Pulling on her cloak and grabbing a basket, Margaret went to their small stables, where Duchess resided. “There’s my girl.” Margaret patted her on her withers, smiling when the horse snorted at her. “Are you ready to get out of here?”
A flick of her ear and a nudge with her soft nose was answer enough, and Margaret saddled her. Duchess itched to move and see more of her surroundings, prancing in high spirits. Margaret couldn’t blame her; Silvica and the surrounding area was beautiful, with its rolling hills and farmland. She’d only passed one home along the way, and even that was at a distance. She wished, at times, they lived closer to people on days such as this, but she did enjoy not having near-daily callers as her family had in the capital.
Margaret dismounted Duchess in front of the healer’s shop and tied her to the railing. She patted her neck before going in, grimacing again at the jingle of the bells hanging in front of the door. There had to be a better way to get their attention than that, surely.
“May I help you?” one of the healers asked, flipping a page in the pamphlet he was reading.
“I’ve come for my father’s medicines, and some advice.”
“Ah, Lady Margaret.” He pulled a small basket off a shelf. “We have them ready for you. What advice are you seeking?”
“It is quite a long way to come here for all of my father’s needs, and though you do come weekly, there are daily concerns of mine…like when he is nauseous from eating, or if he has a headache. What can I do for him on my own, Healer Frederickson?” Margaret gripped her gloves tightly in her fists, her knuckles turning white.
Healer Frederickson nodded along as she spoke. “Mint will do well for both of those. You would simply need to boil water and steep the leaves for a few minutes. He’ll feel better from drinking it.”
“And where can I get this mint?”
“There is an elderly woman from whom we get some of our herbs, not much farther than you—about the halfway point between here and Fradure—who would be willing to give you clippings for a drica.” Healer Frederickson pulled out a sheet of parchment. “If you are willing to wait, I can give you a list of herbs you can plant in your garden and their uses. Mrs. Fraser would have everything I would feel confident you could handle.”
“Mrs. Fraser? I haven’t heard of her.”
“She mostly keeps to herself—I don’t blame her after raising a brood of fifteen. She deserves the quiet!” Healer Frederickson laughed. “But she’ll take good care of you.”
Margaret worried at her bottom lip. “Would she…would she be willing to teach me how to garden?”
Healer Frederickson paused his writing. “I don’t see why she wouldn’t.”
She smiled tentatively and loosened her grip on her gloves. “Thank you. I’ll call on her tomorrow.”
Finishing his list, Healer Frederickson handed it to her. “We shall see you at the end of the week to look in on your father then.”
Margaret smiled with more heart this time. “Yes, of course. We always look forward to your visits.”
“A good day to you,” Healer Frederickson called after her as she left.
Margaret adjusted her hat as she rode up to the small cottage. It was almost small enough to be considered a cabin, but still made of stone. The gardens, however, surrounded the house and expanded outward several yards. Margaret could just see a small old woman digging in a raised bed at the far end of the garden.
“Mrs. Fraser?” Margaret called out.
The old woman turned, holding her hat down as a breeze picked up. “Yes? May I help you?”
Margaret dismounted and adjusted her skirts before she approached the older woman. “Healer Frederickson suggested I pay you a visit to get clippings for my garden…and to ask you to teach me how to garden.” Margaret looked sheepish at the last admission.
Mrs. Fraser laughed, bright and loud. “Did he now?”
Worrying at her bottom lip, Margaret hurriedly said, “I can pay you extra for your services, Mrs. Fraser, if that is required.”
“We’ll see at the end of this, shall we?” Mrs. Fraser said.
Margaret smiled tentatively.
“What’s on this list you have for me?” Mrs. Fraser asked finally.
Margaret handed it over. “It isn’t too much, just a few things to help with my father’s health.”
“Is he sick?” Mrs. Fraser asked as she looked over the list.
“He’s bedridden from strokes and palsy,” Margaret said.
Mrs. Fraser pursed her lips and looked Margaret over carefully. “There are a few things that should be added to this list. Follow me,” she said as she turned and went further into her garden.
Margaret followed behind. There didn’t seem to be any rhyme or reason to the garden; there were herbs planted around vegetables instead of in their own boxes. She’d only ever seen them planted in clusters on their own.
“Does he have any pain in his legs and arms?”
“It’s hard to tell,” Margaret admitted. “He can’t speak anymore.”
Mrs. Fraser sucked on her teeth before mumbling to herself as she read the list again. “I want to give you the peppermint, lemon balm, and garlic they suggested, but not the tarragon. You don’t need that, and neither does he—it’s better used in difficult childbirths. I’ll give you some valerian, thyme, and woodworm.”
“What do all of those do?” Margaret asked. The only one she knew the use for was peppermint, and that was because Healer Frederickson had told her.
“Peppermint will settle stomach- and headaches; lemon balm will help with any headaches as well—and keep away the pests; garlic is helpful with any swelling and can go in your food; valerian will help your father—or you—sleep; thyme will help you with cramping, and the wormwood will also keep bugs from eating your herbs.” Mrs. Fraser spoke so rapidly, Margaret could hardly keep up.
“Are…are they easy to use?”
“You’ll have to grow them first, and you can ask the healers for the measurements you should use until you know more of what you’re doing,” Mrs. Fraser instructed. “I want to give you some lavender too. You can use it to keep your clothes fresh and keep out mice. And bay for your grain stores to keep out the crawlies.”
Margaret was starting to feel overwhelmed. This was a lot of information to take in. “Thank you, Mrs. Fraser. I truly appreciate it.”
“Where do you live, dear?”
“About ten miles from here, in Silvica, right on the border,” Margaret said.
“I’ll be by at week’s end to bring you all of your herbs, but for now, I’ll give you some dried peppermint to use for your father.” Mrs. Fraser left her in the garden and returned with a small tin. “Just boil this with water to make your father a tea, and it will make him feel better.”
“What do I owe you?” Margaret asked.
“We’ll talk about payment at week’s end” —Mrs. Fraser looked pointedly at Duchess— “I don’t think funds will be an issue.”
Margaret smiled slightly. “They will not,” she agreed. “I look forward to seeing you then, and thank you for the peppermint.”
Margaret made sure she kept her father as warm and comfortable as possible, and always in full supply of his mineral waters. She was hopeful as the relaxation of being away from the city noise and in the fresh air of the countryside improved her father’s health. The glimmer of hope had only lasted for a short time as her father slowly deteriorated to his original state. It often left Margaret in tears, feeling that she had failed him.
The months droned on, and he no longer declined in health, but neither did he improve. It broke her heart, watching her father struggle. He would watch her with eyes that were alert and said he was there and everything would be all right, that they didn’t need her mother around for support; but he had a mouth that would struggle to form words when he tried to tell her his sentiments.
She had found, though, that he enjoyed the outside. There weren’t any homes near them, but there was farmland where he could watch the workers. It seemed to relax him, and he would often protest when she tried to bring him inside. While Margaret was waiting for Mrs. Fraser to stop by, she wanted to get rid of the dead plants in their pitiful garden.
The weeds had strangled what had previously been planted. Her garden reminded Margaret of her father—the shaking sickness strangling the life out of him as she could only watch. This made Margaret particularly determined to succeed in reviving the patch of earth to its full potential, unable to do the same with her father’s health.
It took her several days of heavy labor, but eventually, she cleared away the weeds and dead plants so there was only clean earth. Margaret wiped her hands on her apron and grinned at her father. “What do you think, Papa? Ready for Mrs. Fraser to teach me how to garden?”
He wobbly nodded and smiled.
“I’ll finally learn more than how to tell when tobacco is ready to harvest,” Margaret said. “Imagine what Mama would say.”
Her father’s smile dropped, and he sighed.
“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have brought up Mama,” she said quickly. “Why don’t I bring you inside so you can rest?”
By the time Margaret got her father settled, a knock sounded on the front door. She went to answer it.
Mrs. Fraser stood at the door, a laden basket in hand. “I’ve brought a few extra things.”
“Now is as a good a time as any,” Margaret said. “Let’s get dirt on our hands.”