The Plague Doctor. E. Joan Sims
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coots who spend the day sitting on the wooden benches outside of the hardware store? What in the world does a dapper gentleman like yourself have in common with the likes of them? Were you telling them where they could buy Giorgio Armani overalls?”
“Very amusing, my dear.” Horatio paused as he took a drink. “I buried one of them last week.”
“Oops, sorry,” I sputtered.
Horatio’s family had owned and operated the one and only local funeral home since Rowan Springs was a wide spot on the road. He was semi-retired now, and only went into the “shop” when someone of importance or wealth passed on and the family needed a bereavement counselor.
“Yes, he continued, “poor old soul. Lived alone with seven hound dogs and a mattress stuffed with hundred dollar bills. He had a lovely funeral. Nothing but the best.”
“I bet!”
“Now, now, my pet, mustn’t be judgmental. His friends enjoyed it immensely. Catered, you know. He left a will, and I followed his every instruction to the letter. As I was saying, the old coots who attended were all discussing young Dr. Ethan McHenry. They say he is some sort spy for the government. Some claim he was sent here to see if that new African virus has infected the local livestock. Another old gentleman swears he saw the good doctor beam up to a flying saucer the other night out in the middle of Judge Hershey’s pasture.”
“Wow! Maybe I should visit the spit and whittle for some inspiration for my book. Those old guys have some imagination.”
“Perhaps you could just imbibe of the same locally made spirits. You would have similar results, I imagine.”
“Speaking of spirits, would you be a dear and fix me another drink while I dash in for a quick shower?” I made a face. “Promised Cassie I would dress for dinner.”
He winked back. “Be happy to, my dear. And if that’s Dr. McHenry’s strange little car pulling up in the drive, tell him to join me. I’ll fix one for him as well.”
Ethan McHenry was a good bit taller than Cassie, which made him very tall indeed. He was thin, almost gaunt, and bespectacled. His features were regular, with a nice straight nose and a firm square chin, but by no means could he be called attractive.
He would make a funny looking old man. One could imagine him bent over a cane with a long white beard growing almost to the ground. I had seen a drawing like that in a childhood storybook once. I thought of it each time we met.
The best thing about Dr. McHenry was that he considered himself to be the luckiest man in the world because Cassie had agreed to date him. He treated her like a queen. Moms like that. Cassie obviously liked it, too.
As I approached, I could see that Ethan was struggling to get something out of the back of his tiny little car. The vehicle was some sort of old Volkswagen convertible. He called it a Karmann Ghia. I wondered what on earth possessed a man so big and awkward to buy such a small car—and in orange, too, for heaven’s sake.
“Afternoon, Mrs. DeLeon. Please pardon my back. Ummmff, ouch. Excuse me, my elbow’s caught.”
He pulled himself free and whirled around holding a large gallon bucket full of fat, ripe, blackberries. He smiled down at me.
“Found these this morning when I was poking around, ah, out in the woods. Gorgeous, right? Thought Mrs. Sterling could make something terrific with them.”
I was mesmerized by his smile. Now I knew what Cass saw in him. His whole face joined in his happiness. His blue eyes sparkled. His firm lips turned up to expose straight white teeth. He made you happy that he was happy. I found myself grinning back at him like an idiot.
“Thank you, Ethan. How thoughtful. I know she’ll love them. That must be where you got all those scratches—in a blackberry patch.”
The smile vanished. I felt as though I had turned off a warm and comforting light. He sat the bucket down and quickly rolled down the sleeves of his blue chambray shirt. Either his arms were too long or his sleeves too short, because they failed to hide some really deep, angry-looking marks on his wrists and forearms.
“Oh, forget about it,” he said. “I’m fine,” His face had stained a shade redder than his sunburned nose.
His obvious discomfort aroused my curiosity. I started to make a further comment, but he seemed so uneasy I decided to let it go.
“Well, I’m going to wash up. I’m running late. Cassie’s in the kitchen. I’ll take the berries. She’s working on something she probably won’t want you to see yet. Or ever,” I added under my breath. I called back over my shoulder as I headed for the house. “Horatio has a drink ready for you on the patio.”
Ethan peered over his glasses and went loping off in that direction.
Chapter Two
We had dinner on the back porch. According to my mother, it was simple fare: creamed chicken and wild mushrooms in phyllo cups with warm goat cheese tarts and grilled vegetables. I didn’t quite keep my promise to dress for dinner but I did spruce up a clean pair of jeans with a silk shirt in a lovely warm apricot.
I needn’t have worried about my outfit—Mother had dressed up enough for both of us. She wore an Oscar de la Renta gypsy skirt and peasant blouse that would have made me look like a bag lady. She looked like a million dollars.
Cassandra wore a simple pale aqua shift that came to the top of her pretty knees and showed off her long, tanned legs to perfection. My daughter, her rich pile of dark hair piled carelessly on top of her head and tied with a green velvet ribbon, was full of smiles and laughter. I found it hard to take my eyes off her face, and so did Ethan. Cassie was so beautiful it was a pleasure just to look at her.
We watched the late September sun go down while we ate what was left of Ethan’s birthday cake. Cassandra had been humiliated when the top fell onto the floor as she was bringing it out to the porch. Aggie had immediately jumped into the middle of the sugary, gooey mess and started gobbling. Mother was horrified, and I, of course, started laughing. Ethan saved the day by scooping up Aggie and most of the mess in his big hands. He threw the cake in the garbage on the way to dumping the dog in the nearest bathtub. I mopped up the residue and made Cassie quit sniffling. Then we all sat back down and started over again with the bottom half of what turned out to be a very tasty cake.
Mother patted Cassie on the shoulder. “Never mind dear, you’ve got down the basics. Next time we’ll work on aesthetics. I have a lovely dessert cookbook that tells all. Have another piece, Ethan?”
What a sweet guy! He ate three pieces. Cassie’s smile got bigger with each piece. Ah, young love.
We took our coffee and Cointreau out to the patio and watched the fireflies send their little signals of yearning to each other. The moon rose slowly over the trees to illuminate the night garden I had planted that spring. I had taken special care in choosing only flowers with white blossoms. The big silver reflecting ball I had always wanted sat in the middle of the yard on a pedestal and made the whole thing magical. It looked like a fairy garden.
The scene evoked memories of the summer when Cassie was twelve and into crystals. We had taken them all around the yard and hidden them in tree trunks. They were for the fairies and gnomes, she had said. I wonder what had happened to them. I guess the bark grew up around and over, encompassing each little piece of quartz. I supposed they would make a future Sterling pause and reflect someday when he cut down the tree. It had better be a Sterling, after all the hard work we had put into this place.
I was surprised that the young people showed no signs of leaving. Mother was apparently thinking the same thing.
“You children have no plans for tonight?”
“No, Mrs. Sterling. I hope you don’t mind if we stick around?”
“Why, of course not, Ethan, dear. We love your company. But how can you put up with us old fuddy duddys?”
“Come on, Gran, quit fishing for a