Page 91 of Stealing Sophie
“Do what?”
“It will diminish where we want and thrive where we ask if we treat it with respect.”
“Mistress, you have been wandering around in this haunted place for too long.”
She laughed. “Bring a scythe, too.”
“A scythe? I am not cutting grass. Padraig does not mind that task.-; Let him do it.”
“Then ask Padraig to come as well.”
“He is out in the fields, Mistress.”
“When he is free, then.” She led him toward the garden, climbing over the low wall while Roderick held out a hand to assist her. “And we need an ax and a sharp knife to trim the branches and vines.”
He stood looking around, shaking his head. “Mistress, this is a hopeless task.”
“You helped rescue the small garden,” she reminded him. “It is doing very well now. You are far more a gardener than you think.” She smiled brightly.
He nodded truculently and walked off to fetch the tools. Sophie picked her way through the garden, pushing through overgrown flower beds, stepping over mounds of ivy smothering a stone walkway. Reaching the apple trees at the back, where brambles snagged her clothing, she was delighted to discover blackberry and raspberry bushes that were showing some spring growth. Once they could breathe again, she felt sure they would burst with berries by summer.
She hoped she would be at Glendoon then to see it. The thought flashed through her mind—the doubt still there. She shook her head to wave it away and shoved past a thicket of lilacs that had thin but persistent buds to reach another section of the garden.
Here roses had once thrived. Climbing and shrub roses, vine and briar roses, they traced thorny arcs along the stone wall, long and leggy. But with careful pruning and nurturing, Sophie thought she could bring some of them back. And she wanted to be here to see them flourish. Each time she saw Connor, she felt more welcome, more secure here, more determined to be part of this.
She went back toward the gate when Roderick arrived with the tools, and they worked together, pulling, digging, cutting, and trimming the stubborn overgrowth to reveal the delicate plants beneath. Now and then, they would stop to rest, but the fire was on her now to get this done, and Roderick was willing, despite his teasing.
Much later, she stood rubbing her lower back and gazing around. The garden was neater now, with parterres of soil and slate showing the old design and its walkways and stone benches. There was more to do, but the beginning was promising, and the sight of it was rewarding enough for a long day’s work.
Glancing at the sky, she saw the sun riding low. Her hands were grimy, her hair was slipping from its braiding. She was dirty, aching, exhausted, and happy. The work had lifted away worries for a while, and sorting the garden had helped her sort her mind.
She could see now what the garden could be someday, flowers spilling throughout, fragrant and bright, a fountain burbling, birds chirping in blossoming fruit trees. And she knew, without a doubt, when the flowers bloomed and the berries hung fat on the vines when apples and pears grew sweet on the branches, she intended to be here with Connor to enjoy it.
