A Promise Worth Keeping
by
Cyndi Faria
With Valentine’s Day only hours away, Clayton considered his vandalized garden through squinted eyes. It was only his first week as the new groundskeeper at The Remy Estate, and already someone had woven the spears of the hilltop weeping willow into thick braids that swayed in the breeze.
His fist pumped with frustration at the vandal’s disrespectful joke and he nearly dropped his shears, which would have butchered the fescue grass he was supposed to clip to the estate owner’s stringent specifications. Was the universe punishing him for ignoring Sarah’s proposal? His long time girlfriend had popped the question a few nights ago, but instead of saying yes the way he’d wanted to—he loved her, after all, and wanted to spend the rest of his life with her—he’d told her he needed to think about it because things were fine the way they were. Their five-year relationship was going smoothly, so why complicate it with marriage? Growing up, his parents had been content with a common law marriage. The real deal had torn them apart. He didn’t want to make the same mistake.
Sarah had said she understood and that he was a man worth loving. Things between them had gone back to normal, but a cloud of guil t and unease had stayed with him. Guilt, because he’d hurt her. Unease, because what would he do if Sarah finally decided to leave him?
A mellow gust pushed the garden’s gate closed with an eerie clank .
Eyes d rawn to the nearby wrought-iron door, he twisted his ball cap bill to the back. Who’d unlocked the sole entrance to the hilltop pathway? To his knowledge, he’d been entrusted with the only key after working in the penned area yesterday. The area was off limits to anyone but Remy family members.
Sighing, he pushed his guilt over Sarah’s proposal out of his mind and got to work on the task at hand. After spending two hours untangling the willow whips, he strolled back down the hill to the exit and gave the gate a good shake to make sure it had secured tightly behind him. He scanned the rainbow of flowers intermingled with beds of roses that blanketed the parcel in all directions, beds he’d prepped and tended just like his father and grandfather—both master gardeners—had taught him.
Clayton smiled and rolled his shoulder. Satisfied with the way he’d deadheaded every dried-up flower and shaped each topiary into a spiral column, he assured himself the estate was ready for tomorrow’s visitors. Some guests would travel hundreds of miles to celebrate the heartfelt holiday with family and friends.
Only what if the pranksters came back tonight to pull another practical joke?
Deciding he couldn’t let that happen, h e twisted his hat so the bill shadowed his eyes and flipped his jacket’s hood up over his cap. He drove his cart around to the river side of the hilltop and parked behind a thick mesh of honeysuckle while the evening array of orange and red rode the horizon. As long as he was in charge, not a leaf or petal or blade would go unkempt. In his work and in relationships, he took pride keeping things orderly and uncomplicated. He’d stay up all night to keep the garden protected. No one would slip past Clayton and ruin the estate’s Valentine’s Day tribute.
****
Wallace leaned against the riverside weeping willow where he’d promised his wife Anna he’d wait for her no matter how long it took. It seemed appropriate that she was late—she’d kept him standing at the altar longer than polite before marrying him. Today, she’d arrive eventually, too. To distract himself while he waited, he brushed his fingers against the carved bark that had cracked and sunken over time.
N ostalgia tightened his throat. Together, they’d marred the tree with their initials when they were fifteen and made their promise—that no matter what the future held, they’d meet at the right time at their tree for a Valentine’s Day kiss.
The
by
Cyndi Faria
With Valentine’s Day only hours away, Clayton considered his vandalized garden through squinted eyes. It was only his first week as the new groundskeeper at The Remy Estate, and already someone had woven the spears of the hilltop weeping willow into thick braids that swayed in the breeze.
His fist pumped with frustration at the vandal’s disrespectful joke and he nearly dropped his shears, which would have butchered the fescue grass he was supposed to clip to the estate owner’s stringent specifications. Was the universe punishing him for ignoring Sarah’s proposal? His long time girlfriend had popped the question a few nights ago, but instead of saying yes the way he’d wanted to—he loved her, after all, and wanted to spend the rest of his life with her—he’d told her he needed to think about it because things were fine the way they were. Their five-year relationship was going smoothly, so why complicate it with marriage? Growing up, his parents had been content with a common law marriage. The real deal had torn them apart. He didn’t want to make the same mistake.
Sarah had said she understood and that he was a man worth loving. Things between them had gone back to normal, but a cloud of guil t and unease had stayed with him. Guilt, because he’d hurt her. Unease, because what would he do if Sarah finally decided to leave him?
A mellow gust pushed the garden’s gate closed with an eerie clank .
Eyes d rawn to the nearby wrought-iron door, he twisted his ball cap bill to the back. Who’d unlocked the sole entrance to the hilltop pathway? To his knowledge, he’d been entrusted with the only key after working in the penned area yesterday. The area was off limits to anyone but Remy family members.
Sighing, he pushed his guilt over Sarah’s proposal out of his mind and got to work on the task at hand. After spending two hours untangling the willow whips, he strolled back down the hill to the exit and gave the gate a good shake to make sure it had secured tightly behind him. He scanned the rainbow of flowers intermingled with beds of roses that blanketed the parcel in all directions, beds he’d prepped and tended just like his father and grandfather—both master gardeners—had taught him.
Clayton smiled and rolled his shoulder. Satisfied with the way he’d deadheaded every dried-up flower and shaped each topiary into a spiral column, he assured himself the estate was ready for tomorrow’s visitors. Some guests would travel hundreds of miles to celebrate the heartfelt holiday with family and friends.
Only what if the pranksters came back tonight to pull another practical joke?
Deciding he couldn’t let that happen, h e twisted his hat so the bill shadowed his eyes and flipped his jacket’s hood up over his cap. He drove his cart around to the river side of the hilltop and parked behind a thick mesh of honeysuckle while the evening array of orange and red rode the horizon. As long as he was in charge, not a leaf or petal or blade would go unkempt. In his work and in relationships, he took pride keeping things orderly and uncomplicated. He’d stay up all night to keep the garden protected. No one would slip past Clayton and ruin the estate’s Valentine’s Day tribute.
****
Wallace leaned against the riverside weeping willow where he’d promised his wife Anna he’d wait for her no matter how long it took. It seemed appropriate that she was late—she’d kept him standing at the altar longer than polite before marrying him. Today, she’d arrive eventually, too. To distract himself while he waited, he brushed his fingers against the carved bark that had cracked and sunken over time.
N ostalgia tightened his throat. Together, they’d marred the tree with their initials when they were fifteen and made their promise—that no matter what the future held, they’d meet at the right time at their tree for a Valentine’s Day kiss.
The
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