The Last Garden in England(71)

“There’s a dance in Leamington Spa tomorrow evening,” said Ruth.

Beth made a noncommittal noise.

“Petunia will be there,” Ruth tried again. Now that was a sign of how worried Ruth was about her. Her roommate hated Petunia and had once called her one of those horsey girls who couldn’t talk about anything but breeding lines and county hunts. Beth suspected that the truth was that, for all of her resentment of the Women’s Land Army, Ruth liked being the poshest local land girl. When Petunia was around, it was hard to compete.

“If I went, none of you would enjoy yourselves,” said Beth.

“You can’t just sit on your bed and mope.”

“I can, and I will if I want to,” she said.

“Fine,” said Ruth, throwing the next sheet over the line so forcefully that it would have ended up on the ground if Beth hadn’t dived to catch it.

“I appreciate what you’re trying to do,” said Beth, softening. “I really do.”

“Beth! Beth!” Mrs. Penworthy came running out of the house, flapping her hands about.

“What is it?” Beth asked, her hands stilling on the washing.

“You have post! Two letters!”

The sheet slipped from Beth’s hands and pooled in the grass as she ran toward Mrs. Penworthy. Meeting her halfway, she snatched up the letters, recognizing the handwriting on the top one.

“Graeme,” she breathed, dropping the other letter to tear it open.

Monday, 19 June 1944

My darling Beth,

I cannot tell you where I am or what I am doing but know I’m safe.

Yours forever,

Graeme

P.S. I’ve loved you since I saw you on top of Mr. Penworthy’s tractor.



Beth’s knees gave out. “He’s safe.” He’s safe, and he loves me.

Ruth and Mrs. Penworthy dropped into the grass next to her, engulfing her.

“I’m so glad, pet. I’m so, so glad,” said Mrs. Penworthy.

The three women stayed like that, rocking gently back and forth, until finally Beth loosened her grip on them both.

“The second letter,” she said.

The other women let her go, and Ruth reached behind her to pluck it up off the ground. Beth’s heart sank when she saw the handwritten address.

“It’s from Colin,” she said.

“You need to open it,” said Ruth.

Beth nodded.

“Come on, let’s give her some privacy,” said Mrs. Penworthy, wrapping an arm around Ruth’s shoulders and guiding her toward the house.

With trembling hands, Beth opened Colin’s envelope and drew out the letter. There was only one word written there: No.





? EMMA ?


JULY 2021

Emma pulled off her hat and used a handkerchief to wipe her brow, a habit she’d picked up from helping her father in the garden. He would stand, wipe the sweat from his neck, and declare that it was time for a cool drink. She would bound up the garden path to the kitchen, where Mum, who liked to sit at the window while they worked, was already pouring tall glasses of lemonade.

What she wouldn’t give for a lemonade.

All of England and Wales and most of Scotland was in the grips of a heat wave. They’d become a certainty in recent years, and everyone suffered for it in this country with so little air-conditioning. Bow Cottage had remained hot all last night, and she’d hardly slept, even with the rotating fan. When she’d greeted Charlie that morning, he’d told her he’d slept on the roof of the narrow boat, under the stars, and woke up to his mooring neighbor’s dog licking his face.

Still, she was glad to be in the wilds of the winter garden today. It was peaceful here, which certainly had its appeal, but it was more than that. Different garden rooms had different feelings. The children’s garden was playful with its wildflowers and delicately blossomed cherry trees. The tea garden felt formal and proper. But the winter garden held a sobriety that gave her the same sensation as walking into a church. No matter what she encountered outside, she could hitch her leg over the wall, climb down the other side, and the weight of the place would press gently, comfortingly on her shoulders.

Charlie felt it, too, but he wasn’t drawn to it the way she was.

“There’s something about it I just don’t like,” he’d say, shivering as soon as his feet hit the ground. “It feels sad.”

Reverential maybe, she’d decided, thinking of the faint penciled-in name. Celeste’s garden. A remembrance.

“Knock, knock!”

Emma spotted Sydney at the top of the ladder. “Hi.”

“I hope you don’t mind me climbing this, only I wasn’t sure if you would be able to hear me from the gate,” said Sydney.

“So long as you don’t fall off. My insurance couldn’t afford it,” she said.

Sydney laughed. “I promise I won’t.”

“Do you want to come down and see it?” Emma asked.

“I’d love to.”

Sydney scrambled over the top of the wall before Emma could warn her to be careful. She breathed a sigh of relief when her employer’s feet were firmly on the ground again.

Sydney pushed her hair out of her face and gazed around. “It’s like a jungle in here. If I didn’t know better, I would think I was in a forest.”