Graham Kirkwood stacked the photos of his tapestries on the boot bench by the front door so he wouldn’t forget to bring them to the country. Each one showed only details of the whole; close-ups of flowers and plants, leaves and colors, to give Sorrel the visual clues she needed to begin her work. He hadn’t wanted to muddy their cheerful waters with the tapestries until he had to, so they sat in their envelope hidden from everyone’s sight, just as his father had hidden them from him. Graham reckoned that Sorrel would want to study them at her leisure instead of having to stand before the hangings in the chilly chamber every time she needed to identify a plant. In fact, he was almost certain that lounging around in front of the fire in the great library with a bit of busy work, surrounded by the dogs, perhaps sipping sherry and nibbling Marcona almonds with Stella, was the absolute tip-top activity available at Kirkwood Hall on a late spring afternoon. He hoped that Sorrel would join them and in this way feel further settled. Should Andrew wish to use his time in the same manner, why, who was Lord Kirkwood to question? Besides, Stella was never happier than when she had a house full of the people she loved. No doubt Sorrel would soon be among them.
The old Land Rover Defender was packed with Sorrel’s suitcase, several cases of wine, Poppy’s book bag, and Graham’s briefcase. He felt particularly pleased that Poppy was in such good humor with Sorrel. It felt a bit like the old Poppy who loved Kirkwood Hall and all its history. He dared to think that his daughter might bring her skills and her degree back to the family for good. Graham returned to the house for the photographs and carefully slipped the folder into the backseat.
Andrew pulled up in his car, and the two men went in for coffee while they waited for the rest of the crew to emerge.
“I can’t help but wonder if Sorrel really knows what she’s in for with you lot at Kirkwood Hall,” Andrew said as he warmed the cafetiere with hot water and measured out the coffee.
“Who ever knows what to expect with this family?” Graham said. “Truly, there isn’t a thing better than tumbling into a house filled with dogs and children and, one hopes, a proper lunch. We’ll all be in fine form soon.”
The men leaned against the counter in comfortable silence as they drank their coffee. They could hear Poppy thumping around in her room and Sorrel coming down the stairs.
“But you know what,” Graham said, “I think that whatever Sorrel finds, in the garden and in our home, she will be the better for it. I know we will.”
Andrew was a little startled by Graham’s certainty. Surely neither of them knew very much about Sorrel and how she would change and be changed by the land. And if Graham wasn’t being thoroughly open with her about the state of the Shakespeare Garden or the history buried there, how could anyone guess what Sorrel might feel once she saw it?
“Coffee before we leave?” Andrew asked Sorrel as soon as she appeared in the kitchen.
He handed her a mug already rich with cream and sugar. It was just as Sorrel liked it, and she nodded to show Andrew her thanks. She plunked her notebooks and papers on the kitchen table along with her laptop.
“I think I’ve got a good foundation for the garden,” she said and turned a wide sketch pad around so that Graham and Andrew might look. Sorrel had stayed up late the night before capturing inspiration while it was fresh. A fine-lined pencil rendering of what the men could already see was nothing less than a fairy-tale garden spread over the page. Each minute plant and flower was labeled with Sorrel’s tiny, clear print. The beds were set out in a careful geometry that guided the visitor from “room” to “room” in a garden that would have been perfectly at home centuries earlier. Several benches were drawn beside the gravel paths, a small greenhouse sat along one side, outside the wall, and Sorrel had even sketched in a very little sundial at the center. As soon as she had time to study the existing garden, Sorrel would use her paints and pastels to flesh out the plan. It was ambitious, but she let her imagination point the way.
“Oh, this is remarkable!” Graham cheered. “I am incandescent with anticipation!”
“What is Dad waxing all lightbulb about now,” Poppy said as she came into the kitchen dragging a drawstring sack behind her. “Laundry,” she said to Andrew’s raised eyebrows and reached for a mug. “Honestly, the man cannot just say what needs to be said without a flourish.” Poppy laughed. “Feel free to tease him, Sorrel. We all do.”
“I will ignore your sarcasm in this moment,” Graham said. “Look at this and try to remain unmoved! Gaze in wonder at what our sweet Sorrel has magicked into being!” Graham guided Poppy to the table.
“Oh, Sorrel,” Poppy whispered. “It’s perfect!” She reached for Sorrel’s hand. “You’ve really done it. Wait till Mum sees.”
“Was there ever any doubt?” Andrew asked and gave one of his rare smiles.
“Just mine,” Sorrel said and lifted her mug to hide her own smile.
AFTER MUCH MILLING about and shuffling of bits and bobs, the little party made its way to the cars. Poppy threw herself into the Land Rover leaving Sorrel and Andrew to the Minor again. Graham roared off with a wave and a final challenge.
“Race you to the pastoral idyll,” he shouted.
For two days Sorrel had heard tales of Kirkwood Hall. She couldn’t imagine that it would live up to her expectations, and yet her excitement was such that she bounced her leg continuously as they drove. Andrew filled her in on the more historical particulars of the estate as they negotiated London traffic. It had been in the family in one form or another for over six hundred years. Before that, Saxons had battled across the land, Danes had attempted to settle down, and Normans had conquered. There had once been a Benedictine monastery on the grounds. Now all that was left was the chapel, empty and unused since the nineteenth century, and soon it would be filled again. Right and proper that was as the very name, Kirkwood, meant church wood even if nasty Lord Thomas hadn’t a speck of Christian charity in his soul.