In 1744, when window glass was a precious commodity, Agnes Dove, the oldest of seven sisters, had used alchemy to make glass for the homes being built in their growing town. Fourteen houses from that era still stood in Dove Pond, and none of their windows had ever had so much as one pane crack. In fact, when a fire had gutted the old Hendersen house in 1978 after sixteen-year-old Robbie Hendersen fell asleep smoking a forbidden cigarette, the only thing left in the ashes had been the windows, which looked as if they were brand-new.
And in 1933, at the height of the Depression, when everyone was struggling just to put food on the table, the town had been delighted to discover that whenever eight-year-old Clarissa Dove, the third of seven Dove sisters, played her violin on her front porch, her family’s cows and chickens produced ten times what they normally did. Not only did they produce more, but the milk was extra creamy and most of the eggs had double yolks. Naturally, being a Dove, Clarissa had shared her gift with her neighbors, playing her violin for any Dove Pond farmer who asked. Soon all the farms in their small town were producing more than enough milk and eggs to keep their little town fed.
There were dozens of stories like that about the Dove sisters. Still, as Momma Dove always pointed out, no matter how many stories there were, or how many good things the Doves brought to their hometown, there would always be those who didn’t believe. Momma had warned her daughters about the dangers of letting others place doubts in their minds about their own abilities. They alone knew the limits of their gifts.
Of course, like all life lessons mommas handed down to their daughters, some took and some didn’t. No matter how much Sarah wished it otherwise, she still cared what other people thought. And so, too, did Ava. Sarah wasn’t surprised her sister was taking the failure of one of her teas so personally. No one had a bigger heart.
Sarah had just reached for the next stack of returns when someone thunked a book onto the desk in front of her.
She looked up to find Kat Carter standing on the other side of the desk, her face flushed. Tall and brunette, Kat was a real estate agent who specialized in commercial properties. Her mother, a notoriously sexy flirt, was currently preparing for her fifth—or was it sixth?—marriage. Sarah couldn’t keep up, and neither could anyone else in town. According to local lore, Kat and her mother had what was called the Carter gift. Wealthy men fell madly, crazily in love with them, although, at least with Kat’s mother, it didn’t seem to last. As if to defy tradition, Kat had had the same beau since high school, although she’d been steadfastly refusing to marry him for over twenty years now.
Kat shoved the book across the desk. “Why on earth would I need a book on the history of turpentine?”
“I don’t know. It said you should read it, so I sent it your way.”
An impatient look crossed Kat’s face. “I don’t need it. It was boring as heck, too.”
The book on the desk hissed, She skimmed. Ask her what oleoresin is.
Sarah frowned at the book. “I’m not going to give her a pop quiz just because you say she skimmed.”
Kat gasped and then glared at the book.
Sarah crossed her arms and leaned back in her chair, which creaked loudly in the quiet of the library. “You didn’t read it, did you?”
Kat threw up her hands. “Fine! I skimmed. It’s not my fault. The History of Turpentine isn’t exactly a riveting read.” She slanted a cautious look at the book. “Not that you didn’t try. I just—” She grimaced. “Oh God, I’m talking to a book.”
Sarah smiled and placed the book on the return cart. “You’ll regret you didn’t read it.”
Kat eyed the book with a sour expression. “Did it tell you why I need to read it?”
“They never do.”
“Can you ask?”
Sarah sighed and picked up the book once more. “Well?”
She’ll find out when the time is right, the book replied grumpily.
Sarah repeated the book’s answer to Kat and then added, “I’d read it if I were you, but it’s your decision.”
“I don’t even know why I asked,” Kat said in a petulant tone. She stared at the book uneasily, finally saying, “No. I’m not going to read it. It’s about turpentine. Do people even use that stuff these days?”
Yesssss, hissed the book angrily.
Sarah ignored it, tucking it back out of sight behind a pile of other books. “I’m glad you stopped in,” she said to Kat. “How are things in the commercial real estate world?”
Kat’s irked expression eased. “Great. Better than great, in fact. Remember the old Seed and Feed on SR 20? I’m showing it to a guy who’s thinking about opening a Farmers’ Depot.”
“Oh wow. I’ve heard those were nice.”
“Everything a farmer needs. That’s what the ads say about those places. It’s a huge deal and…” Kat waved her hand. “But never mind that. I had another reason for stopping by.” She frowned, worry plain on her face. “Is Ava okay? I’ve never seen her so distracted. I’m worried about her.”
“Me too,” Sarah admitted. “She didn’t say three words at lunch today. She’s behind on the tearoom, and that messed-up tea is bothering her, too.”
“Which one?”
Sarah blinked. Which one? “I thought only Erma Tingle’s tea had messed up.”
“Two more were returned this morning.” Kat frowned. “Ava didn’t tell you?”
“She didn’t say a word. That explains why she barely touched her meal, though.”
“I’ve never seen her like this. She’s absentminded, quiet, and just…” Kat impatiently raked a hand through her dark hair. “I didn’t want to say anything, because she’s already upset, but people are starting to talk.”
Sarah’s shoulders sunk. “What did you hear?”
“An hour ago, I stopped by the Moonlight Café to pick up some coffee, and Marian Freely was telling everyone at the counter how Ava’s teas were all messed up.”
Sarah winced at the mention of the gossip-hungry waitress at the Moonlight. “Oh no.”
“Marian said that until she knows it’s safe, she’s going to stop drinking the tea Ava made to calm her psoriasis.”
“How many people heard Marian say that?”
“Everyone in the café. She was talking loud enough that I heard every word she said and I was sitting on the other side of the dining room.”
“This just keeps getting worse and worse.”
Kat agreed. “Does Ava have any idea what’s gone wrong?”
“No. Which other two teas were messed up? I assume you heard names.”
Kat looked around to make sure no one was close by, and then leaned closer. “Ava made Jon Ferguson a tea a few weeks ago to help him be more romantic with his lady.”
“Romantic? He and Ellen have been going out forever. I’d think he’d have already figured that out.”
“Ellen has been telling him her love language is affirmations. She wanted him to write her notes and poems and stuff like that.”
“Jon? Write a poem?”
“Exactly. So he asked Ava to make him a tea to help him be more creative in expressing himself.”