“That’s a great idea. Good profit in that. And customers will like having Rosalind Harper’s gardening secrets. There are some considerations, though.”
“I thought of them. I’m not going to go hog-wild right off. We’ll keep it small.” With soil on her hands still, she plucked a bottle of water from a shelf. Then, absently wiping her hand on her shirt, twisted the cap. “I want the staff to learn how to bag, but the recipe’s my secret. I’ll give you and Harper the ingredients and the amounts, but it doesn’t go out to the general staff. For right now we’ll set up the procedure in the main storage shed. It takes off, we’ll build one for it.”
“Government regulations—”
“I’ve studied on that. We won’t be using any pesticides, and I’m keeping the nutrient content to below the regulatory levels.” Noting Stella continued to scribble on her pad, Roz took a long drink. “I’ve applied for the license to manufacture and sell.”
“You didn’t mention it.”
“Don’t get your feelings hurt.” Roz set the bottle aside, dipped a cutting in rooting medium. “I wasn’t sure I’d go on and do the thing, but I wanted the red tape out of the way. It’s kind of a pet project of mine I’ve been playing with for a while now. But I’ve grown some specimens in these mixes, and so far I like what I see. I got some more going now, and if I keep liking it, we’re going for it. So I want an idea how much the bags are going to run us, and the printing. I want classy. I thought you could fiddle around with some logos and such. You’re good at that. In the Garden needs to be prominent.”
“No question.”
“And you know what I’d really like?” She paused for a minute, seeing it in her head. “I’d like brown bags. Something that looks like burlap. Old-fashioned, if you follow me. So we’re saying, this is good old-fashioned dirt, southern soil, and I’m thinking I want cottage garden flowers on the bag. Simple flowers.”
“That says, this is simple to use, and it’ll make your garden simple to grow. I’ll get on it.”
“I can count on you, can’t I, to work out the costs, profits, marketing angles with me?”
“I’m your girl.”
“I know you are. I’m going to finish up these cuttings, then take off early myself if nothing’s up. I want to get some shopping in.”
“Roz, it’s already nearly five.”
“Five? It can’t be five.” She held up an arm, turned her wrist, and frowned at her watch. “Well, shit. Time got away from me again. Tell you what, I’m going to take off at noon tomorrow. If I don’t, you hunt me down and push me out.”
“No problem. I’d better get back. See you back at the house.”
WHEN SHE DIDget home, it was to discover the Christmas lights were glinting from the eaves, the wreaths shimmered on all the doors, and candles stood shining in all the windows. The entrance was flanked by two miniature pines wrapped in tiny white lights.
She had only to step inside to be surrounded by the holiday.
In the foyer, red ribbon and twinkling lights coiled up the twin banisters, with white poinsettias in Christmas- red pots under the newel posts.
Her great-grandmother’s silver bowl was polished to a beam and filled with glossy red apples.
In the parlor a ten-foot Norway spruce—certainly from her own field—ruled the front windows. The mantel held the wooden Santas she’d collected since she’d been pregnant with Harper, with fresh greenery dripping from the ends.
Stella’s two sons sat cross-legged on the floor beneath the tree, staring up at it with enormous eyes.
“Isn’t it great?” Hayley bounced dark-haired Lily on her hip. “Isn’t it awesome?”
“David must’ve worked like a dog.”
“We helped!” The boys jumped up.
“After school we got to help with the lights and everything,” the youngest, Luke, told her. “And pretty soon we get to help make cookies, and decorate them and everything.”
“We even got a tree upstairs.” Gavin looked back at the spruce. “It’s not as big as this one, ’cause it’s for upstairs. We helped David take it up, and we get to decorate it
“Then it must be true.”
“He’s cooking up some sort of trim-the-tree buffet in the kitchen.” Stella walked over to look at the tree from Roz’s perspective. “Apparently, we’re having a party. He’s already given Logan and Harper orders to be here by seven.”
“Then I guess I’d better get myself dressed for a party. Hand over that baby first.” She reached out, took Lily from Hayley and nuzzled. “Tree that size, it’ll take all of us to dress it up. What do you think of your first Christmas tree, little girl?”
“She’s already tried to belly-scoot over to it when I put her on the floor. I can’t wait to see what she does when she sees it all decked out.”
“Then I’d better get a move on.” Roz gave Lily a kiss, handed her back. “It’s a bit warm yet, but I think we ought to have a fire. And somebody tell David to ice down some champagne. I’ll be down shortly.”
It had been too long since there were children in the house for Christmas, Roz thought as she hurried upstairs. And damn if having them there didn’t make her feel like a kid herself.
TWO
ROZ TOOK HER holiday mood shopping. The nursery could get along without her for half a day. The fact was, the way Stella managed it, the nursery could get along without her for a week. If she had the urge, she could take herself off on her first real vacation in—how long had it been? Three years, she realized.
But she didn’t have the urge.
Home was where she was happiest, so why go to all the trouble of packing, endure the stress of traveling, just to end up somewhere else?
She’d taken the boys on a trip every year when they were growing up. Disney World, the Grand Canyon, Washington, D.C., Bar Harbor, and so on. Little tastes of the country, sometimes chosen at whim, sometimes with great planning.
Then they’d taken that three-week vacation in Europe. Hadn’t that been a time?
It had been hard, sometimes frantic, sometimes hysterical, herding three active boys around, but oh, it had been worth it.
She could remember how Austin had loved the whale-watch cruise in Maine, how Mason had insisted on ordering snails in Paris, and Harper had managed to get himself lost in Adventureland.
She wouldn’t trade those memories for anything. And she’d seen a nice chunk of the world herself.
Instead of a vacation, she could concentrate on other things. Maybe it was time to start thinking about adding a little florist shop onto the nursery. Fresh-cut flowers and arrangements. Local delivery. Of course, it would mean another building, more supplies, more employees. But it was something to think about for a year or two down the road.
She’d have to go over some figures, see if the business could handle the outlay.
She’d sunk a great deal of her personal resources into the nursery to get it off the ground. But she’d been ready to gamble. Her priorities had been, always, that her children were safe, secure, and well provided for. And that Harper House remain tended, protected, and in the family.
She’d accomplished that. Though there’d been times it had taken a lot of creative juggling and had caused the occasional sleepless night. Perhaps money hadn’t been the terrifying issue for her that it often was for single parents, but it had been an issue.
In the Garden hadn’t just been a whim, as some thought. She’d needed fresh income and had bargained, gambled, and finagled to get it.
It didn’t matter to Roz if people thought she was rich as Croesus or poor as a church mouse. The fact was she was neither, but she’d built a good life for herself and her children with the resources she’d had at hand.
