Patrick’s heart pounded as he heard Kathleen’s truck door slam. Any moment now, she would walk into the kitchen and see what they’d done.
Standing among the newly planted herbs and flowers, surrounded by the people who had become his chosen family, Patrick thought about James Whitman’s letters to Florence. The doctor had written about wanting to support the woman he loved through her most challenging work, about being worthy of her courage and dedication.
Patrick might not be able to write love letters like James had, but he could do this.
The back door opened, and Kathleen stepped onto her porch with a basket of groceries in her arms. Her eyes widened as she took in the scene before her.
Patrick held his breath, watching her face as she absorbed what they’d done to the garden. In one day, her property had been brought back to life by the hands and hearts of the people who loved Kathleen. Hopefully, she liked it as much as they did.
Chapter 31
Kathleen stood frozen on her back porch, struggling to process what she was seeing. Yesterday, there had been an empty patch of overgrown grass behind her house. Today, an entire garden bloomed.
Not just any garden, she realized as her gaze took in the carefully arranged raised beds, the brick pathways laid in an intricate herringbone pattern, and the small wooden bench positioned to catch the morning sun. This was a nineteenth-century medicinal garden, complete with the herbs and flowers that Florence and Miriam would have tended with their own hands.
“Surprise,” Patrick said softly, stepping forward from beside a patch of newly planted lavender. His work clothes were dirty, his hands stained with earth, and his eyes held a mixture of hope and uncertainty that made Kathleen’s heart clench.
Around the garden, familiar faces emerged from their hiding spots. Natalie, Gabe, and Eddie waved from beside a wooden bench. Jack and Noah stood behind some raised flower beds. Emma held Molly and Dylan’s hands, both children practically vibrating with excitement. Lynda, Matt, Frank, Tommy, and Isabel were grinning from beside a birdbath. Pastor John, Megan, Willow, Kylie, Gordon, and even Mabel appeared from different areas of the garden, all part of this elaborate surprise.
“I don’t understand,” Kathleen managed, her voice barely above a whisper. “How did you... when did you...”
“We started ten minutes after you left for work,” Emma said gently, stepping forward with a warm smile. “Patrick organized everything. We just provided the hands.”
Kathleen’s gaze swept over the garden again, taking in details she’d missed. Each plant had been chosen with obvious care and research. She recognized chamomile and echinacea, calendula and comfrey—exactly the herbs that Florence had written about in her journals. The wooden plant markers were hand-carved with botanical names in elegant script, and the pathways curved in a way that would eventually create private spaces.
“The plants are all heirloom varieties,” Kylie added. “We found a heritage seed company that specializes in nineteenth-century medicinal plants. Everything Florence and Miriam would have grown is here.”
Tears pricked the corners of Kathleen’s eyes. This wasn’t a typical landscaping project. This was a living memorial that honored Florence and Miriam.
“Patrick,” she said breathlessly. “This is... I can’t even find words for what it is.”
He took a step closer, and she saw the vulnerability in his expression despite his obvious pride in what they’d done. “After reading James’s letters to Florence, I kept thinking about how much he wanted to support her work, to show her that she wasn’t facing everything alone. I wanted...” He paused, running a hand through his silver hair. It was a gesture Kathleen had come to recognize when he was struggling with emotions. “I know the publicity from our discovery has been difficult to handle. I wanted you to know that everyone is one hundred percent behind you. We want you to be happy, and this is our way of making sure you have somewhere you can go to relax.”
The sincerity of his words brought more tears to Kathleen’s eyes.
“Look at this,” Dylan said as he tugged on her hand. “Mr. Gordon taught me how to plant the mint so it won’t take over everything else. And Molly knows which ones are for making tea!”
Molly nodded thoughtfully, her red curls bouncing. “The chamomile flowers make the best tea for when you can’t sleep. And the lavender keeps bugs away, but smells really good too.”
Kathleen followed Jack and Emma’s children through the garden. She was amazed at how much thought had gone into every detail. The bench was positioned so that she could sit and read while keeping an eye on the herbs. A small arbor at the back corner would eventually support some climbing roses. Even the spacing of the plants would enable them to grow tall and strong.
“We researched everything,” Natalie said, joining their impromptu tour with obvious pride in the project. “Pastor John and Percy found records at the historical society about what medicinal plants were commonly grown in this area during the 1880s. Emma sourced authentic varieties. Jack designed the raised beds, and Mabel and Andrea made everyone lunch.”
Kathleen paused beside a patch of purple-flowered plants she didn’t immediately recognize. “What are these?”
“Echinacea,” Gordon replied, kneeling down to gently touch one of the flower heads. “Isabel said that Florence wrote about using it to help women build their strength before difficult deliveries. Apparently, it’s one of the most important medicinal plants she would have relied on.”
“There’s something else,” Pastor John said quietly, leading her to the garden’s entrance where a small wooden sign had been installed among the plantings. “I carved it myself.”
Kathleen traced the words with her fingertip, thinking about all the women who had found refuge in Florence’s care. Many lives would have been saved by the medical knowledge passed down through generations of women.
“This is incredible,” Kathleen said. “I need to sit down.”
Mabel hurried over to her. “Let me help you to the wooden bench,” she said with a smile. “It’s the least I can do after making the Facebook posts. My daughters keep telling me to let someone else run the community Facebook page. I think, this time, they’re right.”
“It didn’t matter, Mabel. Word would have eventually gotten out.”
Mabel patted Kathleen’s hand. “That’s very generous of you, but I need to be more careful.” She sat Kathleen on the bench and smiled across the garden. “This is a true testament to Florence and Miriam. I can’t wait to see what it looks like in another year.”
