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“Or maybe not,” Ellie returned, her smile widening.
CHAPTER9
GWEN
“You really have a lovely place here, Gwen.” John’s smile was warm and full of admiration as they strolled through the garden. There certainly was a nip in the air, just as John had said; the balmy weather had given in to the more expected autumnal crispness, a few cottony clouds scudding across a pale blue sky.
“Thank you,” Gwen replied, glancing around the garden with an affectionate smile. “I’m afraid you’re not seeing it at its best, though, at this time of year.” The leaves had started to fall from the trees, creating deep drifts on the ground, and the shrubs and flowers that filled the beds and planters in spring with joyous, riotous color, were now mostly brown and bare.
“Still, I can tell. It’s got a lovely mix of landscape and wildness—very popular in today’s gardening world, by the way. Everyone’s talking about rewilding and how weeds are just resilient plants—”
“Well, I don’t know about that!” Gwen exclaimed, sounding as censorious as a schoolteacher, and John let out a shout of laughter.
“You don’t want to let the weeds run rampant?” he asked, eyebrows raised, a teasing grin lurking about his mouth.
She thought of the chickweed and milk thistle that were the bane of her garden, and shook her head firmly. “Definitely not. They certainly are resilient, though.”
“Very true.”
They continued to stroll along, John stopping every once in a while to examine a plant or tree. Gwen tried to see the garden through his eyes—it was a bit of a jumble, she knew, but she liked it that way. Chickens pecking where they liked, a den built under the low-hanging branches of a willow tree, the obstacle course Matthew had built running along the length of the bottom, and amidst all that, a profusion of flowers, bushes, and trees, of every shape, kind and color, at least in season. She’d never gone in for much landscaping, just picked what she’d liked and thrown it all together—lilac, roses, hyacinth, honeysuckle.
“This is your vegetable patch, then?” John surmised as they stood by a fenced rectangle of bare brown earth, save for two rows of parsnips that were ready to harvest, and a dozen lovely, large pumpkins.
“Yes, not much going on there now, though, I’m afraid, but we had plenty in the summer.” She nodded towards a small stone building tucked away in one corner of the garden. “David built that root cellar twenty-five years ago,” she told John. “And we’ve put it to good use over the years.”
“Wonderful. He always was handy, wasn’t he? Even in university. I remember when my car wouldn’t start, I’d just ask him. I’m much better with living things, but David was always amazing with the mechanical side.”
“Yes, he was.” It was nice to talk about David in this way, easy and uncomplicated, and yet for some reason, it created a strange, shifting sensation in Gwen that she found disquieting, and she wasn’t sure why. “I always relied on him, for any kind of DIY,” she admitted. “I’m fairly hopeless with anything electrical or car-related, although I’ve learned to manage over the years.”
“Like me with the cooking. It’s hard, isn’t it, when you realize your own deficiencies? How much you depended on the other person.” His faint smile turned sad, and Gwen nodded, grateful at how he understood. She realized she hadn’t been able to talk with anyone like this since David had died.
“Yes, it is hard,” she agreed. “But I suppose it creates an opportunity.”
“I like your optimism.” He glanced around the garden. “So, what are you thinking, in terms of doing this up for Christmas? Just walking through, I already have some ideas, but I’d love to hear what you think.” His eyes were warm, his expression alert and attentive, and Gwen found that every coherent and sensible thought immediately flew from her head.
“Well… I don’t know,” she admitted, even though she’d had some ideas, earlier. She just couldn’t think of them now, for some reason. “That’s why I asked you along, after all,” she added with a small, teasing smile.
John gave a little laugh. “Fair enough. Well, let me tell you what I see so far. I’d like to keep the mix of wildness and landscaped features that you have—even in autumn, the garden has a sense of discovery, of secrets or treasure to be found—”
“Yes!” Gwen exclaimed, surprised and gratified by his perception. “That was exactly the sort of thing we were trying to go for. We wanted the children to be able to explore—and discover. To feel safe but adventurous in a wild landscape.”
“Yes, I completely agree,” John acquiesced warmly. “It’s a place of adventure, like you say, which is just how it should be. And so, I’d expand on that theme with whatever you do for Christmas—create spaces and experiences for the children to discover.”
“But how?”
“Well, off the top of my head—you could use fairy lights to devise a discovery trail of some kind through the trees, that they would have to follow. You could create a simple nativity scene with movable wood pieces for them to play with, and bring in some cozy, sheltered benches for around the firepit. Maybe a treasure hunt, finding the different decorations—woodland creatures made of willow or wicker, maybe? And, of course, you’ll need a Santa’s grotto.”
“Yes, Matthew suggested a grotto. He was thinking underneath one of the willow trees?” Gwen offered, and John beamed at her with his infectious smile.
“Perfect!”
“That all sounds amazing,” she told him slowly, “but I wouldn’t know where to begin. We’re on something of a shoestring budget,” she felt compelled to admit with a grimace. She hardly wanted to burden him with their financial woes.
“Aren’t we all?” John replied with a smile. “Most of it could be done here. The nativity scene could be made of simple pieces, carved from wood you have lying around—”
“Made by whom?” Gwen interjected wryly. “I’m afraid we don’t have a resident woodworker at the moment.”
“Well… by me,” John replied after a pause, with a slightly shaky laugh. “I have experience working with wood, as well as willow and wicker. I could do it… if you wanted me to.”
