A Bittersweet Garden

by Caren J. Werlinger

  “You were imagining things,” she muttered, taking the sheets downstairs.

  She was just opening the door when Sheila’s SUV drew up and she got out.

  “Thought you might need some help getting this place ready to live in,” Sheila said. “Farmer McCarthy squeezes a coin so tight, he could make Brian Boru’s harp sing. I figured he wouldn’t have hired out any cleaning to be done here.”

  “You figured right,” Nora said.

  “Well, then.” Sheila rolled up her sleeves. “Let’s get to work.”

  Briana squatted in the stall with Princess, checking the foreleg yet again to make sure it was sound. She ran her hands over the tendons above the fetlock—still slightly warm. Groaning a little as she pushed up to stand, she retrieved a bag of ice from the tack room and wrapped it in place.

  “You’ll get a few more days off from hauling tourists around, my girl,” she murmured.

  Princess rumbled her thanks, resting her head on Briana’s shoulder. Bri smiled, laying her cheek against the gentle mare’s neck. They stood like that for a moment. She was one of Briana’s favorites. She made the most beautiful babies, all just as sweet-tempered as their mother.

  Briana reached into her pocket and pulled out a carrot. “Here you go.”

  “Ah, there you are.” Quinn appeared in the stall doorway.

  Briana gave Princess a pat and joined him.

  “How is she?” Quinn gave the mare a scratch.

  “Another couple days off, I think.”

  He nodded. “I told Jimmie as much.” He eyed her. “Your leg giving you trouble?”

  She shrugged and rubbed her thigh. “Doesn’t like the rain.”

  “Well, we’re in the wrong country, then. If it aches now, wait till you’re old and gray. Can you keep an eye on things here? Sonya has a guided at three if the sodding rain stops, and I was going to check on the yearlings in the far pasture.”

  “Where are you off to?”

  He slid a scrap of paper from his pocket. “Sheila asked me to pick up a few things for Nora. They’ve been cleaning old man McCarthy’s cottage all afternoon.”

  Briana snorted. “Sure it’s just like him to rent it out so someone else’ll do all the cleaning for him.”

  Quinn nodded. “You’re right there.”

  She frowned. “I could do that,” she said, jutting her chin at his hand.

  His sandy eyebrows rose. “You’d do this?”

  She gave a half-shrug. “I was kind of rude to her the other day when she spooked Ginger.”

  He grinned and thrust the list into her hand. “I won’t argue. Thanks.”

  “I may regret this,” she grumbled, but he was laughing as he hurried away.

  She whistled for Shannon, who came galloping from the indoor ring where she’d been playing chase with Dilly, the stable mutt. Together, they got into the SUV and headed to the market. The rain hadn’t stopped completely, but had tapered off to a drizzle.

  As she had no idea what the American might like above and beyond the things on Sheila’s list, she stuck with those items.

  A few minutes later, she returned to the car, where Shannon waited for her, sniffing eagerly at the bags.

  “You stay out of the eggs,” she said sternly.

  The stout tail thumped against the door.

  Briana knew exactly where the cottage was, but had only been by on horseback. She drove down the wooded lane to find Sheila’s car still parked there. The cottage door was ajar. She parked and gathered the bags while Shannon trotted right in.

  “What the—”

  She heard Sheila’s voice before she could get to the stoop.

  “Look at my clean floor!” Sheila stood, her fists on her hips.

  Briana saw a telltale trail of wet paw prints leading straight across the wooden floor boards to where Shannon now sat, grinning up at Sheila.

  “Sorry,” Briana said.

  “Ah, well. You’ve brought food, so you’re forgiven.”

  Shannon gave a low woof.

  Sheila smiled and patted the giant head. “And so are you.”

  Nora came down the stairs, carrying a bucket and rag. “Oh, hi.” She stumbled, her foot missing a step.

  Briana’s heart leapt, and she nearly dropped the bags to lunge forward and catch her, but Nora regained her balance.

  “Bit of a klutz,” Nora mumbled, her cheeks blushing scarlet.

  “I’m beginning to see that,” Briana said.

  Nora had a streak of grime across her nose that, oddly, made her more appealing. So the blonde American princess wasn’t afraid to get dirty.

  Briana hoisted her bags. “Quinn was busy, so I got drafted.”

  Nora’s cheeks pinked up again, and Briana mentally kicked herself as she realized what that sounded like. “Actually, I volunteered. Sorry about our first encounter.”

  Nora’s face immediately broke into a smile. “Thanks for this.” She swung her bucket toward the bags.

  “Well, I’m starving,” Sheila said, leading the way into the kitchen.

  She and Nora washed up while Briana laid out bread and meat for sandwiches, along with a bag of crisps. Nora put the rest of the groceries away, and Sheila plugged the kettle in for tea.

  Nora glanced at the receipt and went to her backpack, still sitting in the corner. She returned to the kitchen holding out some bills.

  “Any sign of the ghost yet?” Briana asked, pocketing the money.

  Nora shook her head. “Not a peep so far, but we’ve been making so much noise, maybe we just missed it.”

  She found a cupboard with some chipped dishes and quickly washed three plates. A couple of minutes later, Sheila plopped three mugs of tea on the table.

  “Ghost or no, let’s eat.”

  By the time the sun was setting, Nora was exhausted. She filled the tub with warm water—the water heater didn’t rise to the level of truly hot water—trying to remember how long it had been since she’d taken a bath.

  She yawned. It had been a good day. She smiled, picturing Briana grudgingly admitting she’d volunteered to go to the market. Nora was glad she hadn’t argued about being repaid. Craig not taking a tip was one thing, but if she couldn’t repay someone for a trip to the store, things could get awkward very quickly. She needed to remember to ask Sheila the rules about money and what the heck craic was.

  She changed into her pj’s and brushed her teeth before crawling between the clean sheets on the bed. She’d chosen the front room, telling herself no fabled ghost was going to dictate where she slept while she was here.

  As she closed her eyes, she whispered, “If you’re here, just stay quiet.”

  Almost immediately, she drifted off to sleep.

  Chapter 3

  Nora’s first week in her cottage flew by, filled with more cleaning and rearranging of furniture. Old Farmer McCarthy stopped by a couple of times, first to collect June’s rent, then again, a few mornings later with his wife, who brought Nora a loaf of soda bread and a small crock of their own butter.

  “Thank you so much,” Nora said. “Would you like to come in?”

  Mrs. McCarthy’s eyes widened. “You’ll never find me setting foot in that cottage.” She quickly made the sign of the cross.

  Farmer McCarthy rolled his eyes. With his short, stocky frame and his weathered face, he reminded Nora of a leprechaun. He pushed his ragged tweed hat back on his head. “How’s Tommy?”

  She grinned. “He’s good. He and my grandmother send their love.”

  He laughed, relighting his pipe. “The shenanigans we got into as boys. Give them our best.”

  “I will.”

  They got back into their old truck. She waved them off as it rumbled away and carried the bread and butter into the kitchen.

  All her work was done. The little cottage was as she liked it. No one else coming into her space to tell her things weren’t set up efficiently, or that this would be better off there, or that those pillows didn’t go with that chair, or… />
  She laughed at herself. “Let it go, Elsa.”

  Outside, the sun shone and birds were noisily flitting about. She put on her walking shoes and set out for Sheila and Quinn’s place.

  It was a glorious morning, clean and bright. She strode along, remembering to keep an ear tuned for hoof beats.

  She found Sheila working in the greenhouse, her cheeks rosy with the humid warmth under the glass panels. Maybe that’s the secret to her wonderful skin.

  “Good morning!” Sheila said.

  Nora held up a bag. “Made you and Quinn some cookies, to thank you for all your help.”

  “There was no need to do that,” Sheila said, tugging off her gardening gloves to reach into the bag and sample one.

  “Well, I was hungry for some oatmeal cookies. This is the second batch,” Nora said ruefully. “That little oven is going to take some getting used to, and the oatmeal here is different.”

  “Mmmm. Second batch was the charm. You’ll be a hit around here, baking like this.”

  Nora glanced around. “What are you working on?”

  “Transplanting those nasturtium. I thought I’d hired teenage help for the summer, but as she’s not bothered to show up one blessed day this week, I’m guessing she’s got better things to do.”

  “I could help you.”

  Sheila paused with a trowel full of dirt ready to dump into a new pot. “You’re after spending your holiday working?”

  Nora shrugged. “I’m after spending my holiday enjoying Ireland. I don’t mind working some. You’ll have to teach me, though. I gardened some with Mamma, but I’m sure different things grow here.”

  Sheila held out a spare pair of gardening gloves. “You’re hired, and I’ll admit I’m happy to have someone old enough to have a work ethic. How old are you by the way, if you don’t mind my asking?”

  “I don’t mind. I’ll be thirty-five this September.”

  “Just behind us. Quinn and I are thirty-six.”

  She put Nora to work repotting the little plants, using rich compost mixed in with the dirt for the new pots.

  “How long have you and Quinn been married?” Nora asked as she shoveled some of the mixture into several lined-up pots. She sniffed. “This smells a bit like…”

  Sheila grinned. “Like shite? That’d be because it’s mostly horse manure. A natural by-product of the stables. And twelve years. But we’ve known each other all our lives. We lost touch after school until I went to a party when I was attending uni in Galway, and one of his mates had dragged him to the same party. And that was that.”

  They worked in companionable silence for a while.

  “How are things at the cottage?”

  Nora smiled. “Just grand.”

  Sheila laughed, somehow sounding hearty and lovely all at the same time. Nora wondered how anyone could simultaneously look so practical and so beautiful. Sheila wore her familiar ball cap holding her thick black hair back, her trouser legs stuffed into her Wellies, but there was a grace to her movements that Nora was completely lacking.

  I can’t even shovel shit gracefully, Nora thought as some of the compost mix spilled over the sides of a pot.

  “Mr. and Mrs. McCarthy stopped by this morning, brought me a loaf of bread and some butter.”

  “They’re nice people. Salt of the earth types. Tight with a penny, but generous with their time.”

  Nora reached for a new pot and caught Sheila’s sideways gaze trained on her. “What?”

  “I’m being nosy, I suppose, but the day we met, you said there were things that had kept you from traveling that weren’t a concern any longer. I’m wondering what those were?”

  Nora felt the heat rise from her neck to her cheeks. “Well, I had an old cat. Twenty-two when she died. I couldn’t leave her the last few years.”

  Sheila nodded, glancing at where Rusty lay stretched out in the sun on a warm flagstone. “I understand that. They’re so good to us, we’ve got to be good back.” She resumed digging. “Anything else?”

  Nora refused to meet those piercing blue eyes and focused instead on spreading a layer of soil in the bottom of the pot. “There was someone. Now there’s no one.”

  “Ah.” Sheila’s voice was sympathetic.

  “No, don’t get me wrong.” Nora knocked a nasturtium loose from its shipping container to plop it into the new pot. “It was eleven years of weekends only. Thank God we both had the sense to know we didn’t belong living together.”

  “She met someone else?”

  Nora’s head snapped up. Either it was a lucky guess or Sheila was much shrewder than Nora had expected. “Yes.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “I’m not.” Nora considered. “I guess I should be, shouldn’t I? Eleven years of mediocre, of settling. That’s the sad part. No more. I’m not settling for anything ever again. Even after Amy met what’s-her-name, she expected me to be available any weekend she wasn’t otherwise occupied.”

  “She did not!”

  Nora nodded. “She did. And I did it. For a while. It’s not like I had other plans or someone else I wanted to spend my weekends with. But once Willa—”

  Her throat got too tight to speak for a moment. She cleared it. “Anyhow, once I didn’t need to stay for my cat, I started making plans.”

  “Good for you, cousin.”

  Sheila carried the tray of newly planted nasturtium out to sit in the sunshine. “These’ll be part of an edible display.”

  “You can eat these?”

  “Oh, yes. Leaves and flowers. They’re delicious in a salad. As I’ll prove to you when we take a break for lunch.”

  They worked on, watering and tending the plants and shrubs Sheila had sitting outside. Nora closed her eyes, breathing in the scent of an Irish summer day. A few customers came by. Sheila left her to go tend to them. Rusty roused himself to waddle over and say hello, lapping a bit of water from her hose. His stub of a tail wagged as she scratched his back.

  “Time for some lunch,” Sheila said when the customers left.

  In the cheerful kitchen, she pulled the leftovers of a roasted chicken out of the refrigerator. “You make us a couple of sandwiches out of this chicken while I put together a salad.”

  “If I can be nosy in return,” Nora began hesitantly as she sliced chicken. “The other night, in the pub, that baby…?”

  Sheila’s shoulders tensed at the sink where she was washing lettuce and nasturtium and other things for their salads. “You noticed that?”

  “Well, yeah. I’m sorry. It’s really none of my business. If you don’t want to talk about it…”

  She reached for a tomato and began slicing it.

  “No.” Sheila’s shoulders dropped as she took a breath. With her back still to Nora, she said, “Quinn and I had a baby. Five years ago. She was born with a heart defect that they couldn’t repair. She lived three days.”

  Nora stood, stricken, kicking herself for being so insensitive. She remembered her grandmother telling her mother about it but, never having met any of this side of the family, she hadn’t made the connection to Sheila. “I’m so sorry.”

  “Thank you.” Sheila blotted the wet produce on a towel and put it in two bowls. “There have been three miscarriages since. All the same heart problem.”

  Nora didn’t know what to say.

  “Most of the time, we’re fine,” Sheila said, looking at Nora for the first time. “But now and again…”

  “I didn’t mean to pry.”

  “You’re family,” Sheila said, pulling out a chair and sitting. “It’s not prying as we get to know each other. The good and the bad.”

  Nora was glad to have something to occupy her mouth so she wouldn’t ask any more stupid questions.

  “This is delicious,” she said a few minutes later. “Can’t believe I’m eating flowers.”

  Sheila smiled. “You’ve worked up an appetite being outdoors.” She touched a finger to Nora’s cheek. “Too many years in a library.”

&
nbsp; “You’re right. I’m after fixing that now.”

  She eyed the wall of bookshelves in the room beyond. “Speaking of library, may I borrow some of your books? I have a few hundred on my iPad, but I didn’t pack many physical books.”

  “Of course you can. Anything you like.”

  Nora munched on her sandwich. “How many days will you need me here?”

  “How many days do you want to spend working?”

  Nora considered. “How about three days a week? That will give me something to do and still have enough free time to spend wandering and exploring.”

  Sheila nodded. “That’s generous of you. I’ll be grateful for the three days. I don’t know that I’ll be able to pay you the regular way, as you’re not here on a work visa. But I’m sure I can slip you some cash and then make up the difference by buying your groceries and paying your rent.”

  “I can’t let you do that,” Nora protested. “I brought enough euros to get me through the first part of my summer, and I’ve got my credit card for the ATM.”

  “And I can’t let you work for free,” Sheila insisted. “We’ll take it out in trade. You’ll let me know if it feels like more than you want to do.”

  “I will. But it won’t.” With a happy sigh, Nora dug into her salad.

  Stripped down to a T-shirt and jeans, Briana sang softly while she scrubbed a saddle with saddle soap. Working the thick lather into the leather, she cleaned away layers of sweat and oils. After wringing out a clean sponge in a different bucket of water, she rubbed the soap off the leather, leaving it to dry a bit. While it did, she returned to another saddle she’d already cleaned to massage in a coat of oil. The stable saddles got lots of wear, with no time usually to clean them between guided rides, so every now and then, on a slow day, they took advantage of the opportunity to tackle these chores.

  “Hey, squint.”

  She scowled and turned to the tackroom door, brandishing her oily rag. “What do you want, Jimmie?”

  Despite the teasing, his pale face wore a serious expression. “Butler has a bit of a stable cough. The vet wants him on an antibiotic for a week. I couldn’t get him to take his medicine. Could you give it a shot when you’ve a minute?”