Chapter Sixty-Five
The next morning, Violet decided to stop in and see Lottie at the flower shop.
Over the past couple months, she had popped in every now and then to thank Lottie for helping her pick out the weekly flower delivery.
Now, with Thanksgiving coming at the end of the week, she wanted to make sure that tomorrow’s arrangement reflected the warmth of the holiday, even if she would be heading to Philadelphia in the afternoon and unable to see it.
A little bell on the door sounded her arrival, and Lottie came out from behind the back in her green work smock holding a bushel of bells of Ireland.
“Violet!” she said. “Aren’t you a lovely sight to see!”
“Thank you, Lottie. It’s always nice to see you and all of your flowers…” Her eyes fell on the refrigerator case with buckets of long-stemmed roses in different hues and asters, dahlias, and lily of the valley.
“And it always smells so good here!”
Lottie’s blue eyes sparkled beneath her crop of short white hair. “The two best places to work are a bakery and a flower shop for just that reason.”
“True,” Violet agreed. “I was just in Leavitt and Peirce yesterday, and that was an entirely different set of aromas.”
“Ah, another fixture of Harvard Square. I’m glad it’s stood the test of time. My grandfather and father both got their tobacco from there…” she reminisced. “But I’m getting distracted. What do you want to order for tomorrow’s bouquet, love?”
“Well, in the spirit of Mrs. Widener’s affection for her son, I wanted this week’s flowers to feel extra special for the holiday.”
“That’s very thoughtful of you, my dear. I couldn’t agree more. Flowers have their own language, don’t they?”
“Yes,” Violet agreed. “And you’re far more fluent than I am.”
“Why thank you. That’s very kind! So let me see…
what would I make if I wanted to honor my son’s memory on Thanksgiving?
” She pondered her own question. “Well, I do have some ranunculus that came in this morning.” She put the bells of Ireland down on the brown paper that was rolled out on her workstation and went to the back.
A few minutes later she returned, clasping a bunch of ranunculus in burgundy, magenta, and gold.
“We could make an arrangement with some astilbe and a little thistle. It would be beautiful.”
Seeing the delicate, jewel-colored blooms in Lottie’s hand, Violet instantly knew it was just perfect.
“Would you like me to send it over at the end of today? I know we normally deliver it to you all on Wednesdays, but you’re probably leaving tomorrow for the break?”
“That would be perfect,” Violet said. “Madeline usually doesn’t want anyone delivering the bouquet to the room but me. So I was going to have to ask her to pick them up at the front desk and take them inside. This is much easier.”
“Wonderful,” Lottie remarked. “It’s a shame they still haven’t found that person who’s been destroying those books in the library. I read that article in the Globe about the police coming to investigate.”
“Yes.” Violet frowned. “It has made all of us working there on edge.”
“I can’t even imagine who would do something like that.” Lottie shook her head. “That’s the good thing about having a small store like ours, I can keep a log of all of my clients, so it’s easy to manage who comes and goes through here.”
“Smart,” Violet said. “Speaking of keeping ledgers… A friend of mine and I are meeting at Leavitt and Peirce in a few minutes to go through their old records with the owner. We’re going to check if we can discover what kind of tobacco Harry ordered when he was at Harvard.”
“He would have that in his records? How wonderful!” Lottie seemed delighted. “That’s an old-school shop for you!”
“Yes.” Violet smiled. “It certainly is.”
“But why do you want to know what kind of tobacco he smoked though? Are you thinking of giving it as a gift to someone?”
“Sort of,” Violet replied. She adored Lottie, but she was pressed for time and wasn’t sure a woman nearly eighty years old would approve of her real reason. She and Theo were planning on bringing along a tin of it when they met the medium, Lux.
They only had a small window of time, but Theo and Violet had arranged to meet the owner of Leavitt and Peirce before they left for the break. Fortunately, the owner, Mr. MacKay, had been intrigued when Violet contacted him and had agreed to show them what archival material he had at the store.
“I’m glad this worked out,” Theo said as he waited for Violet just outside the shop. “I’m taking an early train home tomorrow.”
“Mine’s at noon, but yes, it will be great to see if he has any record of what Harry might have bought from there when he was at school.”
They stepped inside the shop and asked to see Mr. MacKay.
“You must be Violet.” He smiled. Dressed in an elegant suit and tie, he embodied the persona of an old-fashioned gentleman.
“And I’m Theo. Thank you for taking the time to meet with us.” Theo extended his hand.
“Of course. One of the wonderful things about stewarding this store is its history. The original owners, Fred Leavitt and Waldo Peirce, kept meticulous records. So when you called, I knew there was a strong chance I’d be able to find you something.”
“We were hoping you’d say that,” Violet said, excited. They followed him to the back office.
“Well, where should I begin?” he inquired. “I can tell you that the store’s business really started exploding around the time Mr. Widener was here. Mr. Leavitt’s ledgers almost doubled.”
“Do you know why?” Theo asked.
“If I’m correct, until 1900 or so, Harvard was predominantly attended by young men just from the New England area.
But around the time Mr. Widener arrived in 1904, they started accepting men from all over, including from the Midwest and even the West Coast. Not too many from the South, though.
” He grinned. “Losing the Civil War was a bitter pill for many of those southern families to swallow.”
“That makes sense,” Violet said.
“Anyway, in 1908, which was the year you mentioned Mr. Widener graduated, the store did keep ledgers of those patrons who bought on credit. And we actually had separate ledgers just for students enrolled at Harvard… probably because some of them paid their bills directly, while others had their accounts settled by their families and it kept things easier for accounting.”
Mr. MacKay walked over to a large desk where a thick dusty brown ledger lay, and motioned for Violet and Theo to come closer.
“Look here,” he said as he slowly turned the parchment-colored pages. “I was able to find your Mr. Elkins Widener consistently mentioned among our clients.”
“That’s amazing!” Violet gripped her hands.
“And even better,” he said as he got to where Harry’s information was labeled, “it seems he was consistent in his choice of blend. We created it for him specifically, a combination of oak, vanilla, bourbon, and coffee. He seems to have named it too. It’s called ‘Treasure Island.’”
“That was one of his favorite books!” Violet brightened. “That makes total sense.”
“Do you think you could re-create it for us? We’d buy it of course,” Theo said.
McKay peered down at the paper. “I think we absolutely could. Come with me.” He motioned them toward the front.
They moved back through the store, shadowing the man as he took a pinch of tobacco from a variety of glass jars, putting his nose into the brown paper every now and then to make sure the proportion was just right. “How much do you want? A few grams?”
Violet nodded. “That sounds good. It’s just a token gift for someone.”
“I’ll ring you right up,” Mr. McKay said as they walked toward the vintage cash machine near the front door.
“Thanks so much.” Theo opened his wallet and paid the small sum.
“I hope your friend likes it,” he said.
“It’s Treasure Island,” Violet smiled. “I think he’s going to love it.”