weren’t constantly doing construction on the roads in and around Charlotte, but growth brought its own price.
Peggy and John had once spent many wonderful hours at the garden doing volunteer work. She thought it was at its finest this time of year. Her longtime friend, Doug Wurner, was the head gardener. He greeted them at the entrance, and she introduced him to her little group.
“Best put on some DEET.” Ranson handed Lilla the bottle. “Peggy told me they have some fine water gardens here, but that means plenty of mosquitoes, too. And you know how they like you, Mama.”
While they put on sunscreen and insect repellent, Peggy talked with Doug about what had been going on in the garden. She hadn’t been there since John died, and there was always something new being planted or added.
He told her about the work they’d done in the herb garden and the daylilies they had added. The lengthy drought had made things difficult. They compensated by watering daily, but it would take time and rain before everything recovered.
Doug took them to see the Visitor’s Pavilion and told them the story of how the early-twentieth-century stained glass dome came to be there above their heads. The dome, crafted in 1909 by a glass company also used by Tiffany, had crowned the First Baptist Church in Canton, Ohio, for many years. One of the Stowe garden designers found it for sale, and the favorite feature of the pavilion was put in place.
“I wish I had time to show you through the rest of the gardens,” Doug said with a smile and a glance at his watch. “But Peggy knows them almost as well as I do.”
He gave Peggy a quick kiss on the cheek and told her not to stay away so long again, then left them near a pretty bridge that crossed a small pond.
Peggy suggested they start the tour with one of the theme gardens. They chose the Cottage Garden as she told them about the 110 acres surrounding them while they inhaled the sweetly scented spring air.
“What are these?” Paul asked as they looked at some of the plants.
“Like the one in my house?” her mother asked.
“A cousin. This one will get about five feet tall. They grow in pink, purple, and white.”
“They reseed themselves,” her father surmised, looking at the flower head.
“Yes. But they usually have to be resown around midsummer to replace the worn plants.”
They followed the half-mile wildflower trail and then sat beside a fountain to cool off. The sun was hot, even though the breeze was still cool. The sweet green of the newly budded plants would soon be lost to the deeper hues of mature growth.
“You’re quiet,” Paul remarked as they had a snack of blueberry muffins and tea. “Still thinking about Darmus?”
“Of course.” Peggy sipped her cup of cold, sweet tea. “I can’t get him out of my mind. I feel like I’ve failed him.”
“How?”
“I didn’t even realize he was having a problem. What kind of friend was I?”
“I don’t think he wanted you to know, Mom.”
“I know. That doesn’t make me feel any better.”
Paul put his arm around her shoulders. “You can’t make everything right in the world, you know. Bad things happen sometimes.”
She smiled. “That’s a remarkably mature attitude.”
“And that’s the reason you should never have deep conversations with your mother.” Paul kissed her cheek, then moved away. “She always reminds you that you’re a child.”
“Are we headed toward the butterfly garden now?” Peggy’s father brushed bread crumbs from his hands.
“Yes.” Peggy got to her feet. “I’m ready.”
They spent another hour at the garden. By the time they got home, Lilla had to have a nap. Aunt Mayfield and Cousin Melvin were home from shopping and were making an early dinner for everyone. The smell of frying chicken, mashed potatoes, and steamy gravy filled the house.
Peggy decided to check in at the Potting Shed rather than face one of Aunt Mayfield’s heavy dinners and questions about why she was a vegetarian. Steve had left a message while she was gone, telling her he would be back home from his sheep run late that night and would see her the next day.
The doorbell rang as she was making her excuses to her aunt and cousin.
Paul answered the door. “Well, well.”
“Leave it alone,” Peggy heard Mai Sato, his ex-girlfriend, say. “I came to talk to your mother.”
“I’m sure you did.”
“What does that mean?”
Peggy took pity on her son, who was standing there (red as a rose since he’d inherited her complexion) in the foyer, glaring at the only woman he had ever really cared about. He obviously had no idea how to get himself out of the corner he’d put himself in. “Who is it, Paul?”
Before he could answer, Mai yelled out, “It’s me, Peggy. I’d come in, but this big ox is blocking my way!”
“Come into the library,” Peggy urged the girl, nudging Paul aside a little. “Never mind him. It’s good to see
