The Last Garden in England(111)

“I’d like to think so.”

Emma was half listening, her gaze fixated on something in the family Bible. No. It couldn’t be… She couldn’t believe that an answer to a more than one-hundred-year-old question had been sitting in plain view this entire time, if only someone knew to look for it.

“Do you mind if I take a picture of this?” she asked.

“Hmm?” Sydney murmured as she began to sift through the box again.

“The family tree. Do you mind?”

“Go ahead,” said Sydney, already turning her attention again to the buried artifacts of a boy’s life.

“Hey, there’s something else in here,” Henry said.

Emma’s phone camera clicked, and she turned to see him holding a large iron key.

Sydney squinted “Is that—”

“The key to the winter garden’s gate. Let’s go find Andrew and Charlie,” said Emma.



* * *



Thirty minutes later, they stood in front of the winter garden gate. Sydney was practically vibrating with excitement, key clenched in her hand, but Emma hung back. She kept glancing at her phone, unsure if she should believe the photograph she’d taken.

“Emma,” Sydney prompted her.

Her head shot up, and she slipped her phone back into her pocket. “What can I help with?”

Her friend held out the key. “I think you should open it.”

“No, it’s your garden,” said Emma.

Sydney shook her head. “You’re the one bringing it back to life.”

Emma glanced at Andrew, who nodded. She swallowed but took the key nonetheless. She slid it into the lock and turned it. It resisted, but with a little effort, she managed to get the tumblers to grind open.

“Give me a hand, will you?” she asked, gripping the bars.

Henry and Andrew both shoved against rust and age, opening the gate for the first time in decades. Then, one by one, they walked through the gate and into the winter garden.

Sydney turned around, slowly taking in what Emma had done. “It’s going to be beautiful.”

“You’re sure you want to keep restoring it, even after finding the box?” Emma asked, hoping that her friend would say yes.

Sydney nodded. “It’s already been a garden for the lost. Now I want it to be a place where we can make new, happy memories.”

Andrew looped an arm around his wife’s waist and kissed the top of her head. “I think we should start now.”

Sydney smiled up at her husband. “In about seven and a half months, we’re going to be three running around this big old house.”

“Not running right away,” said Andrew, paling a little bit.

“Oh, Sydney!” Emma gasped, pulling her friend into a hug. This was what she’d been looking for. To be a part of joyful beginnings. To have a home.

Sydney whispered to her, “And you’ll be around to see it.”

Emma pulled back. “How did you know?”

“There are no secrets in a small village, remember? I ran into your real estate agent at the grocery store the other day.”

“I haven’t told anyone else except Charlie that I’m looking to buy, but I may have mentioned I’ll be staying on for a little longer,” said Emma, glancing at Henry, who was crowding around Andrew with Charlie, shaking his hand and clapping him on the back.

“I’d tell you to take all the time you need, but I’m pretty sure he’s one trip to the White Lion away from finding out.” Sydney stepped back and announced to everyone, “I think I need to sit down. I never took it seriously when people told me that pregnancy was exhausting, but I believe it now. Why don’t we all have a cup of tea?”

“You don’t have to ask me twice,” said Charlie.

“Let me just get this hydrangea into the ground,” Emma said.

“I’ll help you,” said Henry.

Sydney and Charlie exchanged looks but left without a word, followed by Andrew.

“Well,” said Emma.

“Back to work,” he said.

Emma moved toward her spade but snuck a look at her phone again.

“What do you keep checking?” Henry asked.

She turned her phone around to show him the photo of the Bible page.

He stepped close to lean in, resting his hand on the small of her back. “What am I looking at?”

She read out, “Helen Marie Goddard marries Arthur Melcourt in 1893.”

“I’m still not seeing it,” he said.

“The family tree shows that Helen’s brother is Matthew Spencer Goddard. There’s a gap in the correspondence between Venetia Smith and her brother, Adam, who handled all of the operations of her business, during the autumn of 1907. Then Venetia reappears seemingly out of nowhere in America in 1908, married to a man named Spencer Smith. The same middle name as Matthew Spencer Goddard, Helen Melcourt’s brother.”

“You think Spencer Smith is really Matthew Goddard?” he asked.

“Think about it. Venetia was a single woman working for his sister’s family. She leaves the country without any explanation and never comes back. I think she was running because she and Matthew fell in love.”

“But why not just marry?” he asked.