Calendula . . . for the healing of scars.

Once again, Althea had known exactly what to say, and when to say it. She’d been cautioned not to hurry through the book, to come back to its pages when she was ready. And this morning, when she opened her eyes, she had felt the familiar pull, beckoning her to read—to remember that fear often masquerades as hate, and that forgiveness is balm to the wounded heart. Could she forgive?

Evvie was right. Not everyone in Salem Creek had turned their backs on the Moons. There were some—people like Penny Castle and Judith Shrum, like Andrew and his father—who had refused to believe the whispers. But the steady stream of baseless lies was easier to remember, the betrayal carved indelibly on Lizzy’s memory. That people who had known Althea all their lives could have abandoned her so completely was still incomprehensible. But they had, falling away one by one, leaving her to the mercy of public opinion. Except there’d been no mercy.

But what of the others? Those who had spurned the rumors but kept a careful distance? Who’d never quite found the courage to speak out? Who had simply remained invisible? Where did they fall on the scale of betrayal? Where did she fall?

The question continued to gnaw as she closed the book and went downstairs to make coffee. Evvie glanced up from her seat at the kitchen table, where she was painstakingly applying labels to about two dozen small jars of honey.

“Breakfast?”

“No thanks. Coffee’s all I need.” Lizzy filled the basket and pushed the brew button, then propped a hip against the counter to wait. “What’s with all the jars?”

“Getting another batch of honey ready to take to Ben at the hardware store.”

“Didn’t you just do that a few days ago?”

Evvie dropped her gaze. “And what if I did?”

Lizzy cocked her head, studying Evvie through narrowed eyes. She was wearing lipstick, a shimmery shade of coral that set off her eyes. And dangly jade earrings. “Is there something you’re not telling me?”

“Such as?”

“Such as why you won’t look at me all of a sudden. Or why you went all moony just now when you said Ben’s name.”

Evvie glanced up, chin jutting. “I did no such thing!”

Lizzy propped her hands on her hips, grinning slyly. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were sweet on old Ben. Why else would you be making another trip so soon?”

“It’s got nothing to do with being sweet on anybody,” Evvie grumbled petulantly. “He puts the jars out on the counter and his customers snatch them up. Can I help it if folks know a good thing when they taste it?”

“So the lipstick’s just a coincidence?”

“Oh, hush up and drink your coffee!”

Lizzy swallowed a grin as she pulled a mug from the cupboard, then waited for the final drops to splutter into the pot. “Have you been out to the shop recently?”

Evvie seemed surprised by the question. “To the shop? Not recently. Why?”

“I was just wondering what was still out there.”

“You’re thinking about Penny Castle’s headache tea,” Evvie said knowingly. “Might be some left. Far as I know, it’s just like your gran left it. She used to go out every day and putter around, not that many ever came to buy. But she went out every morning. Even after she got sick. After a while, it got to be too much. One day she locked the door, hung up the key, and that was that. We never spoke about it, but I know it broke her heart. This place, that shop and her herbs, were her life. And you, of course. But you were gone by then. The shop was the last of it.”

Lizzy spooned a bit of sugar into her mug, stirring as she moved to the table. “Can I give you a hand?”

“I’ve about got it finished. But you can grab me that box off the floor, so I can pack it up and get it out to the car.”

Lizzy fetched the box and began filling it. “Ben will really sell all this at the hardware store?”

“Every lick. Folks around here believe in buying local, even if it is from a woman with a funny accent and skin the color of old wood.” She shot Lizzy a wink as she hefted the box up into her arms. “You could come.”

“To the hardware store?”

“Might not be a bad thing to show yourself around. Let folks know you’re interested in something other than Fred Gilman.”

“Actually, I have something I need to do. Or at least try to do.”

Evvie removed her glasses, giving them a wipe with her apron. “Another meeting with your real estate man?”

“That’s next week—I hope. No, this is something else. A favor I owe.”

She waited until Evvie’s station wagon rattled down the drive, grabbed the key from the hook beside the mudroom door, and headed for the one place she still hadn’t been able to make herself go—Althea’s apothecary.

The squat stone cottage had been built as a cider house in the 1820s, fashioned of rough-faced granite fitted together like a jigsaw puzzle. Over the years it had served as many things: a dry cellar, a pottery shed, even a quilting room, but it had been relegated to storage when Althea decided to clear it out and set it up as a shop. She’d done a job of it too, creating something straight out of a fairy tale, complete with a curved stone path, ivied trellis, and flower boxes for the windows. In its heyday, it had drawn customers from all over New England. Now, the window boxes sat empty, the path grown over with weeds.

So many memories shut up in one place.

The key turned easily, but the door was swollen and required a series of lunges before finally yielding. Lizzy cringed as she stepped inside. The windows were rimed with grit, allowing only a murky wash of light to filter in, but it was enough to see that everything was coated in a fine layer of dust, the corners crisscrossed with cobwebs. She cringed as she crossed to the light switch, registering the queasy crunch of mouse droppings underfoot. She flipped the switch, and the overheads blinked on. A third of the bulbs were out.

Not much had changed in the years she’d been gone. She scanned the shop: the back wall lined with shelves, the glass-front cabinets flanking the front windows, the butcher-block worktable running down the center. And Althea’s remedy book—a kind of cookbook filled with recipes for treating all manner of ailments.

Lizzy picked it up, experiencing the same wave of reverence she’d always felt for Althea’s gift as a healer. For an instant, she caught the blended scents of lavender and bergamot, soft and fleeting, like a sigh hovering briefly in the air. A sign of welcome? A nod of approval? Or merely her imagination? Lizzy couldn’t say. But as she opened the book and began to page through, she realized it didn’t matter. What mattered was that she was here, hoping to do some good, and that, somehow, Althea knew and was glad.

The pages were chock-full of remedies. There were preparations for colic, for cramp, for night sweats and sore throats, for skinned knees and achy joints, and, finally, a recipe for migraine tea. But she didn’t need a recipe; she needed the finished product.

There wasn’t much left on the shelves: a handful of dropper bottles and a smattering of salve tins. She moved to the drawers, where Althea kept more-specialized remedies in sealed plastic bags, carefully labeled and filed alphabetically by condition. It took a few minutes to comb through the packets, but she finally found what she was looking for—migraine tea.

She squinted at the date on the label, but it was too faded to read. Time had definite effects on herbal potency, as did exposure to light and air, but these had been stored in airtight bags and kept in a dark cupboard. With any luck, they had retained at least some of their medicinal properties. And if not, they wouldn’t do any harm.

She was about to leave the shop when she had an idea. She turned back, running her eyes over the shelves until she found what she was looking for: lavender and clary sage oils. She tucked the small blue vials into her pocket, already composing the instructions in her head on how they should be used. A few drops of each sprinkled on a warm compress, or added to a pot of boiling water to create a steam. A soothing and therapeutic complement to Althea’s tea.

The lunch crowd was beginning to thin by the time Lizzy arrived at the drugstore. Penny Castle was busy behind the counter, clearing plates and topping off coffee mugs. She had just dropped off a check to a man in bib overalls and a Patriots cap when she spotted Lizzy.

There was a flash of surprise, followed by a smile. She pointed to an open stool. Lizzy stepped forward but didn’t sit. Instead, she pulled a brown paper bag from her purse and handed it to Penny. “I found this in Althea’s shop, and wanted to bring it by.”

Penny’s face lit as she peered into the bag. “My tea!”