Chapter 12

CHAPTER 12

L uca

When I was a child, I took the gardens for granted, never really understanding the amount of work that went into creating and maintaining them. But looking at them now, it seems overwhelming. I can see the plants and bushes, wearing years of dead matter like skins which haven't been shed in order to grow. Leaves which have congregated to form rotting, soggy piles, sit in corners. I remember what the small, neat hedges looked like and looking at the topiary, I can see the straggly branches of neglect. The sunken garden is so overgrown you can barely see the steps down to it, and I almost fall. Jackson grabs my arm.

"Thanks," I mutter, a little embarrassed. But it's worth it to see his smile.

"I think it'll be my first job to make it safe to walk around here." He drops my arm but I can still feel the warmth of his hand.

"This has some really nice shrubs in it. With a bit of tidying, it'll look great again," he says. We move on into the rose garden, or rather, try to. The arbour, which was the entrance at this end, is so overgrown that it's a mass of thorns, and is impassable. But even in all of that, I can see some early blooms trying to show themselves. I remember how beautiful this spot was and how I would love to draw the roses in all their glory. I want to see those bursts of colour again.

"Can this be saved?"

"It can. It will have to be pruned back so far that there might not be many blooms this year, but it'll look glorious next year."

The words "next year" hang between us. I have no idea if there'll be a next year. I came here with the idea of perhaps selling it, but now I feel reluctant to part with the house, and the gardens—even if I don't know what to do with them. And Jackson, I know he wants to start his own business, that this is a temporary job. But still, the gardens should be restored. I don't know how to respond to talk of the future, so go back to the past instead.

"I remember how beautiful the roses were. It was one of my favourite parts of the garden."

"I think there are some rare varieties in there. From what I remember, your aunt was known for her roses."

"She was."

"Didn't she cultivate a Larchdown rose?" I'd forgotten that. I hadn't paid that much attention, so I had little knowledge of it, but I do remember that the rose garden was a popular part of the garden.

"I don't really remember," is all I can answer, "But do you think it still exists?" I look at the tangle of sharp barbs which remind me of Sleeping Beauty's garden.

"It's possible." Jackson's eyes are shining, and I know he's excited at the prospect of finding it. "There's only one way to find out."

"Good luck getting through that lot," I say, but he's looking at it with the relish of a challenge.

Circumventing the rest of the rose garden for now, we come to the end of the more formal part of the gardens. Before us is a meadow. I remember it being a rolling lawn, but now it's overgrown and self-seeded. It leads up to a rise on the edge of the property, and my favourite spot—a folly.

The folly is a stone structure with three walls—a central wall which has a large archway in the middle, and at each end of it, walls extend at right angles, in opposite directions to each other. A roof extends from the walls, held up by pillars, and stone benches sit against them. It's designed so there's a corner at each side of the wall, which act as a windbreaks when admiring the view. On one side, you can look out on the rolling hills of the valley. The other side affords a view of the house and gardens.

It had been another one of my favourite places when I was in my teenage years. I used to spend hours sitting on the stone bench, looking across the hills or sketching the view, and wishing my life was different. As we stand together in the archway, I'm taken back years. I shake my head, not allowing myself to go there today, and instead watch Jackson as he experiences it for the first time.

"Wow. That's some view," he says eventually. "Though those words don't do it justice, do they?"

"They don't." I laugh, delighted that he can see the beauty of the place, but not knowing why it feels important to me that he does.

"I used to spend a lot of time here," I say, then clam up before I can reveal anymore of my past. A dark look briefly skitters across Jackson's face before he grins.

"I think I would have as well. Shall we go look at the orchard?"

I'm thankful to Jackson for the diversion, for not prying, and readily agree.

Our path toward the orchard takes us along an avenue of trees. In the early May sunshine, most of them are just coming into leaf. I can see Jackson is assessing them with his gardener's eye, but I'm just enjoying their beauty. My particular favourites are the cherry trees. Their frilly pink blossoms are one of my favourite spring sights. Now, as we walk beneath them, some of the blossoms are starting to fall. I pick a few sprigs, intending to enjoy their beauty inside the house for a while.

"Do you know the meaning of the cherry tree?" Jackson asks. I didn't realise he'd noticed what I'm doing.

"No, I have no idea."

"They mean new awakenings, survival, moving forward, stability, focus, and love."

I don't know if that's true or not, but every single one of those words seems like a message to me.

"Do you know the meanings of all trees?" I ask, in awe of his knowledge.

"Not all of them, but some. For example, the oak is a symbol of power, strength, and courage, whereas the willow is a symbol of enchantment, creativity, flexibility, and healing. However, sadly, trees don't live forever."

We come to the end of the avenue and I can see that a tree has cracked almost down the centre—a large section of branch is lying on the ground.

"What happened to it?"

"It probably split under its own weight. It's a crack willow, and they can do that sometimes." Jackson looks at it for a moment and then murmurs.

"Such are the burdens of the weight we carry."

Then, he seems to shake his head a little and announces, "It should be sorted. I met a tree surgeon in the village who may be able to help." He strides off, and it's all I can do to catch up.