“We turn the soil again and then smooth it with the rake.”
“We just did that.” Leonie leaned on her rake. “It looks very good.”
“Yes, but the secret to a good garden is in the soil. It needs air and a shaking up, just like people do.”
Leonie had never thought she could use a shaking up. Nevertheless, she had enjoyed having something to do. So, when Catherine gave her the spade and told her to dig and “lift” the soil, she did.
“The hard part was cutting through the sod,” Catherine said. “Lawrence did that for me—”
Leonie gave a shout of alarm. “Look at the worms. This soil is full of them.” She frowned her disgust but Catherine was elated.
“Aren’t they fat and beautiful? I knew this was a good place for a garden. Look at the sun it shall receive. Everything will happily grow, just like those worms. We should tell Roman about them.”
“Why would he want to know about worms?”
“He is a passionate fisherman. Worms are good bait.”
“Roman likes to fish?” Leonie had never heard him say anything about the sport. Then again, he wasn’t speaking to her.
“As a boy, he would throw a hook in the water every chance he could. They say the fishing in the streams through the village was once very good. Roman is using the squire’s men to dredge the waterways and see if he can bring the trout back.”
That seemed an ambitious project, as was this garden, and yet, they had made progress. “What sort of garden will this be?”
“Herbs and vegetables.”
“That is practical.”
“If one likes to eat.” Catherine smiled.
“If I grew a garden, I would plant flowers,” Leonie said. “That isn’t very practical.” Her arm ached a bit from lifting and turning dirt but she didn’t stop. It was good to be out in the air and doing something constructive.
“Flowers are always practical,” her mother-in-law declared. “People need beauty. What sort would you plant at Bonhomie?”
Leonie didn’t have to think hard. “Roses. Big full ones. I also like daisies and those flowers that have the tall spires. I don’t know the name.”
“Delphinium?”
“Perhaps. However, I would mostly plant roses. Lady Bedford has a rose garden in London. She said she modeled it after the descriptions of the Empress Josephine’s. She held a party in her garden last spring and I thought I’d never been anywhere so lovely. Or fragrant.”
“It sounds delightful. You should have Roman plow a bed for you. Make certain they have plenty of sun.”
“And worms.”
Catherine laughed. “Yes, fat ones.”
They took a moment to share a glass of spring water. It was cold and good. Leonie drank thirstily. They had been at their work for two hours and she was rather proud of how good their bed looked. She’d even taken off the oversized gloves and broken up clumps of dirt with her fingers in the same way Catherine did.
“Now what?” she asked her mother-in-law.
Catherine smiled. “We plant. This is the best part.”
It was. Catherine had received the plants from several women in the village. She explained to Leonie what the plants were and showed her how to put them in the ground. Of course, it was simple, but very satisfying. They planted rosemary, thyme, and mint for Catherine’s salves. They placed the mint in the far corner of the garden since Catherine told her it liked to spread. They also planted something called coneflowers. “These will bring the bees,” her mother-in-law promised. “David wants to set up a hive.”
“Who wants to keep bees close at hand?” Leonie wasn’t certain of the idea.
Catherine just laughed. “I enjoy listening to the bees’ hum. You will, too. I promise you.”
Leonie didn’t know if that was true. She had a shyness about being stung by any insect—however, she had to admit she was enjoying herself. Here she was, William Charnock’s daughter in her fashionable cambric day dress, covered in dirt, admiring worms—and happy.
