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?"