He nodded sadly. “My surviving children,” he said, searching for words, then sighing, “are ill, crippled, estranged, or actively hate me.”
“That is so terribly sad, I scarcely know what to say.” Pippa shook her head. “You seem to have ungrateful children, for how can one not like someone as kind and sweet as you?”
“You see? That is what I keep saying as well.” He looked pleased. “My daughters are beautiful, but distant. I could never talk to them as I do with you now. I daresay they have not forgiven me for having remarried so quickly. But they needed a mother. And my sons…” He shook his head sadly.
“Hopeless?” Pippa suggested.
“One is always ailing, the second lives in the clouds, and the third is a lost cause, a scapegrace if there ever was one. Raising cucumbers is easier than those children of mine!” He pointed at some cucumbers that were growing by the side.
“I struggle to imagine that your children are so difficult, for I would dearly have loved to have you as a father, if I had not had my own, of course. And I cannot imagine anyone who has you as a father would end up growing up as a scapegrace.” She shook her head.
“You put too much faith in me, my dear,” he said heavily. “I have made many mistakes in raising my children. Many. I daresay I may be better at raising plants.”
“But it is never too late, is it?”
He threw her a startled look. “What do you mean?”
“It is never too late to mend your relationship with one’s children. Anyone who has the patience to grow this,” she indicated with her hand at the greenhouse, “should be able to grow relationships as well.”
“If only it were that easy.”
Pippa nodded. “I never said it was easy.”
“So what do you suggest I do, Fräulein?”
She thought for one moment. “May I counter that with a question?”
“Please do.”
“What happens when you water this nerium oleander too much?”
“It causes root rot and yellow rotting leaves.”
“Is it not the same with raising children, possibly?”
He grew still. “You mean to say I have watered them too much. Overpowered them with my attention and care, and stifled their lives.”
“I would not presume to know for sure, not having any of my own. But having been a daughter myself, I could imagine that it would have the same effect. My papa gave me much freedom so I could develop and grow, like a sunflower.”
He wiped on in pensive silence. After a while, he said, “You have given me much food for thought, Fräulein. For that, I thank you. You are not only intelligent but charming and kind. And the more I hear of your father, the more I like him.”
“I think Papa would have liked you, too.”
“As for our wager, it appears our troubles bothpertain to the heart. Shall we agree they are equally heavy?”
“In truth, your mountain certainly appears to be bigger. Mine seems to be a molehill in comparison. But it feels lighter now that I have shared my troubles with you.” Pippa smiled shyly.
He nodded. “Mine does too. It would please me if you could come here more often, so we can share our troubles. I grow many rare flowers here, but the most precious one I have found today is you. May I call you a friend? Friends are so rare, so when one has found one, they are doubly precious to me.”
Pippa placed the rag into the bucket and wiped her fingers on her apron. “I should like that very much indeed.”
He held out a hand to shake hers. But on an impulse, Pippa threw her arms around him and kissed him on the cheek. “Thank you for comforting me.”
His eyes were glittering moist. “And I thank you for listening to a silly old man’s ramblings.”
When Pippa returned to her room, she felt lighter, happier, as if an enormous boulder had been taken from her shoulders.
Chapter Twenty-Four
