principles behind eighteenth-century gardening. After she'd nearly
memorized the contents of the three books Mrs. Farrington owned, the woman had
called the owner of the little bookstore in Arundel and told her to order
'whatever Williamsburg had.' When eleven brand-new books had arrived and Mrs.
Farrington had told Eden they were a gift for her, Eden had sat down and cried
— which had embarrassed Mrs. Farrington so much that she'd left the room.
The
books had been the start of what became a passion with Eden. She read,
sketched, ate, and drank eighteenth-century gardening until the day she and
Melissa left Arundel.
Mrs.
Farrington hired Toddy. He had worked for her family during the war when he was
a boy, to help put the garden in, and when Eden saw him, ancient beyond belief,
skin the color of a black walnut husk, she asked Mrs. Farrington if it had been
the Civil War when he'd worked for them. But Toddy surprised her. He may have
been old, but his brain was sharp, and he approved of what she was doing. Together,
the two of them laid out the first of Josiah Alester Farrington's gardens.
It was
fifty feet square, divided into four quarters by wide brick sidewalks. In the
center was a circle containing a tall carriage lamp surrounded by a barrel full
of jasmine that ran up the lamppost. Rosemary was planted at the base of the
barrel, with dianthus around the edges. The four quarters of the garden were
encased internally by a low boxwood hedge and externally by a three-rail cedar
fence. Eden well remembered how the garden had once looked, but now it was
mostly empty. A few shrubs were beginning to sprout in the early spring air,
but for the most part it was a huge expanse of mulch.
'It
took me over a month to clean it up,' Brad said. 'It had been allowed to grow
into such a tangle that I had to chainsaw my way in.'
She
looked at him sharply and found that she rather liked the idea of him with a
chain saw and sweat dripping off his forehead. The image aroused feelings in
her that she hadn't felt in a long time.
Brad
was watching her. 'Fill it,' he said succinctly, and when she said nothing, he
continued. 'You asked what I'd do, and I'd fill this garden
with tall plants in the center and
work outward. For those two sunny squares, I'd put buddleia there in the middle
to draw butterflies, then I'd flank it with caryopteris, sedum, monarda, and
coreopsis.'
Eden's
smile grew broader as he spoke. She hadn't heard those words in years, not
since she'd gone to New York and lived amid concrete and steel. 'You do like
butterflies, don't you? What about fennel?'
He
smiled broader, and it was a smile shared by gardeners. 'Ah, yes, the
swallowtails. I can't forget them. But we'd have to put the fennel in pots. Too
invasive.'
'Or a
bottomless pot buried deep.'
'Perfect.
Now, that corner is under the pecan tree, so it's fairly shady.'
'Astilbe
and pulmonaria,' she said. 'Not hostas, too big.'
'Exactly.
Of course you could go wild with some native orchids.'
'Orchids,'
Eden said, her breath drawn in. 'But no monkshood. Grandchild coming.'
'Yes,'
he said. 'Nothing in the deadly nightshade family. Maybe my grandson could
visit.'
'You
have a grandchild too?'
'Oh,
yes, my daughter Camden's son. His name is — '
Eden
put up her hand. 'Let me guess. Granville Braddon Something.'
'Nope,'
he said, smiling. 'It's Farrington Granville Robicheaux. Robicheaux being the
name of the man my daughter married.'
'Farrington,'
Eden said, smiling. 'Only in
Arundel could that be a child's first name. I'm glad he was a boy.' She stopped
teasing. 'Mrs. Farrington would be pleased. Maybe her name can be kept alive
after all.' They smiled at each other and she pointed to the fourth quarter.
'Not that you know anything about gardening, but what would you put there? And
I warn you that if you don't like dicentra, it's all over between us.'
'Bleeding
heart,' Brad said. 'My absolute favorite. Speaking of which,
memorized the contents of the three books Mrs. Farrington owned, the woman had
called the owner of the little bookstore in Arundel and told her to order
'whatever Williamsburg had.' When eleven brand-new books had arrived and Mrs.
Farrington had told Eden they were a gift for her, Eden had sat down and cried
— which had embarrassed Mrs. Farrington so much that she'd left the room.
The
books had been the start of what became a passion with Eden. She read,
sketched, ate, and drank eighteenth-century gardening until the day she and
Melissa left Arundel.
Mrs.
Farrington hired Toddy. He had worked for her family during the war when he was
a boy, to help put the garden in, and when Eden saw him, ancient beyond belief,
skin the color of a black walnut husk, she asked Mrs. Farrington if it had been
the Civil War when he'd worked for them. But Toddy surprised her. He may have
been old, but his brain was sharp, and he approved of what she was doing. Together,
the two of them laid out the first of Josiah Alester Farrington's gardens.
It was
fifty feet square, divided into four quarters by wide brick sidewalks. In the
center was a circle containing a tall carriage lamp surrounded by a barrel full
of jasmine that ran up the lamppost. Rosemary was planted at the base of the
barrel, with dianthus around the edges. The four quarters of the garden were
encased internally by a low boxwood hedge and externally by a three-rail cedar
fence. Eden well remembered how the garden had once looked, but now it was
mostly empty. A few shrubs were beginning to sprout in the early spring air,
but for the most part it was a huge expanse of mulch.
'It
took me over a month to clean it up,' Brad said. 'It had been allowed to grow
into such a tangle that I had to chainsaw my way in.'
She
looked at him sharply and found that she rather liked the idea of him with a
chain saw and sweat dripping off his forehead. The image aroused feelings in
her that she hadn't felt in a long time.
Brad
was watching her. 'Fill it,' he said succinctly, and when she said nothing, he
continued. 'You asked what I'd do, and I'd fill this garden
with tall plants in the center and
work outward. For those two sunny squares, I'd put buddleia there in the middle
to draw butterflies, then I'd flank it with caryopteris, sedum, monarda, and
coreopsis.'
Eden's
smile grew broader as he spoke. She hadn't heard those words in years, not
since she'd gone to New York and lived amid concrete and steel. 'You do like
butterflies, don't you? What about fennel?'
He
smiled broader, and it was a smile shared by gardeners. 'Ah, yes, the
swallowtails. I can't forget them. But we'd have to put the fennel in pots. Too
invasive.'
'Or a
bottomless pot buried deep.'
'Perfect.
Now, that corner is under the pecan tree, so it's fairly shady.'
'Astilbe
and pulmonaria,' she said. 'Not hostas, too big.'
'Exactly.
Of course you could go wild with some native orchids.'
'Orchids,'
Eden said, her breath drawn in. 'But no monkshood. Grandchild coming.'
'Yes,'
he said. 'Nothing in the deadly nightshade family. Maybe my grandson could
visit.'
'You
have a grandchild too?'
'Oh,
yes, my daughter Camden's son. His name is — '
Eden
put up her hand. 'Let me guess. Granville Braddon Something.'
'Nope,'
he said, smiling. 'It's Farrington Granville Robicheaux. Robicheaux being the
name of the man my daughter married.'
'Farrington,'
Eden said, smiling. 'Only in
Arundel could that be a child's first name. I'm glad he was a boy.' She stopped
teasing. 'Mrs. Farrington would be pleased. Maybe her name can be kept alive
after all.' They smiled at each other and she pointed to the fourth quarter.
'Not that you know anything about gardening, but what would you put there? And
I warn you that if you don't like dicentra, it's all over between us.'
'Bleeding
heart,' Brad said. 'My absolute favorite. Speaking of which,
Similar Books
