The next two days were spent in the garden, laughing and growing. I no longer had to fight my magic or beg it for anything. I merely had to tell it where to flow, and it did. Soon enough, there was a pumpkin patch—a little out of season, but who was complaining? The radishes abandoned their teenage sprouting stage and opted for mature, ripened adulthood. The squash patch went a little overboard, simply because Hesper gave me a peck on the cheek right when I was in the middle of growing that part of the garden, the once respectable squash mountain no longer neatly stacked and instead in danger of toppling over and sending the world off its axis.
Carrot tops sprung from the ground in no time at all, and they made me fondly think of Helda Ninnus and that fateful day.
Did I just fondly think of Helda Ninnus?
Huh, my heart really had changed.
There were ruby-red nestleberries, glistening strawberries, and perfectly round blueberries. An apple tree even sprung up in the back garden, its roots latching on to the magic I’d poured onto the willow tree for good health. That was a lovely surprise.
Before we knew it, the garden was plumb full (oh, there was a plum tree, too). Every garden bed overflowed with harvest; the front of the cottage was adorned with lavender, rosemary, lupines, and buttercups. Tulips of all colors grew around the edge of the garden gate, wisteria wound itself around tree trunks and fence posts, and an impressive array of thornless rosebushes cropped up where there was room.
Our garden was bountiful; our home was cozy; our hearts were full.
There was only one instance that soured the comfort.
Near the back of the garden, some type of disease kept trying to take hold. The nestleberry bushes became laden with black leaves. I thought it might be due to an overgrowth of ripened berries too quickly for the plant’s natural growth time. Hesper inspected it and seemed concerned, but with a little extra effort, I was able to keep the disease at bay with my magic. It was a continuous battle, but I’d fought much harder wars.
Soon enough, the garden was complete, and Hesper and I hugged as we looked on the honey-yellow cottage, barely visible through the mess of vegetables, fruits, and flowers. The market would be here soon enough, as would the day Hesper had to return back to Eldrene.
But we would face both.
Together.
DWINDLE’SFARMERSMARKET
RETURNSINTWENTY FOURTEEN NINE FOUR THREEONE DAYS
“I need your help,” I said.
I never thought I’d hear those words come out of my mouth. But alas, when you had the equivalent of three harvests growing in your cottage garden, help was warranted.
Angus, whom I had just roused from a lie-in (well, the sunwas barely up, but to a gardener, that’s half the morning), looked at me with concern.
“Is everything all right?” he asked, pulling his sleep robe embroidered with slumbering bunnies tighter around him.
“Oh, yes,” I said happily. “Very much so. But Hesper and I can’t carry everything by ourselves.”
“Carry what, my dear?”
“The garden.” I winked.
Angus’s brown eyes widened, his eyebrows disappearing into his hair.
“It’s—it’s—”
“It’s market ready,” Hesper finished for him.
“THE GARDEN IS READY!” Angus yelled into the square, startling both Hesper and me.
I didn’t expect anything much to happen. The streets were mostly empty at this time of day, and folk were used to Angus saying whatever he was feeling aloud. But then, cottage doors began to swing open one by one, elated faces poking out from inside.
A slow murmur began.
“The garden is ready!” someone whispered.
“The garden is ready,” another said.
The garden!
