Chapter Nine #2
We walk single file through the suspended, underwater quiet.
It’s hard to believe that the sun-filled, sunken garden is just over the wall, a stone’s throw away.
People talk about gardens being outdoor rooms, how you can step from one room to another, but this feels more like an entirely new planet—the layered green shadows are worlds away from the wide-open precision on the other side of the wall.
Even the sky that is visible around the edges of the tree canopy seems a darker, deeper blue than the one I worked under this morning.
The path is a meandering circle, but the space is small, and it’s not long before I spot the shaft of sunlight that falls through the gap in the wall ahead where the old gate had been.
“It’s so peaceful,” I hear Adam say behind me.
I turn to face him and see that emotion moves darkly behind his eyes. I can tell that he wants to say more, and after a moment, he does.
“My daughter, Sophie… she doesn’t really speak these days. Our house is quiet, but I wouldn’t say it’s peaceful. Not like this.”
Before I can reply, a slight breeze rustles the leaves, sweeping the scent of hellebores toward me, dark and loamy and slightly sour.
It is the scent of grief. The scent of loss.
Adam’s wife I think. Sophie’s mom. I think of Sophie’s big, sad eyes, her fingers anxiously working the edges of her sweater, how tentative she was with Gully.
“I’m sorry,” I say softly.
Adam nods. He squints up at the tree canopy and takes a deep breath.
“She’s in therapy. Art therapy. Honestly, I’m not sure it’s helping.
” He drops his gaze to meet mine and shakes his head.
“Sorry. I don’t know why I’m telling you this.
I think there’s just something about this place.
It’s nice to have a peaceful moment. And I probably wouldn’t be enjoying it so much if I didn’t know Sophie was happy right now, spending time with your dog.
You’re only as happy as your child. Grandma Marjorie told me that. ”
I tell him that he and Sophie are welcome to stay as long as they’d like. I look around at the sea of weeds surrounding us. “I think these plants could use the company. They’ve been alone long enough.”
Adam gives me that amused, curious smile again, and I feel my skin grow warm. “You think the plants could use company?”
“Oh, I have lots of opinions about flowers,” I say, laughing a little. “Don’t get me started.”
“I’m intrigued,” he says. “Go on. Please.”
I run my finger over a tall fern frond, feeling its feathery little leaves tremble below my touch, and breathe in the gentle aroma of the plants that surround us.
“Well, for one thing,” I say slowly, “I think a garden is a bit like art in that a piece of the person who created it, who cared for it, lives on within it after she’s gone.
A woman named Agatha Pike designed these grounds over a century ago, and I feel like I’m getting to know her by working here.
A piece of a person’s soul remains in her garden. At least, I like to think so.”
“So a piece of you will be here always then, too,” Adam says after a moment. “Long after your work is done.”
I nod. “Anyway, I think Agatha Pike created all of this for people to enjoy. I think that’s true of most gardens, maybe all—they’re made to be shared.”
Gully comes loudly trampling through the opening in the wall then, followed closely by Sophie, and Adam and I both turn toward them.
Gully is panting in a way that makes him look like he’s grinning, and Sophie truly is smiling, really smiling, her cheeks flushed.
She heads right to me and hands me Gully’s leash.
Despite her smile, there is still something fragile about her, and I have that feeling again that she is familiar in a way I cannot place.
“Seems like you had fun,” Adam says happily.
Sophie nods, her smile lingering. I give Gully a grateful scratch on his side.
As we all walk back through the opening together, stepping around the old gate that lies flat on the path, I notice a stocky man in his fifties making his way down the steps from the home toward us.
“Hello, everyone. I’m Vince,” he calls cheerfully, introducing himself as the home’s maintenance man.
I tell him that I’m glad to finally meet him. “You’re the hero who has been hauling all of the garden waste to the compost pile every evening.”
He gives a little laugh, reddening. “Hero? Nah. I’m happy to do it.
Gives me an excuse to spend some time out here in the fresh air.
” He looks down at the gate and emits a long whistle, then rubs the back of his neck and grins up at Adam.
“Glad this job is off my plate and onto yours, I’m sorry to admit.
Need a hand carrying it to your truck? If I can’t help you fix it, least I can I do is help you move it. ”
“I’d appreciate that. Thanks.” Adam turns to me. “I’ll be back next week to pick up the next one. Sooner if I can find the time.”
“That’s great. Thanks.” When I manage to catch Sophie’s eye, I smile at her. “I hope you’ll come back with your dad. Gully could clearly use the exercise.”
We all look down at Gully. He’s stretched out on his side at the edge of the path now and can’t even be bothered to lift his head as he looks up at us through one big, dark, white-rimmed eye and thumps his giant tail against the ground.
And then, to my surprise, Sophie laughs.
It’s the sweetest, most joyful sound, and I suck in my breath, moved.
I’m not sure I’ve ever loved Gully more.
Adam puts his arm around his daughter and hugs her tight to his side. “After we get this gate in the truck, we’ll go say hi to your great-grandmother,” he tells her.
We all say goodbye, and I pull on my gloves and climb back up the ladder into the lemon tree.
A few minutes later, I catch sight of Vince and Adam walking slowly up the ramp to the terrace, the gate between them.
Sophie trails a few steps behind. At the top of the ramp, I see her turn and scan the garden.
When she spots me, she waves, and I reach out and shake a branch of the lemon tree so that it looks like the tree is waving back.