TFRoot - The Elixer Read online

  "Do you, then?” asked Dr. Bloodworth, intrigued. “I'm quite interested in herbs as well—not only for culinary, but for medicinal use."

  "Oh!” Lucinda exclaimed brightly. “Well, Doctor, I must confess that I've dabbled a bit in medicine myself."

  "Once again, Dr. Bloodworth, I fear that my wife is being overly modest.” He chuckled softly to himself, remembering how this beautiful and brilliant woman had both saved and altered the very course of his life. Richard Henry Hobson had been born into an old and noble family, very loyal to Crown and Church—and definitely in that order—and his personal qualities and abilities were numerous, varied, and great. As a second son, however, with a healthy and equally capable older brother, he had little hope of inheriting title, or fortune, in these times of primogeniture. His father's position and generosity had afforded him an excellent education and his own keen, quick mind had allowed him to make the most of this opportunity; the life of a scholar had seemed a likely option. But Richard also possessed a restless nature and a robust physicality. And so it was, as was often the case with men in a similar position, he had determined to go to sea, entering the service of His Majesty with his father's blessing and the lieutenant's commission he had obtained for him. He had quickly become an able sailor, traveling around the world, and back, and around again.

  Of course, in this era especially, the duties of an English sailor were not limited to seafaring, but encompassed military matters as well. Richard had excelled equally here, acquitting himself honorably in battle, fighting the Spanish or the French or whoever else happened to be the enemy of the day quite successfully, and, seemingly, safely; that is, until he had returned home to England for what had then appeared to be the very last time. For it was then that he had been stricken with a raging fever—probably tropical in nature, acquired during the course of one of his journeys, some insidious virus with a long latency period—which seemingly promised to accomplish what none of his worthy adversaries ever could. For a full fortnight he lay helpless at death's very door. As so often happens, his deathbed experience had brought with it an epiphany of sorts, and he had made two solemn vows, which he promised himself he would keep were he to recover.

  The first of these was to leave His Majesty's Navy for His Majesty's Church. Now, Richard had always possessed a quiet but strong Christian faith, although no particular inclination to devote his life's work to the Lord. He was above all else, however, a gentleman, and a promise, even one borne in good part out of dying desperation, was meant to be kept. Besides, he had experienced quite enough adventure, enough for several lifetimes, in fact, and the relatively calm existence of a churchman and scholar would offer a welcome respite. Through the intervention of his brother, now the head of the family following his father's death, he had obtained a position at a small rural church that carried with it a modest stipend, just enough to support himself; or, more precisely, himself and his new bride.

  For that had been the second of his vows. If he recovered his health he would marry Lucinda, the beautiful young woman who, he was convinced, had saved his life, nursing him back to health, as much with her emotional support, it seemed to him—wiping a sweaty brown, holding a trembling hand, reading him poetry and stories, or just talking to him—as with the odd medicinal tea which she had fed him. He remembered how the old physician had scoffed at the latter; in truth, he had given up on his patient, deeming his condition hopeless, and was merely indulging the whims of his loyal but rather eccentric new assistant. But the apprentice had succeeded, and spectacularly, where her master would surely have failed. Richard's fever had broken within a day after drinking his first cup of the tea; within another week he was back on his feet, and in a position to make good on what he had promised. Now for Richard Hobson this was no mere exercise in gratitude; if marrying Lucinda could in any way be counted an obligation, it was surely the happiest one of his entire life. In all his myriad travels he had never encountered anyone, no man, and certainly nowoman , anywhere near as extraordinary as her. She was brilliant, but more than this she was learned. How anyone, especially one so young and female, could have acquired such depth was totally beyond him. He connected with her on so many levels. All of their life's passions, it would appear, were shared equally by the other, including their passion for one another. It was patently obvious to both of them that they were two souls who had been created with only one another in mind. It had mattered little to either of them, then, even to a newly-ordained Anglican priest, that Lucinda was a Catholic, at least nominally. She had made no objection to being married in an Anglican ceremony, nor had anyone in her family of good, loyal Englishmen, possessing a strain of nobility but no formal title—perhaps because none of them were currently alive. Besides, she had asserted her own inclinations, as well as her family's, for that matter, had always been more “protestant” anyway, even though she had ever bothered to officially convert. Furthermore, as both bride and groom had agreed, their formal marriage had amounted to little more than that, a mere formality. What God had already joined surely could never be undone.

  And so Richard and Lucinda Hobson had settled down into the idyllic life of an English country pastor and his wife. By day, he tended to his ecclesiastical duties, or to his writing and research, while she dutifully looked after their home; by night they engaged in lively discussions on any number of subjects, ranging from theology or philosophy to history or politics, to art, poetry, or literature, over an unfailingly splendid evening meal, enhanced in no small measure by all of those herbs Lucinda diligently cultivated in the little garden of their cozy bucolic home.

  Then in the year of 1684 came an Act of the High Court of Chancery which, while unnoticed by the obscure Reverend and Mrs. Richard Henry Hobson, would have a profound impact on the course of their lives. King Charles II, frustrated by the Crown's inability to collect customs from his stubborn subjects in the Massachusetts Bay Colony, had pushed through the revocation of that colony's royal charter. Charles died before he could make any further arrangements, but shortly thereafter his successor James II commissioned a man named Joseph Dudley to rule the American colonies of Massachusetts, New Hampshire, and Maine, which became known as the Dominion of New England. Dudley was a vigorous young man, the son of a Puritan who had become disenchanted with and rebelled against his own austere upbringing. He found allies in the small but increasingly vocal number of colonialists of the Anglican persuasion, mostly merchants and skilled tradesmen, who demanded closer ties, both economically and culturally, with their old homeland, including the presence of the Church of England. In 1686 the first Anglican Mass was celebrated in Boston, by a minister who had traveled over with Governor Dudley. Six years later, the Archbishop of Canterbury himself, needing an able clergyman to assume the pastoral duties of the Church of St. George, to be established in the town of Barnstable on Cape Cod at the request of Dudley's successor, had tapped Richard as the right man for the job. So it was that Richard and Lucinda, here in the spring of 1692, had embarked on their new adventure in the New World. They had approached this eagerly, with excitement over their new challenge, but with and a bit of trepidation as well: Richard over the reception he might receive as the local leader of a religious minority of dubious popularity, Lucinda over whether her precious herbs would survive a trans-Atlantic voyage and thrive in a different climate. Now, however, Richard thought that perhaps those fears had been unfounded. Dr. Bloodworth, a leading local citizen, was surely becoming a fast friend, and Lucinda's herbs had been transplanted and seemed to have taken root.

  "Well, then, Lucinda,” said Dr. Bloodworth finally, “I have no doubt we shall have a lot to talk about. It was truly a pleasure to meet you both. But now, I truly must be off. I'll see myself out.” He offered an amiable wave before departing through the front door.

  Lucinda turned to her husband. “Shall we dine, then, my dear?"

  "No,” answered Richard, “it will keep warm.” He paused. “I believe I would prefer my dessert first this
evening.” He winked at her lasciviously as the two lovers dissolved into one another's passionate embrace.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  "Lucinda Hobson's Choice Teas, Herbals, and Elixirs” was one of the mainstays of the little shopping district of the town of Barnstable, having seemingly been in operation forever, or for at least for as long as anybody could remember. Most of the local people simply referred to it as “Hobson's Choice,” because the writing on the glass window of the little shop boldly emphasized in block letters the surname and that word; the “Lucinda” and “Teas, Herbals, and Elixirs” being in somewhat smaller script.

  "Well hello, Tom!” Lucinda greeted Tom warmly as he entered the store just after it had opened early this morning on the third day of June.

  "Hi, Lucy.” Tom looked around. Lucinda's tea shop was basically a very large room, all of its walls lined with wooden shelves that housed just about every imaginable variety of tea sold in virtually every imaginable manner: black teas, green teas, white teas, oolong teas, and herbal teas—not really teas technically speaking—in cartons of tea bags and in tins and canisters of countless different shapes and sizes containing loose tea, plus all sorts of teapots, water kettles, strainers, infusers, and other tea brewing paraphernalia.

  "You have a very nice place here,” he said, nodding approvingly.

  "Well thank you,” she answered graciously. “I like it myself."

  "You must do well."

  "Not bad,” she said with a shrug, as if business were irrelevant to her. “I suppose that my prices are a bit higher, but then I try to deal in higher-quality products. I think my customers appreciate that.” She leaned over toward Tom and smiled. “Actually,” she said, in a conspiratorial whisper, “I think it's the smell that draws them in.” She waved her arms and breathed deeply, taking in the appealingly exotic aromas that permeated the place. “Isn't it wonderful?” She closed her eyes and sighed blissfully.

  "Yes, it's lovely,” Tom agreed politely.

  "Well, then,” she said, coming back to reality, “I haven't seen you since your first night in town. It's been a while now, hasn't it, about what, two weeks?"

  "Yes,” he answered quietly. “Two weeks today."

  "I would imagine that you have finally settled in then, you and your absolutely adorable little wife. How is she, by the way?"

  "Oh, she's all right,” he said, lying. “She was a bit tired this morning, and she's still asleep, I guess."

  "You ought to have her try some of my ginseng tea,” said Lucinda. “Interestingly enough, it seems to act as either a mild sedative or a mild stimulant, depending on what the body needs at the time."

  Tom nodded but said nothing. He glanced around, taking note of several vintage advertising signs that were placed strategically around the shop, audaciously touting the salutary effects of certain herbal teas billed as elixirs.

  Lucinda smiled. “But I know you don't believe in any of that, do you, Tom?"

  "Oh, no!” he demurred quickly, shaking his head. “What I mean is no to what you're saying about my not believing ... in any of ... that,” he stammered. “It's just that ... oh, I don't know, sometimes ... well, I wish that there really was something out there that would work for her; better than.... “He looked at her hopelessly.

  "Your wife is not well, is she?” asked Lucinda gently, wearing an expression of genuine sympathy.

  "No,” confessed Tom glumly. “She's having a bad spell right now.”That's an understatement , he thought. The truth of the matter was that her last good day had been her first day here, the night that they had gone for the lobster diner and met Lucinda. The next morning, Carole's pain, kept relatively in check for three months since her last marcaine treatment, had returned with a vengeance, bringing with it an uninterrupted string of “bad” days. Today promised to be the very worst since she had left Florida, in fact, one of those “really bad” days, when the pain was truly excruciating as opposed to just nagging. From the moment Carole had awakened this morning, Tom knew that he could stay with her only long enough to make sure she had taken her oral medication before he had to leave the house, for when Carole was like this she literally could not be comforted. She could not be consoled, or reassured, or held or patted or kissed, even touched in any way at all, for that matter, and just about anything that anyone might say or do to help her would be “wrong” and not appreciated, well-intentioned as it may have been. As much as Tom wanted to do more, the only thing to do was leave her alone and wait for the pain killers to kick in.

  "It must be very difficult for you,” said Lucinda, “to be such a young man, and to have a wife in her condition."

  "I would have to think it's a bit harder onher , Lucy,” Tom answered defensively. “I think she does pretty well, all things considered. They say that RSD can be more painful than terminal cancer and as debilitating as the worst arthritis.” He shook his head. “You and I can't possibly imagine what that must be like, what she has to live with every day."

  "That's true enough. But then again, she can't possibly imagine what it must be like to be in your shoes.” Lucinda fixed her gaze on him. “You love her very much, don't you?"

  Tom shrugged. “Of course I do. Don't all men love their wives?"

  "No,” said Lucinda pointedly, “not all, and not like you do. What you feel for her is so much deeper, extraordinary, and once-in-a-lifetime—actually, not even once in a thousand people's lifetimes. I can see that. I could see that the moment I first saw the two of you together. Just a few short years ago you didn't even know her, yet now you could not possibly conceive of your life without her."

  She is right, Tom thought, taken aback. Still, hearing this reality articulated aloud and by someone else made him very uncomfortable. He chuckled self consciously. “And how exactly can you see that?” he asked, trying to sound matter-of-fact.

  Lucinda turned away from him. “BecauseI felt that way once, a long time ago,” she murmured softly. “And I also know what it's like to watch someone you love suffer, to want more than anything else to help them, yet be unable to do it. Who is to say which is more difficult?"

  Their conversation was abruptly interrupted when a customer, a tall, sturdily-built septuagenarian with a ruddy face and an impressive head of white hair, burst through the door. “Good morning, Lucy!” He practically bellowed.

  "Well hello, Ed! How are you this morning?"

  "Well, I'm still breathing, that's a start."

  "What can I get for you today?"

  "Do you have any of that Earl Grey tea that I like so much? You know; the decaf kind?"

  "Do you want bags or loose?"

  "Bags; it's just me, and I never brew a whole pot for myself."

  Lucinda walked to the back of the shop, where there was a counter containing the cash register. “You're not seeing Margaret anymore?” she asked teasingly as she reached for a carton on a high shelf behind the counter. “I know she's the one who really likes the tea."

  "Oh, that one's nuts,” he said, waving a meaty paw in disgust. “I haven't talked to her in a month, and I don't care if I ever talk to her again!” He dropped a ten dollar bill on the counter.

  Lucinda smiled as she took his money and handed him the carton and his change. “Do you remember those herbs that you helped me pick last week?” she asked. Ed nodded. “Well, I expect the rest of them to start coming in fairly soon. Can I count on your help?"

  "Sure, give me a call, if I'm still alive,” he said, starting for the door.

  "Thanks. Oh, and give Margaret my best when you see her,” she called out as he left. She turned to Tom. “That's Ed Wilson. He's one of my oldest friends, and sometimes he does some odd jobs for me around the house."

  Just then, two young couples, obviously vacationers, came in and started looking around. “Do you sell green tea?” asked one of the women, a slender blonde wearing designer sweats.

  "They're all over on the left hand side, the top three shelves."

  "Where?"

 
; "Left hand side, top three shelves,” she repeated patiently, pointing. “I'll be with you in just a moment, as soon as I take care of this gentleman,” she said, referring to Tom. “I'm sorry,” she said to him quietly, “but it's starting to get a little busy now."

  "That's all right, I understand,” said Tom. Actually he was grateful for the interruptions. The truth of course was that he had come to Lucinda's shop out of pure desperation, with the intention of asking her for help, for something, anything, that might help Carole to feel even the slightest bit better. Still, he was plagued with persistent, nagging doubts; and, once again, he was finding Lucinda's odd manner to be extremely unnerving. “You can take care of your other customers,” he said finally. “I mean, I just wanted to look around. I'll come in again some other time."

  "Isn't there anything that I can get for you?” Lucinda persisted. “You did come in for something, didn't you?” She looked at him intently.

  Tom hesitated. No, not today. I couldn't even approach Carole about this now, not in her current condition.“Well,” he said finally, “I have always liked Earl Grey tea. The tea that you just sold that man—it was decaffeinated, wasn't it? Carole only drinks either herbal tea or decaf because caffeine can interact badly with her medication, and she's gotten me to go that way as well."