Andrew turned the car into the long pebbled drive of Kirkwood Hall. As Sorrel looked around at the huge manor and gently sloping lawns, she couldn’t help but contrast it with the spare lines of Ivy House in Granite Point. The white clapboard and gray shingles of her town seemed positively primitive next to the soaring stone fa?ade. Andrew pulled around the clipped yew plantings in the center of the carriage drive, and the car thumped to a stop.
“Brace yourself,” Andrew said. “The affection level is about to spike.”
“Thank God,” Sorrel said, relieved to hear that a bit of warmth had crept into his voice.
She stepped out of the car just as the mistress of the manor hurried out to greet the travelers.
Tall and graceful, Stella Kirkwood was the very picture of an English rose in full flower. Even now, slighter than usual and tired, Stella’s skin was soft and creamy, in this moment highlighted with cheery spots of bright pink on her cheeks. Her smile was as wide and genuine as the goofy grins on the hounds that swirled around her legs. She reached to fold Sorrel into her long arms.
“Sorrel Sparrow,” she cooed in her ear. “I can feel the garden sprouting at the very mention of your name!”
“Reverend Warburton!” Stella said as she broke away.
“Lady Kirkwood,” Andrew answered with a little bow.
Then they collapsed into each other’s arms, and Sorrel’s shoulders relaxed a little as she watched Andrew soften in his sister’s embrace.
“Did we beat Gray out?” Andrew asked.
“You did not. He’s just gone with Poppy to see Delphine,” Stella said. She turned to Sorrel. “Delphine was Fiona and Gray’s au pair long ago. She came from Belgium when she was sixteen just for a summer, and I’m afraid they kept her. Now she and her husband run the Queen’s Hart in the village. Gray always takes the chance to visit.”
“And have a pint,” Andrew said.
Stella pulled her brother closer. “There is nothing better than a proper sibling hug,” she said.
Sorrel agreed, which only made her sisters seem farther away.
There was no time to wallow as Stella and Andrew swept Sorrel into the house. A tall gray-haired man in high leather boots and a muddy quilted jacket appeared out of nowhere and got the bags and boxes out of the car. The dogs fought to move through the massive front door together, and the man shooed them out of the way as he wrangled everything inside.
Sorrel had just turned to look again at the vista when a smallish, sleekish, roundish bundle threw itself against Andrew’s legs.
“Wags!” Andrew crowed and gathered the wriggling dog in his arms.
“This little butterball is Wags,” he said. His eyes were shining and his voice light with pleasure. Sorrel reckoned Andrew couldn’t be all frost as she watched him cuddle his dog. This was an Andrew she wished she saw more.
“That explains the paraphernalia in the car,” Sorrel said, laughing.
Wags turned at the sound and cocked her blocky head. The dog was the size of a breadbox, shiny brown and white. Sorrel couldn’t quite place the breed.
“Pit mix,” Stella said. “She’s a funny little thing, Andrew’s soft-hearted rescue, but we do like it when she comes to stay with us.”
“My current, and only, pastoral-care assignment these days,” Andrew said as he put the dog down. “Found her at Battersea Dog’s Home some years ago.”
“She’s been super practice for your return to the care of the lost and downhearted, sweetie,” Stella said. “Now we’ve got Sorrel here to rescue us.”
Kirkwood Hall may have seen more lustrous days, say in the eighteenth century, but it was awfully impressive. A wide staircase wound up from the main hall, and paintings crowded the walls. A fire roared in a hearth big enough for Sorrel to stand in, and the dogs splayed themselves in front of it with groans of pleasure. Wags stayed close to Stella.
“Sorrel, I’ve put you in the blue room.” Stella headed up the stairs. Sorrel hesitated, looking at Andrew with raised eyebrows. He stood where he was, jerking his chin up toward the stairs. “Go,” he said. Andrew turned to the man who still held her bags.
“Hello, Gabe,” he said. “How are you?” As he spoke, Andrew’s hands flew in the gestures of sign language. Gabe answered silently, his own hands moving quickly. Andrew turned to Sorrel.
“Gabe says since Kirkwood Hall became part of the National Trust there are far too many Americans wandering around the grounds,” Andrew said as he signed to Gabe again. “Careful, we’ve got our own American right here.” He pointed at Sorrel. Gabe looked unperturbed. He moved up the stairs with the bags, and Sorrel hesitated beside Andrew and the dogs in front of the fragrant fire.
“Gabe knows more about Kirkwood Hall and the land than anyone, including Graham,” Andrew said. “They’ve known each other since they were kids, and there is nothing Gabe can’t tend. He’ll be helpful if you can get in his good graces. Now, up you go,” he pointed to the stairs.
She caught up with Stella in the room that would be hers for the weeks to come. It was just as promised: Wedgwood blue and white with a bed so high there was a step stool at its side. Heavy silk curtains tied back with sashes surrounded the bed, and more sumptuous duvets lay in wait. All in all, it was a storybook room fit for a princess rather than a muddy-heeled planter.
“Sorrel, sit.” Stella pulled her over to the toile-covered chaise by the window. Wags was already settled on the feather cushions that whooshed as they sat.
“Graham tells me you are not just a master gardener but a heartfelt one, too.” She smoothed her skirt, her hands long and graceful, but definitely working hands, calloused and strong. “This garden, this”—she waved toward the tall window—“project may look like a folly to you but to us, it can only be called a mission, really.”
Sorrel understood the drive to make things grow. She knew the gentle quaver that set up in her chest when she saw the first tender shoots of the sweet peas in spring, the nearly transparent new stalks of the dahlias in summer, and the sway and feather of the wildflower meadow on the edge of the Sparrow Sisters Nursery.
“Our Shakespeare Garden, so long dormant, is more than a challenge to rebuild, Sorrel,” Stella said and took Sorrel’s hand. “Graham feels very strongly that this garden is central to restoring the heart of the estate itself. We’ve been searching for the right soul to tend it. Come down once you’ve unpacked, and we’ll tell you the story beneath the soil.”
This Sorrel understood, too. The Nursery had to recover in order for the Sisters to reclaim their lives, and the process was still underway back home. So, with that link between the two families, Sorrel was determined to help this one find its way to peace.