Sorrel was standing over the dead and dying plants with her hands on her hips. Dirt and mulch streaked her arms.
“We’ve no time to replace these today,” she said to Gabe. “Can you and your guys put the sundial in now? I want to focus all eyes on that instead of this awful corner.”
Gabe nodded.
Sorrel patted his arm. “We’ll fix this, don’t worry,” she said. “I’ll clean up and meet you back here with everyone.”
Gabe couldn’t imagine a fix for what he feared was coming.
THE SOUND OF the shower woke Andrew. He turned over to find Wags on the pillow beside him.
“Big day, girl,” he said as he rolled her into his chest.
Andrew waited for the water to turn off before getting up. He found Sorrel staring at the shower drain. It was ringed with silt and leaves.
“What have you brought home, little gardener?” he asked.
“Yeah, that is pretty gross,” Sorrel said. “Don’t tell, but I’ve got a bit of a rebellion in one corner of the garden.”
She explained about the dead plants with a carelessness that belied her concern.
“I will dazzle the family with the sundial and all the healthy plants and take care of the problem later,” she said.
Andrew folded her into his arms. She smelled of shampoo and a lingering sourness that was so unlike Sorrel he coughed.
Sorrel sniffed her own arm and frowned.
Andrew shifted her out of the way and turned the shower back on, tilting the head to sluice away the dirt.
“Get dressed. I’ll be out in a minute,” he said as he dropped his boxers.
Sorrel opened the wide doors to the terrace and stood towel-drying her hair in the sun. She held a coil up to her nose but it didn’t seem stinky. She pulled a violet-sprigged dress out of the closet and slipped it on. The full skirt fell around her like water, and Sorrel was glad she’d let Patience pack three of her mother’s old sundresses. Sorrel didn’t often wear such girlish things, but today the soft cotton lawn felt like a blessing. She let the memory of her mother settle for a moment while she braided her hair. On this morning Sorrel was an awfully long way from the Sparrow Sisters of Granite Point, but she felt them beside her all the same.
CHAPTER 18
Ivy
The Kirkwood clan stood in a little cluster halfway down the long path between the house and the Shakespeare Garden. Sorrel and Andrew had come to the big house to walk en masse to the garden and Graham insisted on a photo.
“I do miss Rupes and Sophia,” Poppy said.
“They’ll be here soon,” Stella said. “I’m sure the garden will only be more beautiful by July.”
“Are you ready?” Andrew asked after he took the picture. “Gabe will have a breakdown if we aren’t on time.”
Poppy and Sorrel walked arm in arm. It felt good to both of them to be linked.
“I don’t think I’ve seen Dad this excited since, oh, ever,” Poppy said. “You’d think he’d planted the thing himself.”
“Well, I couldn’t have planted a thing without his faith,” Sorrel said.
“And his cash.”
“That, too.” Sorrel laughed. “I’ve worked for a fair number of wealthy summer people back home, but I’ve never been given quite such free rein. It really has been heavenly.”
Poppy watched Sorrel as she walked. Everything about her had been softened in her time at Kirkwood Hall. Perhaps it was the garden, perhaps Andrew and his own awakening, but Poppy suspected it was both. She hoped nothing would change, hoped that it was only the beginning.
Gabe was standing at the garden gate when the family arrived. Graham was pleased to see that the wall was restored and solid, the creaky gate cleaned and polished in the sun and the bricks softened by a froth of pale purple and white creeping phlox. Stella was thrilled to see Gabe’s shy smile, and Sorrel checked his face for reassurance.
“Sorrel,” Graham called, “is there anything we need to know before we fall about in paroxysms of joy and wonder and a bit of misplaced panic?”
Sorrel glanced at Gabe, who shook his head.
“Just that I am honored to have made this garden for you and grateful to Gabe for being by my side.”
“Well then, let me say welcome to the Shakespeare Garden, one and all!” Graham opened the gate and ushered everyone in.
The sundial stood at the center of the garden, its shiny brass gnomon flashing light into the air and casting a thin shadow precisely on eleven o’clock. The Kirkwoods stayed in a tight, silent unit for a moment before all bursting into talk and laughter at once.
“Oh, it is magnificent,” Stella said.
“Perfect,” said Poppy.
“I am speechless,” Graham said and proceeded to be anything but. “I knew it!” he crowed. “Didn’t I say she could do it? Didn’t I tell you the Sparrow was our answer?”
“I never doubted you, darling,” Stella said and rolled her eyes.
Andrew turned in a circle. Not a blossom was out of place, and every bud seemed on the verge of blooming. Those that were in bloom made the scent heady; waves of it broke over him with the clean effervescence of good champagne and the sweetness of summer itself. He looked at Sorrel and saw clearly how transformed she was by the power of this garden, just as the garden had been transformed by her. The hopefulness that had tiptoed into his heart when Sorrel came into his life blossomed into the possibility of true happiness.
Everyone spread out across the space murmuring and marveling at all the changes Sorrel had wrought. The small markers Sorrel had fashioned for each specimen charmed Poppy. Sorrel had labeled the copper tags in her careful upright hand and they stood, still bright as a new penny, telling the story of each plant and herb.
Graham hardly knew where to start as he all but ran along the gravel paths. When he reached the sundial, he stopped. Such an appropriate centerpiece in this garden that time forgot, he thought. Now it will stand and mark the hours for generations. Gabe came up behind him, and Graham turned to shake his hand and thump his shoulder.
“It is done,” he said. “It is begun as well.”
Gabe looked long at his chief, and his friend, before he gave a nod and looked to the dark corner. Graham followed his gaze.
“Unfinished?” he asked, nodding at the shovel leaning against the wall.
Gabe turned back to Graham and raised an eyebrow. He felt like a fake and a liar in his silence. He felt like Graham Kirkwood in his deception.