AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“My hens lay pink-colored eggs, and yours do not. Perhaps you need spectacles.”
“Perhaps you need to learn to manage your animals.”
The women’s argument escalated, their voices speaking over one another until Julia couldn’t hear anything besides angry yelling.
Mathieu shook his head. “They will go on like this all day,” he muttered in a low voice.
Julia smiled. She patted his dog on the head. “Perhaps I should go. I planned to help M. Paquet in the nursery today.”
“You should make your escape now, or you’ll be drawn into it.” He widened his eyes, giving a warning, but his expression held a tease.
“Excuse moi, Monsieur Laurent,” Julia whispered.
He tugged on his soft hat’s brim and winked.
Julia followed his advice and hurried away, hearing the ladies’ arguing behind her the entire way through the garden and down the path to the nursery.
Chapter Seven
Julia hesitated outside the nursery.She studied the building for a moment. It was constructed of the same peach-and-gray rock as the other structures on the property and had a tile roof. Stacks of pots were piled around the walls, and heavy wooden shutters hung at the windows. Instead of sky blue like the shutters at Gabi’s house, the wood appeared to have been painted red at one time, but most of the paint had peeled away.
She stepped onto the threshold. Should she knock? Call out? Enter? In the end, she did all three. She knocked and pushed the door open. “Monsieur Paquet, are you here?” she called as she stepped inside.
She saw him right away and felt foolish for using such a loud voice in the small building. M. Paquet was in the center of the crowded room, holding a shovel. When she entered, he glanced toward the door, then returned to his work.
The smell of damp earth was nearly overwhelming. Julia stepped through the space, careful to avoid trays, buckets, and pots of various sizes holding dirt and plants. Garden tools and more pots were on the worktables along both sides of the room, and still more were beneath. Pots were stacked chaotically in the corners, and here and there, a larger container held a bush or a small tree. She stepped around the two crates from the train and avoided shards of broken pottery and branches sticking out of a bucket of water. It appeared the man had inherited his aunt’s organization skills.
M. Paquet was shoveling dirt and what appeared to be... different dirt... into a wide barrel and stirring to blend them together. He didn’t glance up, even when Julia stood directly in front of him.
She grimaced. He was obviously still bothered by her dismissive reaction earlier. “Bonjour, M. Paquet,” she said in a careful voice.
He grunted and scooped another shovelful, pouring it into the bucket.
Julia stepped back to keep a spill of dirt from landing on her shoes. “Monsieur, I thought perhaps I might help you this morning. I know your seedlings need to be planted quickly, and riding to Monteaux has already put you a day behind schedule.”
M. Paquet straightened. He rested his arm on the shovel handle and his gaze on her, one brow raised.
He may need more convincing. “Monsieur, I would like to apologize. I neglected to thank you for what you did. I did not mean to react so poorly. I was rather flustered when I found the scorpion and worried about—” She stopped, not wishing to get into the details of her relationship with her father. “Anyway, I am sorry. And I thank you for what you did.” She picked up a pair of dirty gloves from a worktable and pushed her hands inside, brushing them together. “Now, where would you like me to start?”
M. Paquet studied her for a moment, then pushed the shovel deep into the barrel, leaving it there and motioning with a tip of his head. “Venez ici.”
He stepped past her and pulled open one of the crate lids, then crouched down and reached inside.
Julia crouched beside him.
He lifted out a small plant about six inches long with a piece of cloth tied around its roots and inspected it for a moment before handing it to her.
Julia took it, cradling the ball of roots carefully in her palm as he had. She recognized the slender olive leaves.
“These are the new seedlings, as you can see,” he said. “Fifty of them.” He lifted off the other crate’s lid, revealing the rest of the bundled plants. He reached inside and took out a pouch. “And here are the new seeds.”
“And they all must be planted?” Julia asked.
“Most of the cuttings will be grafted onto the existing trees.” He pointed to the bucketful of branches. “And I must do that today or tomorrow, at the very latest. But the others,oui. They need planting.”
“Very well.” Julia rose, holding the seedling gently. “Show me what to do.”
“I’m preparing the soil for the seedlings now.” He led her back to the barrel of dirt with the shovel. “They will be planted in those pots.” He motioned to a haphazard pile of small containers in one corner of the room.
