients, it was all good.
“Oh, more than a little,” Tamara said. “My mother’s family is from Martinique, African mixed with Carib and European, and a few of us married other Black folks along the way, some Wabanaki as well, also Portuguese. My daughter Sophie wasn’t the first in our family to fall for a white man, but John Carmichael was the first to insist she go to the hospital when it was time to give birth. We always handled childbirth here at home. But he didn’t believe I could do my work safely. Little did he know my Sophie would never leave that hospital.”
Tamara never spoke of her daughter—Barnaby’s mother—without pain in her voice. Barnaby was used to the way she spoke, with that storyteller cadence, but he could see that Luke and Gabby found every word riveting. Barnaby touched her gently on the shoulder, and she patted his hand.
“I’m still confused. How long have you known you weren’t Annabeth’s son? Why didn’t you tell the rest of us?” Luke’s scowl grew deeper. Barnaby could understand how unsettling this news would be. Their family already had so many secrets and lies and deceptions.
“I had my reasons. I’ve known Tamara for a long time, but I didn’t know we were related until later.”
“A long time? How long?” Luke asked.
“I was ten. I crashed my kayak on a reef and nearly drowned. I managed to swim to the the rocks near here. Tamara helped me climb up, all bloody, and brought me here to treat my wounds.” He gestured at the tidy cedar-sided cottage behind him, with its brick chimney and purple trim.
He’d chosen that color and helped her paint it. So many of his favorite memories were from this place.
“After she fixed me up, she drove me back home.”
“First time I went near that inn since my daughter died,” Tamara said softly.
“You drive?” Gabby asked, scanning the clearing for any sign of a vehicle.
“Not no more, I don’t. But I did then.”
“Anyway,” Barnaby went on with his story. “I was grateful to her, and she was…restful. Kind. So as soon as I was better I came back with some money to pay her back for helping me.”
“Like a good little Carmichael,” said Luke, with a wry smile.
“Like a good little Carmichael,” he agreed. “Tamara refused my money, but asked me to do some chores instead. I barely knew what a chore was.”
“Yeah, chores weren’t really part of the Carmichael credo,” Luke agreed.
“I fixed that right away. Taught him how to pull weeds in my garden.” Tamara shuffled her feet, making him realize they’d all been standing out here for a while. She must be getting tired.
