Page 14 of Of Potions and Honey
She held out her hand, and belatedly Mira realised that she meant for her to hand her the basket. She did so, and without another word, Yoni took list and basket into the greenhouse, leaving Mira to wait outside.
It was a little bit awkward, but it gave Mira a chance to look around and admire the garden. It was large, maybe evenlarger than her own, with enough space to house five more greenhouses with room to spare. It was in infinitely better condition than her own garden though, with orderly stone paths and little walls that separated it into sections. There were more patches full of plants, are large stretch of well-kept lawn dotted with clover and daisies, and bushes along the fences. A small space was shaded by a pergola covered in grape vines, with a table and three chairs underneath. It was a cosy, peaceful space, where Mira was sure one could spend hours in and not get sick of it.
She’d like that for herself, some day.
After a minute or two, she peered into the greenhouse. It was meticulously set up, more so than any other greenhouse Mira had ever seen. Which admittedly was a rather small number. The courtyards in Willow Harbour, if a house even had one, did not lend themselves to gardening in any way, shape, or form.
In here, everything was in precisely divided patches, perfectly pruned, lush and healthy. Nothing at all like the sickly plants put in boxes along the streets near the emporium, a valiant but futile attempt to make the area a little more visually appealing to people with suitably large wallets and a desire to make those wallets a little lighter. This was a veritable jungle compared to even the nicest parks in the city.
Of course, without the trams, and those newfangled motorcars that were propelled by both oil and firestones, and the occasional cloud of factory smoke, any plant here would thrive. People, too, Mira mused. She hadn’t paid much attention to it until now, but if she thought about it, she might just find that she slept better here, despite the discomfort of the couch, and breathing felt just a little easier as well.
“Meow.”
The noise from her right drew Mira’s attention. The cat was sitting on the gravel path, tail swishing lightly, and stared at Mira with large yellow eyes.
“Hello.” Mira crouched down to look a little less intimidating. “And who are you?”
The cat meowed again. Mira held out a hand so the cat could sniff it. “I’m Mira. Nice to meet you.”
The cat continued to stare at her for a few moments before she leaned forward and delicately sniffed the tips of Mira’s fingers. Whether or not she was satisfied with the results, Mira couldn’t tell. At least the cat didn’t hiss before she stood, wove past Mira and jumped up on the potting bench. When Mira got back to her feet, the cat bumped her head into Mira’s elbow. Well, politely speaking; it seemed more like a tiny battering ram to Mira.
“Ow. Yes, all right.”
She began scratching the cat behind the ears, and the animal promptly began to purr roughly at the volume of a carriage rattling along cobblestone. After a few moments, the cat flopped over, purring ever louder when Mira – somewhat reluctantly – moved on to its chest and belly. She didn’t have much experience with cats; in Willow Harbour, pets were things for rich people, or those living on the outskirts with space for them to roam. She had been neither, and thus had contended herself with occasionally petting the small number of cats that lived around the park near her flat. None of them had been very happy when she’d accidentally touched their fuzzy undersides.
This one seemed not to mind. All four paws in the air, the cat enjoyed the belly rub until heavy footsteps approached from inside the greenhouse.
“I see you’ve introduced yourself to Marigold.” Yoni emerged with a pair of garden shears and Mira’s basket filled to the brim. “She’s alwaysveryhappy to make friends.” She gently rolled the cat over, who complained indignantly but refused to move away,and put down the basket. “That’s everything fresh. I’ll get you the dried stuff from inside.”
She left back around to the front of the house without another word. Mira discreetly looked after her until she disappeared around the house. Ouch. If she’d been hoping for a friendlier neighbourhood than she’d had in Willow Harbour, she would be sorely disappointed, it seemed.
“At least you’re a proper sweetheart, aren’t you,” she cooed. Marigold the cat chirped and started purring again when Mira went back to petting her.
It didn’t take long for Yoni to return with a handful of jars and add them to the basket. The amount she charged made Mira wince and recalculate the rest of her budget, but without any other options that she knew of, she didn’t have much of a choice. With a polite goodbye that was met with something too close to a scowl – and one last pat on the head for Marigold – Mira took her now substantially heavier basket and left, feeling just a little bit defeated. With so few people living on her street, it would have been nice to make friends with them. To feel a little more like a community than she had back in the city. Maybe that had been overly optimistic.
Well, at least the cat had been friendly enough.
Eight
“Right,sowhendoesthe shuvirum go in again?”
Mira squinted at the page – placed at a safe distance from the stove and the pot bubbling away on top of it – to check the steps again. Almost done. She grabbed the tin full of the finely ground mineral, measured out the smallest of the spoons, and sprinkled it in so it would distribute evenly and not clump. She’d learned that after two ruined batches, and so far, it seemed to be helping. The colour was nice and even, the smell fresh and minty, not burned and acrid, and the temperature seemed to be just right. Now to take the singular ogdenberry and-
The brew started hissing the second she dropped the berry in, and immediately Mira felt the panic set in. No, not again! She’d been so careful, how-
Crush berry before adding to avoid reaction.
Mira cursed. Oh, for crying out loud, how did she forget-
Shrieking, she sought cover when the liquid started popping large bubbles and splattering all over the stove. With a string of obscenities that would have made Uncle Lochlin proud, she wrapped her hand in a stained towel and pulled the pot offthe heat. Thankfully, the ruined potion inside got a handle on itself almost immediately and stopped its assault on kitchen and cook. Growling, Mira dragged the pot over to the stone sink and dropped it in a little heavier than strictly necessary.
“Good job, Mira. At this rate you’ll go broke buying new ingredients before you ever sell your first bottle of anything.”
With a last baleful look at the mess on the stove, Mira dropped the towel, yanked her apron over her head, and stomped outside into a nice spring afternoon. She sat heavily on the front steps, rested her chin in her hands, and stared out over her front garden. If one could call it that. She had found a pair of rusty shears out back in the shed and cut the stone path free, but hadn’t found the time or motivation to touch the rest of the mess. Good thing, too. Who knew how long she would last, anyway.
With every attempt, every ‘simple’ recipe she messed up somehow, that little voice in the back of her head grew louder. She’d been a fool. She’d bitten off more than she could chew. She should’ve sold the house and used the money to tide her over while she found a new job. She should’ve known this would never work out.
Groaning, she rubbed her hands down her face. If she went back now and had to admit this to her family, she would never live it down.
