front with rain and possibly snow at the higher elevations for Friday and the weekend. She could spare a dozen eggs easily, plus some of the tomatoes and herbs. Old Annie always fussed that their autumn tomatoes were “hothouse-growed” and didn’t taste right compared to those that had baked in the summer sun. Nonetheless, she accepted them greedily to make tomato dumplings for her “boys”—her grandsons—two grown men who couldn’t seem to keep a job between them.
Hoisting the backpack which she had left sitting on the top porch step, Grace reviewed the morning chores to make sure she hadn’t missed anything.
“Greenhouses tended, eggs gathered, goats and chickens fed and watered.” She ticked off the list as she fastened the backpack. “And Jamie can do the bees and the birdfeeders after school. Is that it?”
Pooka wagged his tail in agreement.
“Then we’re off.” She headed down to the parking lot and then east into the trees, the dog questing ahead of her, knowing exactly where they were going.
This was her idea of heaven: walking through these woods just as the morning sun gleamed through the trees, her breath fogging the air and the last few stubborn leaves drifting down around her. Autumn had escaped her notice this year, but she might still catch a glimpse of it today. The ginseng bed often seemed suspended in time, even outside of it, which might also explain the potency of the plants. And sometimes her favorite season lingered there.
Nick certainly looked like he could benefit from some of their prized Woodruff Mountain Ginseng Extract. And she should also take some with her tomorrow in case Old Annie needed it, along with the tonic that Pops had formulated for her.
Of course, she had to consider the downside of visiting the Taggarts. First, she would have to deal with Boyd and his mouth, although carrying her 12-gauge over the ridge whenever she visited seemed to shut him up. Second, she would have to give Annie a quick check-up. It was a tradition Pops had started when she first voiced her intention to go to medical school, and he had dragged her over to the Taggarts to “practice” on Old Annie. Practice mostly consisted of taking the old woman’s vital signs, which had always been good. It was about all Annie would tolerate, having the traditional mountainfolk’s distrust of doctors. But dealing with an openly skeptical and argumentative patient had helped Grace hone her bedside manner.
It was good timing, and Annie was the perfect subject. At nearly ninety she had been pretty much confined to the house for years because of the arthritis that had robbed her of her mobility. Since Grace had managed to wrap a badly sprained ankle this summer without a twitch and arthritis was a chronic, debilitating condition and not a life-threatening one, surely she could manage to check Annie’s pulse and take her blood pressure without having some kind of waking nightmare or passing out. Couldn’t she?
Operating on no sleep and too much caffeine made Nick a bit jumpy. Watching Grace Woodruff stuff that glorious hair of hers up into a wool cap notched it up to edgy. Only the fact that it was the most ridiculous looking rainbow-hued atrocity he had ever seen—including ear flaps and a tassel—took the edge off like a knitted cold shower.
Whatever her taste in headgear, she certainly had a serious work ethic. From what Nick could tell, as he followed her progress from a distance, she had finished a day’s work before most folks were awake. And so far, no one on that skeleton staff of hers had shown up to help out.
The amazing sight of the first greenhouse, glowing on the dark hillside, was enough to make him blink and lower his binoculars. Constructed of some opaque plastic over steel ribs, it looked as if one of the stars had set down quietly in the night. At some point he would have to get a better look inside, but from what he could tell it wasn’t cannabis growing in there. With
Hoisting the backpack which she had left sitting on the top porch step, Grace reviewed the morning chores to make sure she hadn’t missed anything.
“Greenhouses tended, eggs gathered, goats and chickens fed and watered.” She ticked off the list as she fastened the backpack. “And Jamie can do the bees and the birdfeeders after school. Is that it?”
Pooka wagged his tail in agreement.
“Then we’re off.” She headed down to the parking lot and then east into the trees, the dog questing ahead of her, knowing exactly where they were going.
This was her idea of heaven: walking through these woods just as the morning sun gleamed through the trees, her breath fogging the air and the last few stubborn leaves drifting down around her. Autumn had escaped her notice this year, but she might still catch a glimpse of it today. The ginseng bed often seemed suspended in time, even outside of it, which might also explain the potency of the plants. And sometimes her favorite season lingered there.
Nick certainly looked like he could benefit from some of their prized Woodruff Mountain Ginseng Extract. And she should also take some with her tomorrow in case Old Annie needed it, along with the tonic that Pops had formulated for her.
Of course, she had to consider the downside of visiting the Taggarts. First, she would have to deal with Boyd and his mouth, although carrying her 12-gauge over the ridge whenever she visited seemed to shut him up. Second, she would have to give Annie a quick check-up. It was a tradition Pops had started when she first voiced her intention to go to medical school, and he had dragged her over to the Taggarts to “practice” on Old Annie. Practice mostly consisted of taking the old woman’s vital signs, which had always been good. It was about all Annie would tolerate, having the traditional mountainfolk’s distrust of doctors. But dealing with an openly skeptical and argumentative patient had helped Grace hone her bedside manner.
It was good timing, and Annie was the perfect subject. At nearly ninety she had been pretty much confined to the house for years because of the arthritis that had robbed her of her mobility. Since Grace had managed to wrap a badly sprained ankle this summer without a twitch and arthritis was a chronic, debilitating condition and not a life-threatening one, surely she could manage to check Annie’s pulse and take her blood pressure without having some kind of waking nightmare or passing out. Couldn’t she?
Operating on no sleep and too much caffeine made Nick a bit jumpy. Watching Grace Woodruff stuff that glorious hair of hers up into a wool cap notched it up to edgy. Only the fact that it was the most ridiculous looking rainbow-hued atrocity he had ever seen—including ear flaps and a tassel—took the edge off like a knitted cold shower.
Whatever her taste in headgear, she certainly had a serious work ethic. From what Nick could tell, as he followed her progress from a distance, she had finished a day’s work before most folks were awake. And so far, no one on that skeleton staff of hers had shown up to help out.
The amazing sight of the first greenhouse, glowing on the dark hillside, was enough to make him blink and lower his binoculars. Constructed of some opaque plastic over steel ribs, it looked as if one of the stars had set down quietly in the night. At some point he would have to get a better look inside, but from what he could tell it wasn’t cannabis growing in there. With
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