If Ever I Should Love You

by Cathy Maxwell

  “Leonie?”

  Leonie swung around to see her mother-in-law coming out of the woods to her. She pasted a smile on her face and Catherine smiled back.

  Catherine was wearing obviously worn clothes, a wide-brimmed bonnet, and her hands were frightfully dirty. A smudge of dirt darkened her forehead. “Were you coming to see me?” Catherine asked expectantly.

  What else could Leonie say except, “Yes, I am here for a visit. But how did you know I was right here?”

  “Let me show you.” As if sharing a great secret, Catherine motioned to follow her and led Leonie into the woods lining the path to show her a trail that led to the cottage’s back garden. From this direction, Catherine and David’s cottage was not that far off the path at all.

  “Would you like a cup of tea?” Catherine asked.

  Leonie would have preferred the elderberry wine. She’d had her fill of tea. “I’m fine.”

  “It won’t be any trouble.”

  “I understand but I’m not thirsty.” Pride. Leonie must cling to her pride.

  “Would you like to help me?” Catherine said.

  “Help you do what?”

  “Why, garden.” Catherine laughed, the sound happy and a thousand years from how Leonie felt. “Do you believe I would be this dirty for any other reason?”

  Leonie didn’t know her mother-in-law well enough to answer that question. In truth, Catherine was a bit of an enigma. She brewed her own wine, made salves that had worked miracles on Leonie’s bruises, and even baked bread. She didn’t mind doing the things that servants did. In fact, she seemed to enjoy herself.

  “I’ve never gardened before.” And she didn’t think she’d like it. Leonie took a step back, but Catherine would not let her go.

  Showing that she was as persistent as her son, she hooked her arm in Leonie’s and said, “Oh, come. I need company. There is no joy in gardening alone. If you try it and you don’t like it, then no harm will come out of the venture.”

  “I’m not dressed for playing in dirt.”

  “You aren’t,” Catherine agreed. “I have an apron you can wear.” She was directing Leonie into the cottage’s back garden. There was a patch of overturned dirt in the middle of the yard.

  “Is Dora here?”

  “No, she is helping Beth at the school today. Did you know she was a governess? She hated it, but she knows how to help children learn. Beth and Lawrence have both been after her to work with them at the school. She digs in her heels every time Beth begs for her support. David and I thought teaching was in her blood like it is for my late husband. We may have been wrong.”

  “What, then, shall she do?”

  “That is a very good question, my lady. I would like to see her married but she is a strong personality. I don’t know if there is a man who could go toe to toe with her. Stay a moment and I’ll fetch the apron from the house.”

  She didn’t wait for Leonie’s answer but hurried to the cottage’s back door.

  Leonie walked over to the open patch of turned soil. There were some plants by their roots in a bucket. They didn’t look very appealing, or alive.

  Catherine came outside with a huge apron that would cover Leonie’s skirts. “How do you like this?” She shook it out.

  Leonie accepted the fact that to please her mother-in-law she would garden. What else was she doing?

  It was also true that since Catherine had come upon her, she’d not thought about needing a drink.

  Catherine said, “I brought these gloves out as well. They are David’s. He will be most pleased that you are helping me. He likes the result of the garden but he does not enjoy the work.”

  Casting a doubtful eye on the fresh turned earth, Leonie tied the apron around her waist and changed her good gloves for David’s. They were well-worn leather and too large for her hands; however, they would suffice. “What do I do?”

  Catherine beamed her approval and handed her a rake. “We must continue to smooth out the big clumps of dirt until they are the size of peas.”

  What seemed an impossible order.

  Catherine picked up a hoe and started breaking up the clods. Leonie decided she should at least try.

  The work was not that demanding, but within an hour of the two of them being diligent, they had created a relatively smooth piece of earth. It had not been a difficult task and Catherine’s company had been enjoyable, although they had been so busy they had not spoken much.

  “This is good,” Catherine said.

  “What do we do now?” Leonie asked.

  “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 pl
anted 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.

  Yes, happy.

  It was a startling realization.

  She had also not thought of her problems over the past several hours or worried about where Catherine might keep the cider or elderberry wine.

  Catherine was telling her the plans for the vegetable garden to be planted on the other side of the herbs when Leonie had a sudden desire to confess to this very kind woman. “I have a problem with drink.”

  Her mother-in-law stopped speaking in midsentence. She’d had her arm flung out to describe her plans for another bed by the cottage back door. She now lowered it. “I know.”

  “Do you think badly of me?”

  Catherine considered a moment and then said, “I believe we all have challenges in life. David is losing strength in his legs. I don’t know what will happen. The doctor suspects the worst. I’m glad we are here with Roman and my daughters.”

  “Do you mean he may be unable to walk?”

  “No, Leonie, the worst.”

  “He could die?”

  Catherine bent to rub a mint leaf between her fingers before answering. “Yes, he could. The doctor believes he has a wasting disease”

  The information was startling. “Are you afraid?”

  Her mother-in-law struggled a moment with emotions Leonie could only imagine. Then she said, “My dear girl, it is not how we die that is important, but how we live. David is good right now. We are both happy here and this moment is all that matters. Besides, I keep hoping the doctor is wrong.” She paused and then asked, “Are you good right now?”

  “About drinking?” Leonie had been so caught up in David’s story she’d forgotten herself. “I had a moment this afternoon. I was on my way to the village in search of something. If I had found it, I don’t know what would have happened between Roman and myself.”

  “What would you have happen?” There was a carefulness in Catherine’s voice, as if she knew she treaded on dangerous ground.

  “I’d have him forgive me—again. But he wouldn’t. He isn’t the sort to give me my lead and not finally decide he’d had enough.”

  “Would you mind?”

  Leonie looked at the good dirt she had been combing through with her fingers. “Yes,” she replied so quietly she was speaking more to herself than Catherine.

  But her mother-in-law had heard. She leaned over and covered Leonie’s hand with her own. “I’ve known people who have your penchant. They had to learn how to stay away.”

  “And how did they do that?” There was the crux of the matter.

  “I never asked. It always seemed such a personal question.” Catherine thought a moment and then said, “They found something they loved more than the drink.”

  “Something they loved more.” Leonie looked at the fledgling plants. “I enjoyed this. I haven’t thought about a drink.”

  “That is a start.” There was another pause. “What about my son?”

  “What about him?” Leonie asked, confused.

  “Do you love him enough to change?”

  Did she love Roman? “He said he loves me,” she admitted. “Or he did. He has made it clear he does not wish to spend much time with me anymore. He is very angry.”

  “I didn’t ask what he thought of you, Leonie. I asked what you thought of him.”

  “I don’t know that I understand what love is, especially the way your family talks about it. Already my marriage is nothing like my parents’.” She studied the coneflowers’ leaves and then said, “I think he is the most honest, brave, and considerate man I know. That I’ve disappointed him tears me apart inside. Is that love, to be sorry that I failed him? Or is it love that I miss him? We don’t speak and I hate that most of all. It’s as if I’ve had glimpses of what it could be like between us, and yet, each time, I fail him.”

  Catherine leaned toward. “I think my son cares for you deeply. But I’ll tell you a lesson I had to learn, and that is, unless I loved myself I would never understand my worth to David or my children. It had to start with me. Love yourself enough to save yourself, Leonie.” She brushed Leonie’s hair back from the temple. “Then you will know how to love others. I will give you a hint. It isn’t all about what happens in bed. It has more to do in how we honor each other.”

  “Such as my not drinking and doing as he wishes?”

  “Perhaps he is more frightened for you, Leonie, than angry with you. However, he can’t be more afraid than you are for yourself. The imbalance would destroy the two of you.”

  Leonie reached over and gave her mother-in-law a spontaneous hug. She would never have done this to her mother.

  Or have received such reasoned and personal advice.

  “Thank you,” she whispered.

  “I want you and Roman to be happy. I want grandchildren from you, but I know all of this is not in my hands.”

  Leonie nodded. She rose to her feet. She needed some time to digest this. “I should return to Bonhomie. I shall see you this evening.”

  “I have a chicken stew cooking right now.”

  “That sounds good.” Leonie took off the apron, folded it, and placed the gloves upon it. Even with the apron, her dress had dirt on it. The walking shoes she wore would need a good brush and polish and her fingernails had a rim of dirt beneath them, but she did not mind. These matters could be taken care of. “I enjoyed my afternoon in the garden.”

  “Feel free to return. David and I like this cottage. I plan on several more beds.”

  “Thank you. I will.”

  Leonie walked back to Bonhomie, taking the shortcut through the woods. Her mind weighed what Catherine had said. Leonie had always believed she thought highly of herself . . . but now she wondered.

  The sense of being fine with the way things were continued all evening. She joined others for dinner and felt relaxed. That night, she fell into bed, again, without Roman. Only this night, she was so tired from hours spent outdoors in the fresh air, she slept deeply.

  The next morning, an hour before dawn, she woke with a bit of pain in her shoulder and what looked to be some new muscles forming in her arm.

  She also realized that when she woke her first thought was not of how much she wished to drink.

  No, she woke thinking of roses. Lush, fragrant roses raised by her own hand. Roses like Lady Bedford had in her garden, roses like the Empress of France.

  The early hour didn’t deter Leonie. She dressed in the oldest gown she could find in her trunk, put on the walking shoes she’d worn the day before, and headed to the stables.

  She found her husband sleeping on a cot in one of the empty stalls. Yarrow, Whiby, Barr, and the two new field workers they had hired also slept in the stables, but in the loft. Leonie could hear them snoring.

  Because everyone on the estate knew her husband had rejected their bed, Leonie realized she had been timid and reticent about asserting herself. However, right now, she couldn’t give a care what anyone thought. She was on a mission. She wanted a rose garden.

  Her husband’s body filled the small, uncomfortable cot. She started to give him a little shake, but stopped, her hand hovering over him.

  She sniffed the air.

  He smelled of strong drink. She knew. She’d been craving that smell for the last two days, although, right now, the scent was far from pleasant.

  Roman had been drinking? And enough so that the stench clung to him?

  Guilt gave way to indignation. Her husband was not perfect
himself. She wouldn’t be offended except for the hair shirt he’d been having her wear.

  Well, she was taking it off.

  Leonie smartly tapped Roman on the shoulder. He slapped at her as one would a fly.

  “Roman.” She kept her voice low so as not to be overheard in the loft.

  He groaned a response and rolled over, giving her his back—which was no mean feat on the rickety cot. He could not be comfortable.

  Leonie stood for a moment in indecision. Outside the stables, the sun was rising. The birds had begun heralding the day, a day when she was intent on planning her rose garden.

  There was an anvil against the wall close to Roman’s cot. She had noticed a bucket full of worn horseshoes in the stable aisle. She thought of the other men sleeping peacefully on their cots. She regretted disturbing their sleep, but she was going to enjoy disrupting Roman’s.

  Oh, yes, this was going to be fun after his holier-than-thou attitude.

  The bucket was heavy; however, she was determined. Leonie dragged it to the anvil. She tried to pick it up high enough to dump the horseshoes out of it.

  That wasn’t going to work. Instead, she grabbed handfuls of horseshoes, held them over the anvil at her height, and let them fall.

  The clang of metal against metal was not as loud as she’d hoped. It still served the trick.

  Roman practically fell out of the cot, coming to his feet, his fist clenched and ready for any attack—save for the fact his eyes were barely open and he wobbled a bit.

  He frowned when he recognized Leonie. His fists came down. “Is everything all right?”

  “Yes, it is fine,” she said briskly. “But I need your help. How do you hook up the horse to the plow?”

  Roman shook his head as if he didn’t trust his ears. “You want to use the plow? For what reason?”

  “Flower beds, Roman. I want to plant flower beds and I’m starting with roses, just like the Empress Josephine.”

  Chapter 18

  Roman had been dreaming about Leonie sleeping by his side.

  Last night, over dinner, he’d noticed she had been more relaxed than he had seen her for days. She’d readily joined in the family conversations. She’d even been less self-conscious around him.