A Long and Lonely Mile

Chapter 3

The water had nearly reached a boil when Tavington emerged from the powder room. They were both concerned that he would have trouble finding his way into the unfamiliar garments and although it was a struggle, he'd managed beautifully. Henry rarely wore the flannel in question, so it wasn't nearly as awkward seeing it on another man than one might expect. As a matter of fact, Marigold deeply approved of the way Tavington's long, dark hair looked against the blue checks and teal lines. She stole a glance from around the corner and nearly jumped out of her skin when the kettle whistled. He did as well and this seemed to even out the tally marks of awkward moments between the pair.

"I hope honey is alright with you," Marigold called from the kitchen, "most of my visitors prefer sugar, but I've never liked the taste of it in my chamomile."

Tavington smiled, still acclimating himself to her eclectically decorated living room. "However you take your tea will do, Miss Casey."

She entered moments later with two saucers and he jumped to assist her. It seemed annoying at first, but the gentlemanliness of this gesture won her over in the end. Then, they sat in two adjacent armchairs by the fireplace. Moxie must have heard them because the tentative pitter patter of her feet grew louder from the outside. The tip of her black nose emerging from underneath the doggie door followed moments later.

"You can come in now, Mox. Just no jumping or biting." Marigold called as she casually sipped at her cup. Moxie entered happily, rolled up by Tavington's feet and started licking his left boot. "Sorry about her."

"It doesn't bother me in the slightest. They're probably still a bit sugary." He attempted to lift his foot and the crackling of the dried sugar water on the sole against the floor confirmed this. "What were you trying to attract with that thing, anyway? Bees? Hornets?"

Marigold laughed, "Hummingbirds, of course!"

He'd contemplated his tea before taking a sip, but this commanded every bit of his attention. He placed the cup down on the saucer and turned quickly, his blue eyes blazing. Marigold's laughter grew harder. "Why would you want to attract hummingbirds?" He saw that she was beginning to flush and instantly regretted this question.

"So, I had this roommate in college," the expression on her face was a fusion of embarrassment and something far more tender; but it was impossible to decipher, "and she was really into meditation, tarot cards, patchouli oil, auras yeah- a typical prototype when you consider I went to college in Portland. She looked me square in the face one day and told me that I was a hummingbird in a previous life. You'll probably lose all respect for me after I say this and believe me, I initially suspected there was something in the dorm water that my Brita hadn't caught... but I think she was right. When I was younger- and Jake can actually vouch for me; they used to land on my shoulders and even... even let me hold them. Like in that drawing, you know? But then as I got older, they stopped. I'd still see them in the garden all the time, but they refused to come that close to me again. It's almost like they lost interest... yeah, you think I'm crazy."

"On the contrary, that is probably one of the least absurd things we've discussed this evening." Tavington directed his attention to his tea, it was finally cool enough to take a sip. He strongly approved, not only of her perfect rationing of wildflower honey, but of the tiniest splash of milk that had also made its way into to the chamomile, "You must have a very refined palette. I never knew colonials to make even halfway decent cups of tea..."

"While we're on the subject of crazy," Marigold imposed, clearly unaccustomed to being complimented (or called a "colonial" for that matter), "I was wondering if you could tell me- and I won't hold it against you if you refuse- but what is the last thing you remember from 1781?" Her words sounded absurd as they left her mouth, but she genuinely was curious.