The Night Strangers - Chris Bohjalian [95]
“So, this greenhouse isn’t just for Mrs. Messner?” Hallie asked.
Garnet was glad her sister had asked this. It was beginning to dawn on her, too, that this was a sort of communal nursery. She had a feeling that Mrs. Messner wasn’t the only one who grew plants here.
“That’s right,” Reseda said. “Some of us have our own greenhouses, but not everyone. Holly, for instance, keeps her plants here. And none of us has a greenhouse quite this large. So, yes, this one is a sort of shared space. We all help tend the plants here. And you must call Mrs. Messner Sage. I know she’d prefer that.” She brought the girls slowly up and down the long rows of tables, and occasionally Garnet recognized the name of an herb or a flower, but more often it was a plant that she had never heard of before. Some looked a little frightening, even when their names were rather comforting, such as the hoja santa: The leaves were the size of her face, and she imagined being smothered by one. Her favorite names, she decided? Elderberry. Fenugreek. False unicorn. One corner of the greenhouse had a series of raised dirt beds instead of tables, and the magic here, according to Reseda, was beneath the soil. Eventually someone would pull up many of the roots that mattered, but in some cases—such as the dangerously poisonous mandrake—only select, very experienced gardeners would be allowed to handle the harvest.
“Did the woman who lived in this house before Sage share the greenhouse, too?” Garnet asked.
“She did. And she actually bred some of these plants. Some she brought from other parts of the world, but others she created herself—like this rather potent despairium.”
Just then the greenhouse door opened, and Sage entered with a plate of small tea sandwiches in her hands, and Anise and Clary beside her. Garnet decided she was right about Reseda’s hearing: She had never heard Anise’s pickup pull in or the truck doors slam shut. The sandwiches were made with watercress and chives and cream cheese, and some also had cucumber. The white bread was almost as thin as a cracker, and Garnet thought they were absolutely delicious.
“Is the watercress from this greenhouse?” Hallie asked, after Sage had listed for them the ingredients.
“It is, absolutely,” Sage told her, and she surprised Garnet by putting the tray of sandwiches on one of the long tables with plants and sitting down on the dirt floor of the greenhouse. Anise and Clary, despite their ages, sat on the ground, too, and Clary patted the earth, signaling Hallie and her to join them. Garnet looked at her sister and saw that the girl was already sitting down, so she did as well.
“Reseda?” Sage asked, when the younger woman remained on her feet. “Going to join us for our … our picnic?”
“I’m fine,” Reseda answered simply, but Garnet detected a slight sharpness to her tone. She noticed that Anise was staring intently at her, the woman’s face curious and probing.
“What have you shown the girls so far?” Anise asked.
Reseda motioned vaguely at the long columns of tables behind her.
“The rosemary and the calandrinia?”
“No. That felt rather premature to me. Remember, all we discussed was showing the girls some plants. We did not discuss a naming ceremony.”
“Not a ceremony. Just a …”
“A chance to eat finger sandwiches and learn our new nicknames,” Sage chirped agreeably, cutting Anise off, clearly desirous of easing the tension that seemed to exist between the two women. “All right then, Anise, do you want to begin?”
The women who had sat down only a moment ago all rose up to their full heights, Clary rubbing the small of her back but still grinning expectantly. Her eyes sparkled, and she and Sage held out their hands, and Garnet realized that she and Hallie were each supposed to take one. And so they did, Hallie taking Clary’s and Garnet grasping Sage’s slightly gnarled but soft fingers. Then Anise led them down an aisle between the tables from one end of the long greenhouse to the other. Reseda