The Enchanted Greenhouse(82)

“We’ll start fixing up our own cottages soon,” said Harvena, the older woman who had reminded Terlu of an emu because of her tiny black eyes and her long legs. She had a perpetual scowl that made Terlu think of Yarrow—perhaps the scowl was genetic.

“I can’t wait to show you my cottage!” Yarrow’s sister said to her wife. Rowan and Ambrel, Terlu remembered. And Yarrow and Rowan’s father was Birch. Others were Vix, Rin, Finnel, Ubri … She silently ran through the names, fixing them in her memory, as Rowan said to Ambrel, “If it’s still standing, of course, which there’s no guarantee.”

Some of the relatives stomped upstairs to Laiken’s bedroom. Terlu supposed that several could sleep upstairs and a few on the floor here. It would be squashed but not unmanageable, so long as they didn’t mind all the creepy shadows. Perhaps the leftover miasma would fade with the addition of so many living people. She hoped the privy could handle the influx. She knew it worked, since she’d used it, and it was fine, as far as no mold or other unpleasantness, but there weren’t enough towels or soap—

“We’ll make do,” Yarrow’s father, Birch, said beside her. He was leaning against his cane as he surveyed the late sorcerer’s workroom. She wondered if her worry was written on her face and decided it must be, given that he clearly felt he needed to reassure her. “If we’d needed all the amenities ready for us, we would have sent word that we were coming.”

“Why didn’t you?” She smiled to soften the question. “It’s fine that you didn’t—you’re quite welcome—but we could have prepared food, toiletries, places to sleep.” She wasn’t sure when they would have done that, between waking the sentient plants and rescuing plants from the dying greenhouse, but they could have tried.

“Some of us wanted to reply to Yarrow’s letter, but I vetoed that. I didn’t want to risk him changing his mind and withdrawing the invitation, which he could have if he knew I was coming.”

“Why would he? You’re his father. He loves you.” Also, Yarrow needed the help.

Birch sighed, and he sounded so exactly like Yarrow that it was clear they were related, even though he had bushy gray hair, rather than Yarrow and Rowan’s black and gold. His eyebrows were even bushier, like woolly caterpillars napping above his eyes. He had the same eyes, the kind that looked like they held depths, though his had more amber flecks in the green, and the same golden sheen to his skin. If the two men were at all similar, she wondered how much had been left unsaid between the two of them. “He didn’t like that I left,” Birch said.

“But you were ill. He said so. You had to leave.”

“He didn’t like how I left. I tried to force him to come with me. I didn’t think it was good for him, to stay here on a deserted island by himself.”

Terlu agreed with that, but forcing him was no kind of answer. What Yarrow’s father should have done was come back, as soon as he was healthy enough for the journey. She didn’t say that, though. “He had to take care of the greenhouse.”

“He didn’t have to, though. It wasn’t his responsibility. The sorcerer”—he gestured around the workroom with his cane—“was dead by then, and we’d done all we could, in my opinion. There was no future here.”

An edge crept into her voice. She couldn’t help it. “If he hadn’t stayed, there absolutely wouldn’t have been a future. Leaving would have doomed this place.”

“Exactly what Yarrow said at the time.” Birch beamed at her, and she saw echoes of Yarrow’s smile in his. “I see why my son likes you.”

She wasn’t so certain he liked her very much right now, given that it had been her idea that had resulted in this … influx, but she didn’t argue it, especially to a man who shared Yarrow’s smile. “Without him, the plants wouldn’t have survived, much less thrived. He’s done amazing work, even with the enchantments failing around him.”

“The greenhouses were dying,” Birch said. “I knew it was just a matter of time before they all failed. I told him…” He sighed again. “… I told him to let them die.” He said the last in a low voice.

Terlu glanced at the closest plant, the daisy, but she didn’t appear to have overheard. She was chattering to one of Yarrow’s cousins, while the thistle bobbed his globular flower happily.

“I didn’t think … I had no idea that the talking plants were just asleep. I thought they were gone, and we were living in a graveyard. I didn’t believe there was a future here. Yarrow … disagreed. We didn’t part with kind words.”

“So when you got his letter…” She was beginning to understand. Yarrow had wanted help saving the greenhouse, which was why he’d allowed her to send the letter. He hadn’t expected or wanted a reunion or a reconciliation; he’d just wanted to save the plants. Nothing more and nothing less. But Birch had seen the letter as more. He’d hoped for more. “The greenhouses are still dying, but we’re hoping to reverse that.”

“Maybe I gave up too soon,” Birch said.

Or maybe you have nowhere else to go and are clinging to any shred of hope you have, Terlu thought, but she didn’t say it out loud. She knew what that felt like, and it made her want to throw her arms around all the refugees. “Have you all eaten? I can see what food I can find…”