“Of course not. I’ll have your things brought down this afternoon.”
With the air of a petulant queen, Lexi started back down the brick path, and I followed, nodding enthusiastically as she pointed out several greenhouses, a hothouse, and a seemingly endless succession of fountains. At one point I noticed a forest path marked with an ancient-looking sign that readTO OBSERVATORY, and I made a note to ask about it later. The brick path eventually gave way to dirt as we wound through the grounds, the surrounding foliage growing denser and thicker. As we were passing a stone statue of a peacock, something caught my eye. In the distance, I could just make out a magisterial-looking building with a slate roof.
“What’s that over there?”
“Academic buildings. Classrooms mostly, though Dr. Jeonand I have our offices in there. You’ll meet him at lunch. We eat most of our meals together here. It’s the Hildegard way.”
We continued on until finally we descended a flight of flagstone steps into a beautiful garden area partially enclosed by a rustic wooden fence. From an old-fashioned mint copper roof hung a hand-carved wooden sign that readAPOTHECARY GARDEN.Where the other gardens had been spaces of elaborate, even uninhibited beauty, this space spoke of structure and simplicity, of regimentation and precision, but most of all, it was a peaceful place, the kind of place where time tends to disappear. Herbs grew plentifully in mathematically organized patches, and tools hung evenly spaced from trellises.
Almost immediately, we were greeted by the Black woman with the nose ring from Dorian’s photo—the one doing the flapper kick. Diminutive, with an ebullient kind of beauty, she wore work clothes that still managed to make her look cool, like a celebrity dressing down in an effort to disguise herself. Clipboard in hand, she stood over a row of tall plants topped with vibrant yellow flowers. When she saw us, she set the clipboard down and approached with a transfixing smile.
“You must be Robin Quain.” She shook my hand. “Welcome.”
“Dr. Thomas is the director of horticulture here at the college.”
“Call me Aspen,” she said with a genial flick of her wrist. I noticed her charm bracelet jingle when she moved.
“I like your bracelet,” I said. “My friend has one just like it.”
“Thanks,” she said, toying absently with it. “Would you like a cup of tea? I can brew some up in the garden house.” She tilted her chin toward a charming wooden structure that stood a hundred feet or so from the entrance to the garden. Beyond that, theplants continued to stretch out in what seemed like infinite rows of greenness.
“Not right now, but I’d love to take you up on it sometime.”
“Well, welcome to Hildegard. If there’s anything in the way of botany or herbalism I can help you with, just let me know.”
“You don’t happen to know what sangdhuppe is, do you?”
Quick eyes darted around the garden as if she were performing an inventory of her realm. “I’m afraid I’ve never heard of it. Is it a plant?”
“I’m not sure, actually.”
She pursed her lips. “Nothing’s ringing a bell. Are you an herbalist?”
“No. I just have a section in my dissertation on folk remedies.”
“Interesting,” she said. “Feel free to come poke around down here whenever you need.”
Surveying the garden, I was immediately caught by the calculated delicacy with which the plants were laid out, the vibrant colors, and the fronds of green fanning like outstretched hands. “I’ve read quite a bit about medical botany, but only as a historian, focusing mostly on the role it played for wisewomen and healers as it relates to the stigma of witchcraft. Do you just grow them, or do you use them?”
“Oh, we use them,” Aspen said. “We study the science behind their efficacy, or inefficacy if that proves to be the case. We’re particularly interested in antimicrobial properties of certain plants, especially when used in combination with other herbs. And of course we’re focusing quite a bit of research on plants that boost immune function and pulmonary health. At the institute we use them both medicinally and culinarily. The first line of defense against disease is the food that you put in your bodyevery day. I always say, if you listen to your body, your cravings will tell you what it needs.”
I thought about my fondness for cheap beer and fried pickles and wondered what my body was trying to tell me with that combination.
“Come on, there are a few specimens in particular I want to show you.”
The three of us wandered through the apothecary garden, Aspen pointing out plants like turmeric for inflammation, veronica for respiratory problems, and chrysanthemum, which she said could do wonders for a simple head cold and congestion. We were starting toward a section filled with vibrant red blooms that reminded me of pineapples when a male voice called out for Lexi.
I turned to see the handsome Asian man from the photo—Finn apparently. He stood at the entrance to the garden, his posture stiff, almost as if he didn’t want to set foot inside the area. Although he was talking to Lexi, his gaze was fixed on me, and it wasn’t exactly friendly.
“Lexi, we’re setting up lunch in the glade now,” he called. “Did you want wine or cocktails?”
That struck me as odd. It was only eleven-thirty.
“Would you excuse me a moment,” Lexi said before clacking off toward the entrance in her high boots.
When she’d gone, a particularly beautiful bloom of purple flowers drew my attention.
“Aconite?” I asked.
