The Garden House

He shaded his eyes and looked over at the sloped landscape. “Looks like you have quite a garden there.” He began to walk back to the flagstone steps.

“Come this way,” Miranda said, gesturing to her left. “We’ll take the scenic route back. Through the garden.”

The path she took led to a terraced landscaped area that winded up towards the house. Her pride was her garden and she wanted to see William’s reaction to it. She knew it would be at its best; it had rained yesterday and was now luxuriating in the warm afternoon sun.

“You’re lucky,” she said. “We’ve had such a cool, late spring that many of the early flowers are still in bloom.” A note of excitement filled her voice. Seeing her garden through other people’s eyes always gave her a thrill, and a burst of gardening inspiration usually followed.

Miranda led the way to the lower garden, where the tree-like rhododendrons and lower azaleas formed a sort of double wall; a few purple, magenta, and white blooms still lingered on the bushes. She loved every section of her garden, but this shadier and damper part always stirred in her a feeling of tenderness. It grew thick with hosta and ferns, and perennials that didn’t need much care – patches of bleeding hearts and shy lily-of-the-valley.

“Oh, look!” she cried. “The coral bells have bloomed.” She bent down to take a closer look. “Clara always called these fairy flowers.”

The perfume of the lily-of-the-valley pulled her closer to them; she picked a tiny sprig, and held it to her nose. Then she tucked it under her wedding band as a reminder to come back and gather a small bouquet of the shade flowers to show Ben.