Page 58 of Whispers of Helena
“I’m sorry,” I say, the admission sitting raw in my throat. “For my temper. I’m…working on it.”
A forgiving smile tugs at her lips. “I could give you a few Bible verses to meditate on.”
I nod, something soft passing between us. “Just leave them on my desk.”
The Garden
Helena
Train up a child in the way he should go: and when he is old, he will not depart from it.
Proverbs 22:6
“Finished my chapter, Ms. Helena!”Kiran’s sweet voice carries from the dining table, light and eager. I pause mid-swipe across the top of the radio, the faint scent of lemon polish mingling with the warmth of the sun streaming through the window. Smiling to myself, I set my cloth and supplies aside, straightening the items on the mantle before making my way to the kitchen.
He sits at the table, pencil in hand, his cheeks flushed with pride, a neatly written paragraph sitting in front of him. I slide into the chair beside him, the wooden surface of the island warm against my arm.
“Let’s see what we’ve got,” I say softly, pulling the page closer to scan his sentences. They’re tidy, a mix of earnest effort and newfound confidence.
“You did a wonderful job, Kiran,” I say, giving him an encouragingsmile. “This is so much better than last week. You’re really getting the hang of summarizing.”
His face lights up, eyes glowing like the sun has turned inward. “Really?”
“Really,” I say with a small laugh, gently ruffling the top of his hair. “Keep this up and you’re going to master it in no time.”
Kiran beams, his small chest puffing with pride, before bouncing up to pack away his things. “Can we go to the garden now?”
“Of course. Finish up here, and I’ll grab my boots.”
Within minutes, he’s tugging on his sneakers while I set my cleaning supplies in their spot, then I slip my boots on. Together, we step out into the late afternoon sunshine, the soft buzz of cicadas and the occasional rustle of leaves filling the air. The sky above is streaked with pale clouds, the honeyed sunlight featherlight as it cascades over the little plot we’ve lovingly cultivated over the past few weeks.
We walk side by side to the garden. It’s not full and lush with roses, strawberries, and other plants like it was when it was mine. Now it’s just a simple square of earth surrounded by a picket fence Kiran and I had hammered together one weekend. It’s become our sacred space, alive with tiny green sprigs sprouting, promising growth and nourishment.
Kiran crouches eagerly, hands brushing the soil as he scans for weeds. “I think the carrots are getting bigger,” he declares with authority.
I smile, kneeling beside him. “Let’s see if you’re right.”
There’s a simple joy in the rhythm of weeding, watering, and tending to the small plants, our hands dirty, our knees stained with soil. Kiran chatters excitedly as he works, his laughter bubbling up when he finds a small worm squirming in the dirt. He’s mesmerized by every little detail; the texture of the leaves, the water soaking into the ground, the sunlight glinting off the beads of dew still lingering.
“This is my favorite part of the week,” he admits, his handsbrushing soil gently from a sprout. “I like watching everything grow.”
I glance at him, my heart warmed by the sincerity in his voice. “It’s a little magical, isn’t it?”
He nods, his focus returning to the tiny shoots in front of him. “I hope everything grows big enough so we can eat it!”
“Oh, it will. Plants just need a little care and patience. Kind of like us, don’t you think?”
Kiran looks up, his hands dusty, his hair messy. He grins. “Yeah, like us.”
Bond
Silas
Standingin the shadow of the stable door, I watch Helena kneeling in the garden with Kiran. The late afternoon sun catches in her hair, and a soft breeze carries the sound of their laughter across the yard. My chest tightens at the sight of them together, so natural, so easy. She moves at his pace, never rushing, never scolding. She understands the way his mind works, the way he needs patience, not pressure.
She had come to me, eyes full of determination, asking to clear out the small plot of land that had gone wild since Caroline passed. Said she wanted to teach Kiran botany, give him an outlet, let him see something grow under his care. I almost told her no. That patch of dirt had been Caroline’s. Her quiet retreat, her pride, the place where she stood in the amber light of sunset, hands deep in the earth, dress glowing sheer in the fading sun. I could still picture her there, humming softly, fingers brushing over the petals of her roses. Letting anyone else touch it felt wrong.
But I caved to her request. And now, Helena doesn’t just dig up old memories, she brings something back to life. Now, where there was once tangled weeds, there’s order; green sprouting from the soil, something thriving again. Kiran has dirt under his nailsand pride in his eyes, watching something he planted push its way into the world.
