The Sparrow Sisters by Ellen Herrick

smell of pine, crisp and fresh but somehow sweet. Gin, it smelled of gin, and for a second Henry thought that maybe Patience had dropped her package.
    â€œFunny thing about Patience Sparrow,” Pete said. “It’s like she’s part of that Nursery, she smells of it and when her moods change, so does her smell. Once she gives you a remedy, she’s connected to you so”—he sniffed again—“sometimes we guess at how she’s feeling.”
    â€œOh, come on,” Henry groaned. But he remembered the scent of chamomile in his waiting room, the eucalyptus at Nettie’s throat, the aroma that rested on the air in front of Ivy House.
    â€œYou’ll find out if you last,” Pete said.
    Henry ran out the door. Patience was sitting in her truck, her head back on the seat, eyes closed, an ice cube to her cheek. If she responded to her own gift, Patience would have prescribed arnica and comfrey-root tincture and a cool bath. But she had never reacted to a single remedy. Not even when she needed one.
    When Henry came up to her window, he was so relieved she was still there that he laughed.
    â€œWhat now?” Patience asked. She didn’t open her eyes or turn her head.
    â€œI came to apologize,” Henry said. “Although, to be fair, I don’t know why.”
    â€œMaybe because all you’ve done is judge me. You raise your eyebrow at me. You think I don’t get that?”
    Henry brought his hand to his face. “It’s not raised now.”
    Patience opened her eyes. “Give it a second.”
    â€œListen,” Henry said, putting his hand on the door. “I don’t mean to come off like an asshole.” Now Patience raised an eyebrow. “I’ve had a day, well, it’s been a long one.”
    â€œYeah? Me, too.” Patience sat up. “Are we done?”
    â€œNo,” Henry said. “I don’t think this is how we should be.”
    Both Henry and Patience heard the truth in his words. Neither of them acknowledged it.
    â€œTell me what you do. Show me why the people in this town trust you almost more than they trust me. Help me trust you.” Henry willed his voice to settle. It sounded too low, too intimate, and he cleared his throat.
    â€œ Almost more?” Patience asked.
    Henry shrugged and waggled his hand. “Almost,” he said.
    â€œSay I cared to explain myself, which I’m not saying I do,” Patience said. “Would you want to come to the Nursery?”
    â€œYes.” Henry held very still. What if she reconsidered? What if she bolted?
    â€œNow?”
    â€œYes.”
    Patience held up the bottle. “There could be drinking involved.”
    Henry laughed. “Not for me. I’m going to see Ben at the hospital later.” The thought of it, the loosening that came with a drink and some soft summer air, was enough to make Henry want to close his eyes and hold out a glass.
    â€œThat’s good.” Patience nodded. “I guess you really do make house calls.” She gestured at the passenger door. “Well, get in, Dr. Carlyle.”
    â€œIt’s Henry.”
    â€œDon’t make me regret this, Henry. I’m not entirely sure why I invited you in the first place.”
    Patience did know why and she didn’t regret it, yet. For starters, she wanted to sit beside Henry Carlyle. Embracing the heat that had settled in her stomach, Patience grabbed her bag off the passenger seat and threw it onto the floor at his feet. She wanted to be next to him, she wanted to talk to him, to listen to his growly voice, watch to see if he pushed his hair off his forehead as they jounced down Calumet Landing. She wanted to get close enough to find out what Henry smelled of.
    As for the doctor, he might have run after the truck if Patience hadn’t invited him. He was almost sure that as they talked inside the liquor store, they’d leaned toward each other, even as she