…eligible daughter…

The audacity of that woman, of her mother, made Dorothea smirk.  She put out a fucking personal ad to try to get Dot to hooked up.  If the horse won't go to water, take the water to the horse. But will the horse drink?

The Goodmans' raised Dot to run this shop, the Ivy and Oak.  She was trained on the flowers and herbs, how to use them to heal, help, and hurt.  The shop was her love and the Society her life.  Was it really any wonder that she didn't pursue love outside of it? 

The personal ad had been out for a week now, from what Dot could estimate.  When she found it, she hunted down earlier papers to see when it first started.  No one possible suitor had come into the shop yet.  Or at least if they had, they didn't mention it.  It was only a matter of time.

Dot set about to creating some floral requests that had come in over night when the shop door chimed, signaling the arrival of a visitor.


"Good morning," Dot called out, turning her face to smile at the guest.

The man who stepped into the shop could hardly be described as a suitor, what with that long black cassock, white, clerical collar and black saturno hat. He was, most evidently, a priest. He was tall, but very thin, his face rather gaunt and grey and his cheeks hollow. So father Richards had returned to town at last. He was happy for it. Serving the people of God was what he had been ordained for, although he was afraid to run into a certain P.C. Crane and working as an assistant priest under Father Kemble came with its difficulties. He was happy though.

"Ah, good morning, Miss Goodman," he returned when the florist greeted him. He walked over to the counter. "I was wondering if you do flower pieces."

A familiar voice came across the room. Eyes as green as her thumbs lit up as she turned and offered a kind smile at the guest. As upstanding citizens of Whitby, the Goodmans regularly attended Mass.

"Father Richards!" Dorothea greeted him, setting aside her task and moving to his side. "You're home!" Her smile was genuine, which was a bit unusual for her. Dot held little feelings for those around her. A constant indifference hidden behind a pretty smile and bright eyes. This time was different. This man was different. He was making waves and those waves had rippled to the Society's doorstep. Information was to be gathered in order to make a determination of whether they would help him, hinder his progress, or plain just let him be.

"Of course, Father Richards," Dottie replied to his inquiry. "That is one of my specialties." It was well advertised that the Iris and Oak did custom floral arrangements and that Dorothea was an herbalist, offering teas and tinctures for healing. The not so advertised part was that those same teas and tinctures could be bought to hurt others instead. "What message are you wanting to convey and to whom?"

He knew her of course, as she attended Mass regularly. The family seemed friendly and upright, but the poor daughter seemed quite desperate, considering the advert that Gabriel had seen in the newspaper, but had decided to pretend he had not seen. He supposed at this age, a young lady started despairing.

"It's to decorate the church, for Lent. Purple flowers preferably, but sober. Something you would use for a funeral." Gabriel knew very little about flowers and looked at her rather helplessly. "Does that make sense?"

Dot recognized his uncertainty, as she saw this in many guests to the shop. They had an idea of what they wanted but at the same time, didn't. Crossing her arms in front of her, she tapped the corner of her mouth with a finger. Her eyes wandered, unfocused as she wandered into the depths of her knowledge.

"Purple flowers tend to represent affection, fertility, or even warnings of danger. Although the Dwarf Iris symbolizes faith and wisdom…" she trailed off. Dorothea brought her eyes back to Father Richards' face. "What is the message you wish to convey this year for Lent?" The core was always the same but the delivery of it could be tweaked, and from what she heard of Father Richards… he could be a bit unconventional.

Gabriel thought, but his mind was blank. What was his message? No, not his, the church's message. He shouldn't let his own vanity take over again. "Um... well, Lent, so a call to repent. It should stand for suffering and exile, grief and remorse...."

That sounded about right. He thought so. Why did Kemble give him all these lousy jobs?

She watched his face as he pondered her question. No, this wasn't his idea at all. Now she was a little confused. After all, the church wasn't supposed to be decorated with flowers for Lent. Doing so would be unorthodox and that wasn't how Father Kemble operated. Her brows furrowed as she pondered the implications of her own thoughts. Should she voice her concerns to Father Richards?

"Father Kemble is still leading the Mass," Dorothea stated. It wasn't a question. Father Richards was back but he wasn't the head priest. She crossed her arms over her chest, her eyes darkening a little. "I don't think I like this game he's playing..." with you. The words weren't spoken but were there.

Gabriel looked at her surprised, almost concerned. As if she had caught him in a forbidden thought. "It was the bishop's decision. I'm note sure what game you mean, Miss Goodman. We have a different style, but I assure you father Kemble is far more experienced at leading a parish than I am." Yet he took a small step back as if he felt threatened.

Dorothea would had to have been blind to not be able to read his body language.  She softened her expression and lowered her arms.  "My apologies, Father.  I seemed to have forgotten myself."  Dot smiled.  The Father Richards that stood before her now was different than the one before he left.  If a woman scowling made him afraid, then he was no threat to the Society.  Nor would he be a useful ally.  What happened to him while he was away?

"I believe I have just the thing, if you will excuse me a moment, Father," Dot tried to offer him a reassuring look before excusing herself to the back room.  She'd wait to report to the Society on Father Richards.  More intel would be needed.  They could allow him to run amok for awhile based on her impression just now.  Unless he was as good at acting as she... But truly, they should continue to focus their gaze on Father Kemble.  His hatred for their beloved town was no secret. 

Dorothea returned carrying a potted plant and set it on the counter near Father Richards.  The flowers themselves weren't very large but bursting in clusters.  White and violet rings ran around the flat petals of each flower, a clove-like scent could be detected.  "These are Dianthus.  The purple variety is specifically symbolic of selfishness.  Would this suffice?"

Gabriel breathed a sigh of relief when she dropped the topic. The truth was that Gabriel had originally come to town after Father Kemble had served here, and he had not been satisfied with what he had seen. He didn't like Kemble much at a personal level either. But during the past few month he had been confronted with his own vanity and weaknesses to such an extent that he dared not trust such opinions anymore. Should he not take the humbler part, and see the difficult parts of the man's character as a chance to grow? Perhaps the little irritations were a sign that he was still too vain.

When she returned with the flowers, Gabriel was glad to have something to devote his attention to. He looked at the flowers. "Well... yes... Perhaps these in a flowerpiece. Perhaps with something purely white and purely purple?"