The Restoration Garden: A Novel - 33

Julia

We laid Irene Clarke to rest beneath the magnolia tree in the moon garden on a sunny June morning.

Margaret wore a new cornflower-blue dress Helen had gotten her for the occasion. She insisted no one wear black. She didn’t want this to be a funeral. It was a memorial. A chance to remember the young woman who had given her life to save the people she loved.

Margaret cleared her throat and motioned to Helen to help her stand. Since her heart attack last year, she’d grown too weak to walk on her own, relying on a wheelchair for mobility.

“My sister never cared for the war. She believed it was art and beauty that would save humanity from destruction, not guns and bombs. Some might call that fanciful thinking, but in the end, she wasn’t wrong. We needed the unshakable bravery and sacrifices of the military, the incredible cunning of the codebreakers and scientists like my father, and the tactical leadership of politicians. But Britain needed the heart of our people just as much. We needed a reason to fight.

“Irene dreamed of running away to America and attending art school when she was young. I used to hate her for wanting to leave. She was my big sister. I didn’t understand how she could ever want to leave Havenworth. In the end, she sacrificed her life for mine and for my family’s. I wish she could have had the adventures and grand life she deserved. Looking back, I think her spirit stayed with me long after we ceased to acknowledge her existence. She was the one who gave me the courage to live as fully and authentically as I have. To experience all the marvelous things there are in this world.

“My only regret is for how I doubted you. How quick I was to believe the worst about you. We will be reunited soon. I can only hope you forgive me.”

Margaret turned her gaze toward me, tears clouding her dark eyes, and whispered, “Thank you.”

Andrew slipped his palm against mine, intertwining our fingers. Even after a year, I still felt a little thrill in these quiet moments of affection.

“I think I’d like some time alone now,” Margaret announced.

“Sam, would you like to join me back in the kitchen for some biscuits?” Helen said.

He nodded eagerly, going to her with an ease that filled me with gratitude. Havenworth was meant to be only a temporary stop in my and Sam’s journey, but somehow we had found our family here. Our home.

“I’m glad it’s finally over,” Andrew said as we walked along the parterre, where the roses and lavender were in their full glory, giving Margaret her moment of peace.

The journey to this point had been a long one. The police had treated the grounds like a crime scene for weeks before accepting the DNA evidence indicating Irene’s skeleton had been there for the better part of a century. Extricating the remains had been a tedious and exacting job, too. I’d stayed to oversee the careful deconstruction of the folly, just in case Margaret decided she wanted to rebuild it. But she still hadn’t quite made up her mind about that.

That time had also allowed me to finish the restoration in its entirety. There was a new life to Havenworth, even as Margaret’s inched closer to the end. She was much weaker now. It was a matter of days and weeks, not months or years. But the closure had brought her peace.

Andrew had changed, too. He was still painfully serious at times, but the pain he carried had lightened. He wasn’t so afraid of crossing boundaries or deviating from plans. He’d even accepted Helen’s decision to quit her job.

“I’ve been thinking,” he said to me when we reached a secluded section of the gardens behind a large elderberry bush awash in fragrant white flowers. “With the restoration complete, we need to talk about your plans.”

We had avoided this conversation for too long. At first, because there was too much distraction. After, because it was simply easier not to think about the future. “I’ve been offered a contract for another estate near London. That’s only a short train ride away.”

“Don’t take it.”

My throat went dry. “Why?”

“Havenworth is in need of a permanent gardener to maintain the grounds. It would be a terrible shame to let all this work go to waste. I know it would be a step down for you and terrible use of your skills and expertise, but we need you to stay.” He clasped both my hands in his. “I need you to stay.”

My head spun from the offer. Staying at Havenworth was a fantasy I’d indulged in for the past year, but I always knew it would come to an end.

But what if it didn’t have to?

“You can still work on other projects,” he said quickly, mistaking my shock for hesitation. “You can build your business however you need and hire whatever staff you want. But don’t leave. I love you. And I love Sam. Havenworth is where you belong.”

“Yes, of course I’ll stay,” I said with a smile wide enough to cause an ache in my cheeks.

As we walked back to Havenworth to share the news with Sam, my thoughts drifted to Irene. It had taken more than eighty years for her truth to come out. She’d held on to her courage to do what was right, even when the bombs fell and when everyone around her believed the worst in her. Everything she had done was driven by love. I made a promise to myself in that moment to honor Irene’s memory by being brave enough to fight for the people I loved. For Sam and Andrew and Helen. For Margaret. And even for myself.