10 Quotes by Ellen Herrick

Nettie set out a loaf of sourdough bread from Baker's Way Bakers, a wodge of runny Camembert, and a container of leftover lamb, rich with garlic and rosemary, nestled on a bed of spicy arugula from the home garden. She'd plucked two sharp green apples from one of the trees in their tiny orchard, and she placed a waxed bag of caramel shortbread beside them.

Patience drifted in the garden, her dress draping softly off one shoulder and her hair falling across her back like blood in the shadows. She saw his tall silhouette first as he stood at the screen. She stopped, her bare feet sparking against the gravel path. Henry saw the blue-green lights around her, his brain searching to name them. He settled on fireflies although he smelled brine and seaweed and wanted to say phosphorescence.

She leaned in to smell the apricot-tinted rose whose petals had just unfolded into a ruffled cup. The scents of lemon, myrrh, and peach floated up, and Sorrel once again wondered why anyone would name a rose Jude the Obscure.

Years passed with nothing to show in a land once so enchanted that bees and butterflies slept safe in the blossoms after their nectar was gathered. Here was a place that defined beauty in petals and leaves, scent and sight, hue and touch.

She might have managed to swerve through the crowds to rescue Henry, but that tray of oysters came by and she was distracted. She took one and a lemon, squeezing it so hard the juice stung her eye. 'Fair price,' she thought as she tipped the oyster into her mouth.It slid down her throat, with an echo of the sea, the siren song of salt and rock and dark depths.

The sisters were all gifted gardeners so Sorrel wasn't terribly worried about her beloved flowers. Patience's herbs were in fine form, Nettie's fruits and vegetables were well on their way, and now Sorrel's blooms would have the best start they could without her capable hands to see them into June.

When everyone arrived at the formal garden, lunch had been laid out on the terrace by unseen hands. Bowls of strawberries and frosty buckets of champagne waited beside iced platters of salmon and dill, sliced cold flank steak and a salad composed of all the kitchen garden's earth-bound magic. A tiered cake stand held scores of macarons- pistachio, chocolate, raspberry and more exotic lavender and vanilla, thyme and honey, rose and tea, each topped with the corresponding herb or flower.

Nettie, is that short for Annette?" Dr. Carlyle asked."It's short for Nettle." Nettie hated the way her voice quavered as she shivered in the office gown. "Stinging nettle was the only thing that soothed my mother's hives when she was carrying me.

She’d seen the fountain pen in his pocket; she knew his handwriting would be precise, elegant. It wasn’t, of course; it was scrambled and raw, a handy metaphor for his soul.