her nylons, his voice deepened. “Me, too.”
She slid out of her heels and tied her dress into a knot that rested on her leg mid thigh, but never dropped the flower. “We don’t have a blanket.”
He kicked off hi s corframs, tied the shoestrings together, stuffed his socks inside, then rolled up his pant legs. “Let’s use my jacket.”
Her laugh ter bubbled all around him and combined with the sweet essence of the garden. Of her. In ritual, she ripped off the flower head and tossed the stem aside. When they were fifteen, she’d claimed a petal trail would bring good luck and forever lead them back to their special place. And it always had.
Spellbound as he followed her toward the shoreline, he opened the gate just as a cold breeze rushed up his back. He had the unnerving feeling they might never return here.
She slipped her hand in his and laced their fingers together. “I’m so glad you’re here, Wallace. I knew you’d wait for me…”
“Anna, I gave you my word that I’d wait for you forever…If nothing else, I’m an honorable man.”
She shot him a wicked glance over her shoulder as they headed toward the brilliant sunrise. “A promise of the heart is a promise worth keeping.”
****
The sound of the creaking gate startled Clayton.
H e shot up from the ground where he’d been hiding out, noting morning had started to make her appearance. Regardless, he bounded up and over the iron fence into the penned area and landed in the middle of something spongy underfoot.
Crouching, h e could just make out little grey discs on the trail that led to the top of the hill. He yanked his flashlight from his pocket and flipped it on. The faded beam leached out over the ground.
Rose petals soldiered upward toward the tree. He twisted and shone the beam behind him to light up the trail of petals that flowed down toward the closed gate.
He s tood and stalked up the hill, looking for clues. He’d been wide awake, waiting. Had to be kids… But how had he missed teenagers? He’d only been one a decade ago, so he knew they were noisy…
Topside, he spun the flashlight 360 degrees to see the glassy river below and the garden void of anyone other than still shadows. He hadn’t nodded off, not even for a minute, so how had this oddly decorative trail of petals been created?
Once he was on the opposite side of the tree, his gaze whipped toward tree limbs—
He jolted to a halt.
Braided again . Half the darn tree. How could this have happened? He didn’t have two hours to unbraid branches when petals littered the landscape, too. Folks would be arriving in an hour. The estate owners demanded perfection and he did, too.
He was going to let everyone down, just like he’d let down Sarah…
Pacing in a tight circle, all he could think about was the mess that was the garden and his life. He didn’t know how to handle either.
D istant laughter echoed around him.
He spun around. Had to be sparrows or chickadees, since the garden wasn’t open to the public yet.
Mocking birds, he concluded, though doubt seeped through him.
He scooped one petal up after another, noting their delicate texture. The culprit had picked his roses, then littered them along the ground in waste. He followed the trail that led him back down the hillside and out the open gate.
More petals on the aggregate path that ran along the outside perimeter of the hill and led to the river’s edge about a quarter mile downstream.
No one. Not a footprint in sight.
Puffing breath from the jog back, he returned to the tree. What was he missing?
The sun rose in the distance and illuminated a single green stem lying on the cemetery headstone…the double plot of Captain Wallace Remy, whose plane had been shot down in WWII, and Mrs. Anna Remy, who’d been laid to rest just yesterday.
Clayton slicked back his hood, removed his ball cap, and placed it over his chest. He inspected the seeded mulch layer that covered the loamy plot.
At least
She slid out of her heels and tied her dress into a knot that rested on her leg mid thigh, but never dropped the flower. “We don’t have a blanket.”
He kicked off hi s corframs, tied the shoestrings together, stuffed his socks inside, then rolled up his pant legs. “Let’s use my jacket.”
Her laugh ter bubbled all around him and combined with the sweet essence of the garden. Of her. In ritual, she ripped off the flower head and tossed the stem aside. When they were fifteen, she’d claimed a petal trail would bring good luck and forever lead them back to their special place. And it always had.
Spellbound as he followed her toward the shoreline, he opened the gate just as a cold breeze rushed up his back. He had the unnerving feeling they might never return here.
She slipped her hand in his and laced their fingers together. “I’m so glad you’re here, Wallace. I knew you’d wait for me…”
“Anna, I gave you my word that I’d wait for you forever…If nothing else, I’m an honorable man.”
She shot him a wicked glance over her shoulder as they headed toward the brilliant sunrise. “A promise of the heart is a promise worth keeping.”
****
The sound of the creaking gate startled Clayton.
H e shot up from the ground where he’d been hiding out, noting morning had started to make her appearance. Regardless, he bounded up and over the iron fence into the penned area and landed in the middle of something spongy underfoot.
Crouching, h e could just make out little grey discs on the trail that led to the top of the hill. He yanked his flashlight from his pocket and flipped it on. The faded beam leached out over the ground.
Rose petals soldiered upward toward the tree. He twisted and shone the beam behind him to light up the trail of petals that flowed down toward the closed gate.
He s tood and stalked up the hill, looking for clues. He’d been wide awake, waiting. Had to be kids… But how had he missed teenagers? He’d only been one a decade ago, so he knew they were noisy…
Topside, he spun the flashlight 360 degrees to see the glassy river below and the garden void of anyone other than still shadows. He hadn’t nodded off, not even for a minute, so how had this oddly decorative trail of petals been created?
Once he was on the opposite side of the tree, his gaze whipped toward tree limbs—
He jolted to a halt.
Braided again . Half the darn tree. How could this have happened? He didn’t have two hours to unbraid branches when petals littered the landscape, too. Folks would be arriving in an hour. The estate owners demanded perfection and he did, too.
He was going to let everyone down, just like he’d let down Sarah…
Pacing in a tight circle, all he could think about was the mess that was the garden and his life. He didn’t know how to handle either.
D istant laughter echoed around him.
He spun around. Had to be sparrows or chickadees, since the garden wasn’t open to the public yet.
Mocking birds, he concluded, though doubt seeped through him.
He scooped one petal up after another, noting their delicate texture. The culprit had picked his roses, then littered them along the ground in waste. He followed the trail that led him back down the hillside and out the open gate.
More petals on the aggregate path that ran along the outside perimeter of the hill and led to the river’s edge about a quarter mile downstream.
No one. Not a footprint in sight.
Puffing breath from the jog back, he returned to the tree. What was he missing?
The sun rose in the distance and illuminated a single green stem lying on the cemetery headstone…the double plot of Captain Wallace Remy, whose plane had been shot down in WWII, and Mrs. Anna Remy, who’d been laid to rest just yesterday.
Clayton slicked back his hood, removed his ball cap, and placed it over his chest. He inspected the seeded mulch layer that covered the loamy plot.
At least
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