Chapter Thirty Eight

The Forest, 1998

L avender Cottage fills with boxes and cases. Mara supervises their placement in the relevant rooms, searching the sides and tops for ‘bedroom 1’, ‘bedroom 2’, ‘living room’, ‘kitchen’ and ‘bathroom’.

Mara’s first plan, after returning to Australia last September, had been to abandon the house in Adelaide, taking nothing. It was Peter who insisted she help herself to anything she wanted – photographs, paintings, favourite bits of china, furniture. His relief at her acceptance of his decision to leave her and move to Sydney with Helen – who, it turns out, is pregnant with Peter’s child – made him generous.

With the sale of the house and Kathryn’s home (to the sought after gardening enthusiast) money isn’t a problem. Mara intends spending a portion of it on renovating Lavender Cottage’s garden under Mr Gregory’s willing supervision.

‘We could do a lot with these beds,’ he had said when Mara found him there when she visited briefly in the spring to complete the purchase of the cottage.

‘Herbs and flowers which are good for bees and insects, and for healing,’ Mara instructed. ‘What you might call a witch’s garden,’ and Mr Gregory had chuckled, promising to do a plan and prepare the beds.

There are more boxes in storage at an industrial site outside Lydney, waiting for the building of the cottage extension to which Jack has given his blessing. Mara hopes the planning department will be as enthusiastic. The extension is modest – a garden room off the kitchen which will act as a dining-cum-sitting room, and a shower room for the second bedroom.

The living room furniture which came with the cottage remains. Mara could not bring herself to move the great dresser, fearing its roots might lift the flagstones if disturbed. Besides, the dresser is the right place for Aaron’s journals to live. They have come home, as she has.

Mara hasn’t solved the puzzle of why Kathryn had these beautiful books or why she never showed them to anyone. Dorrie has a theory which also fits with why Ellen and Rose never took the Appleby name.

‘Thou mam be a babe when Aaron died, never knew him. An’ Hester, Rose, Ellen, they must never have talked about him, not all the years they be thinking him up and left them.’ She had lifted her thin shoulders in one of her demonstrative shrugs. ‘Ellen must given Kitty the books when her emigrated. Like most young uns, thou mam not value what she doan know.’

The theory will have to do. Although Mara can’t believe her mother never valued these precious items.

The last of the boxes is in the correct room, the removal men have had their tip and are spending it at the pub on the corner. They will be on their second pint, Mara suspects, given the heat of the summer day.

‘Mum,’ Josie calls from the kitchen. ‘Tea break?’

She and Josie have worked hard as the afternoon stretched into early evening. Mara leaves the books she’s unpacking, piling them on the dresser to be sorted later, and wanders into the kitchen. Mugs, plates, cookware, are scattered on the table and workbenches.

‘Let’s take our tea outside,’ she suggests.

‘Good idea.’ Josie pours boiling water into two mugs. ‘I can tell you about the call I had today with my lecturer, about the position I’ve applied for at Kew.’ She grins. ‘She tells me I have a good chance. Apparently the other candidates don’t show the same magic touch I do with all things green.’

Mara laughs, collects the mugs and leads the way outside to the wooden table under the oak tree. She hesitates, squinting into the mottled shadows.

The table is already occupied.

A dark-haired man in a soft, white collarless shirt and braces sits there, a large journal on the table before him. He is sketching, his attention switching from the journal to the garden beds. Mara thinks of the letter Dorrie found, saying Aaron never willingly abandoned his family, although, frustratingly, no more detail than that. It does however, fit with the Royal Oak landlord’s theory that Judith Parr kept Aaron and Hester apart. Horrific to contemplate. Now Mara follows her great-grandfather’s gaze, and smiles, happy for his contentment.

A woman with braided black hair, wearing a long brown dress under a forest green pinafore kneels on the gravelled path. Ellen. She’s digging in the bed with a small fork, tossing weeds into a metal bucket. Beside her, an older woman in a faded floral gown and wearing a wide-brimmed hat on her black curls snips at the spent blooms of a rose bush with a pair of secateurs.

Mara scans the garden. There she is, by the old pump which Mara has asked Mr Gregory to see if he can get working. A barefoot child in a frayed skirt and ragged blouse squats in a puddle, hands busy patting mud into pies, her concentration complete.

She searches fruitlessly for Rose, the only true shadow in this scene. Proud of what you do … Perhaps, one day, Rose’s story will be untangled too, her mystery solved.

‘Do you see them?’ Mara whispers to Josie, who has stopped beside her.

‘Our family?’ Josie grins. ‘Would Aaron like a tea too?’

Mara tilts her head at the sound of a car door clicking shut in the lane. ‘Unlikely,’ she says, ‘but I’m certain Jack would.’

She laughs, walking to meet him as he emerges from the cottage, calling her name.

THE END

If you came to The Herbalist’s Daughters as a standalone and haven’t yet read River Witch , you can catch up on Aaron and Hester’s earlier tumultuous journey by purchasing the book on Amazon here . Available in kindle, paperback and also in kindle unlimited. Enjoy!

To learn about other Cheryl Burman titles go to her website at cherylburman.com , and to make sure you know when the next one’s coming, follow her on Facebook or on her Amazon author page.