“I told you you’d win them all over, and you did.”
“Women with children are easily charmed,” she said. “Admire their offspring and you’ve won most of the battle. And they are healthy, your nieces and nephews. Healthy and full of life.”
“My mother will be pleased to hear that.”
Anna thought of Carmela, one of the two sisters-in-law who had emigrated from Italy, and whose English was least fluent. But she was also very bright, it seemed to Anna, and somewhat unexpectedly, the kindest and most friendly of them all. And she wasn’t well. There was nothing specific Anna could tell Jack, but she did voice her concern.
“I wondered if you’d notice about Carmela,” Jack said. “Mama worries about her.”
“My guess is that she’s anemic,” Anna said. “That can be addressed with diet, for the most part. If she asks me I’ll examine her, but I have to wait for her to ask.”
One brow lifted. “That’s not likely.”
“It might be easier than you think,” Anna said. “She has struck up a friendship with Elise, and Elise can be quietly persuasive. I’ll talk to her about it later this evening.”
Jack said, “I noticed that too, about Elise. I wouldn’t have imagined them as especially suited.”
“Female friendships are sometimes very mysterious,” Anna said. “But a true friendship between women is the strongest bond of all. Where is Elise, have you seen her recently?”
Jack made a low rumbling sound in his throat. “I saw her walking down toward the orchard with Ned.”
“Oh.” Anna considered this. “Just the two of them?”
He nodded. “Bambina was standing just there—” He pointed. “Watching them go.”
Bambina, who never hesitated to find something about Ned to criticize. Anna said, “There’s a line from Shakespeare that comes to mind, something Aunt Quinlan says now and then. ‘Methinks the lady doth protest too much.’”
“That’s what I’m afraid of,” Jack said. “But here’s an idea. Let’s forget about all that for an hour. No talk of Bambina or Ned or anybody else. Just for an hour, while I introduce you to my favorite places.”
But then he started, he admitted readily, in the biggest of the greenhouses, which was not his favorite place. Rows of pots stretched out, as carefully ordered as a regiment of soldiers.
“There must be five hundred of them,” Anna said.
“Closer to seven hundred fifty,” Jack said. “And I’ve had my hands on every one of them.”
At her surprised look he said, “In March when it’s time to sow the seeds we’re all pressed into service. While you were on your way to the island with the girls to see their father buried, I was here, up to my elbows in loam and manure. Next year you’ll be here too, right next to me.”
“Will I?” She lifted a shoulder. “There are worse ways to spend a day.”
“And better ones,” he said, and pulled her into the shade of a shed, where he pressed her up against the wall and kissed her breathless.
? ? ?
THEY ENDED THE tour by collapsing to the ground under a pear tree. In a month’s time, given rain and sunshine, the small hard fruits would be ready to fall, gravid with juice, into a cupped palm. Things changed so rapidly, sometimes it took her breath away.
“That was a deep sigh,” he said. “Exhausted? Unhappy? Both?”
“Not unhappy. Not at all. I was just thinking how quickly things change, but sometimes for the better. Not always for the better, of course.” An image of Janine Campbell came to her, unbidden. She hoped that Janine’s boys were healthy and learning how to be happy.
Jack ran his knuckles over her shoulder. “It’s not a sin to leave your patients behind for a few days.”
“I know that. Or let’s say, I have learned that.” She looked back toward the house, where someone was banging on a bell with great abandon.
“The dinner bell,” Jack said. “Time to get back.”
He stood up and offered his hand, pulled her to her feet.
“So what’s next?” she wanted to know. “What will we be doing?”
“Eating,” he said. “For hours we’ll sit around the table and watch the kids run themselves ragged until they’re tired enough to be rounded up and scrubbed down and put to bed. The cousins will play their instruments and if Mama has had enough wine, she’ll sing and make all of us sing with her. We’ll toast Massimo’s birthday, and my parents’ anniversary. The old stories will get told, about how Mama and Pa met. Every couple has to tell that story, and they’ll want us to tell ours, too.”
She must have made a face, because he laughed and squeezed her hand. “I’ll take care of that, no need to worry.”
“Oh, I’m sure you’ll tell a story,” she said, trying not to grin.
“Then we’ll eat some more and talk some more. A little before sunset—about three hours from now—we’ll walk over to that rise”—he pointed—“and watch as the longest day of our year comes to an end. How does that sound?”