“She’ll love it,” Noah said, joining them with his own steaming mug. “And if she doesn’t, we’ll tear it all down and pretend it never happened.”
Patrick laughed despite his nerves. “Your grandmother would have loved this,” he said, looking at the organized chaos beginning to unfold around them. “She always said the best gifts came from the heart, not the wallet.”
Pastor John appeared at his elbow, carrying a worn leather Bible and wearing work clothes that had clearly seen better days. “This is a wonderful thing you’re doing, Patrick. Florence and Miriam’s garden deserves to be brought back to life.”
Over the past week, Pastor John had become Patrick’s unlikely research partner, diving into historical records at the church and the local historical society. With Gordon’s help from The Welcome Center, they’d identified the herbs and flowers that would have grown in Florence’s medicinal garden. There would have been chamomile for calming teas, lavender for antiseptic properties, echinacea for immune support, and dozens of others that nineteenth-century midwives relied upon.
Emma approached with Molly and Dylan in tow, both children clutching small gardening tools with excitement. “The plants arrived from the heritage seed company this morning,” she reported. “Everything on our list would have been grown from heirloom varieties available in the 1880s.”
Patrick felt a surge of gratitude for Emma’s attention to detail. She’d taken charge of sourcing authentic plants with the same thoroughness she brought to organizing community events. Nothing would be planted that Florence and Miriam wouldn’t have recognized.
“What about the hardscape elements?” Noah asked, consulting the tablet where he’d been tracking their project timeline.
“Gordon’s bringing the reclaimed bricks for the pathways,” Jack reported. “And the lumber for the raised beds is period-appropriate pine that’s been naturally weathered.”
Patrick pulled on his cap. “I guess it’s time we got to work.”
As the morning unfolded, Patrick was impressed by how everyone worked together. During his years in Manhattan, he’d missed working alongside people who wanted to create something that mattered beyond profit margins and quarterly reports.
Megan and Willow arrived with trays of coffee and homemade muffins, turning the work site into an impromptu social gathering. Kylie brought her landscape expertise, helping to design the layout so that the garden would provide maximum privacy from the front of the house while creating beautiful sight lines from Kathleen’s kitchen window.
“She’ll be able to see it from where she has her morning coffee,” Kylie explained, sketching sight lines on Patrick’s original plans. “But people visiting the basement won’t be able to see into her private space.”
By noon, the basic framework was taking shape. Rectangular raised flower beds that would have looked familiar to any nineteenth-century gardener were ready to be filled. Other people had created the brick pathways in a pattern Emma had found in an 1880s gardening manual.
Patrick paused in his work to watch Dylan carefully placing seedlings under Gordon’s patient guidance. The boy’s concentration reminded Patrick of Noah at that age, determined to do everything perfectly, even when perfection wasn’t necessary.
“You know,” Gordon said, appearing beside Patrick, “this might be the best thing we’ve done for this community. Not just the garden itself, but bringing everyone together to build it.”
Patrick understood what he meant. In the past few hours, he’d watched neighbors who normally only exchanged pleasantries work side by side, sharing stories and jokes. The project had created something beyond its physical boundaries. There was a sense of shared purpose that Patrick hadn’t felt in a long time.
When everyone got back to work after lunch, Patrick worried that they wouldn’t be finished before Kathleen came home. Chloe had promised to keep her busy at the café until at least three o’clock. After that, she couldn’t guarantee that Kathleen wouldn’t realize something was happening.
“The lavender’s going in beautifully,” Emma reported, brushing soil from her hands. “And Molly’s doing a fantastic job of placing the chamomile plants in the ground.”
Nine-year-old Molly beamed with pride at the praise, her red curls escaping from under the wide-brimmed hat Emma had insisted she wear. Patrick felt a familiar pang of love for this child who had become such a special part of his life since Jack had fallen in love with Emma.
“Are we going to finish in time?” Noah asked, checking his watch.
Jack looked up from where he was installing a small wooden bench. “It’ll be close. At least the plants are here. If we run out of time, we can always come back and finish the garden on another day.”
Pastor John approached with a small wooden sign he’d carved himself. The words “Florence and Miriam’s Garden - In Memory of Those Who Served” were carved in simple, elegant letters that would weather beautifully over time.
“I thought Kathleen might like something to mark the space,” he explained, showing Patrick the sign. “But nothing too elaborate. Florence and Miriam strike me as people who would have preferred simplicity.”
Patrick turned the sign over in his hands, feeling the smooth wood and tracing the carefully formed letters. “It’s perfect, John. Thank you.”
As they installed the sign at the garden’s entrance, Patrick looked across the garden at the people still busy planting flowers, shrubs, and trees.
Jack handed him the base of a birdbath. “Emma said to take this to Andrea. She’s created a platform for it in the center of the garden.”
Patrick headed over to Andrea, with Jack joining him with the rest of the water feature. For the next two hours, they moved quickly, adding plants, mulch, and some wooden seats that Ben had made at the Christmas Tree Farm.
A text from Chloe had everyone working at double-quick time. Kathleen was on her way with strict instructions to go inside and look through her kitchen window when she got home.
Fifteen minutes later, the sound of a truck in the driveway made everyone freeze. Through the trees, Patrick saw Kathleen park in her usual spot beside the house.
“Places, everyone,” Emma whispered with theatrical urgency, and the group quickly scattered to their predetermined positions around the garden.
