Love Finds a Home (Love Comes Softly Series #8) (2 page)

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rose--such a combination of lovely colors."

Thomas could not repress his smile or the shine in his eyes. "Aye," he nodded, and his gnarled old hand reached forward to caress the flower.

Then, before Belinda could catch her breath, he lifted his sharp pruning scissors, snipped the flower from the stem, and extended it to her.

Belinda reached out her hand and then just as quickly withdrew it. "But . . . but . . ." she stammered.

"Go on wit' ye, now," the old gardener said, easing the bloom into her hand. "'Tis only fitting ye be the one to have the first bloom." He lowered his eyes to his worn-out gardener's shoes. When he lifted them again, Belinda thought she could see a flush on his weathered cheeks. "I named her Belinda," he confessed. "Princess Belinda."

For a long moment Belinda could say nothing. Her hand slowly curled around the flower and she raised it to her face. Breathing deeply of the fragrance, she brushed her lips against the soft petals. She felt her eyes filling with unbidden tears. "It's beautiful," she whispered. "Thank you, Thomas."

"Aye," the old man nodded. "'Tis my thanks to ye fer being' so kind to m'lady."

Belinda understood his simple explanation. She nodded in return, then smiled and carefully found her way outside.

As she walked back toward the veranda, Belinda studied the flower in her hands. The soft cream of each petal slowly blended into a deeper yellow, which in turn changed into an apricot. Belinda was sure she had never seen such a pretty rose.
To think Thomas named it after me!
she marveled. She felt at once exalted and deeply humbled.

Belinda lifted her face to the sun, now higher in the eastern sky. The summer day was well on its way.Aunt Virgie would soon be awakening. Belinda knew she must hurry to bathe and

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change from her soiled gardening gown. No longer tired, there was a spring to her step and a light in her eyes. She was ready to face this new day. She smiled to herself.

Her eyes turned back to the exquisite rose.

What a difference one bright flower can make in a person's life,
she mused. But then she corrected herself.
No,
she told herself,
it isn't the flower--pretty as it is. It is a person who has brought joy to
my
heart. Thomas. A dear old man--just a gardener in some folks' thinking--but a beautiful person. One I have learned to love.

The thought did not surprise Belinda. There were many older people in this household whom she had learned to love. Aunt Virgie, old Thomas, the straightlaced Windsor, Cook-- even the stern-faced Potter. Belinda smiled to herself. She loved them all, actually. They were part of her life. Her Boston family.

Oh, she knew others her own age might pity her, being "stuck in a houseful of the elderly," but Belinda didn't feel shut in, restless, and forgotten. Not since she had given God the proper recognition in her life. She felt loved and protected-- and needed.
If only . . . if only I didn't feel so lonesome for those back home, I could be quite satisfied and fulfilled living and working for Mrs. Stafford-Smyth at Marshall Manor,
she thought.

17

TWO

Aunt Virgie

"Good morning, Aunt Virgie," Belinda said softly, proceeding into the room when she had determined that Mrs. StaffordSmyth was awake.

The frail woman managed a smile. "Mawnin', Belinda, deah," she answered.

"Did you sleep?" asked Belinda as she went to open the drapes, knowing that it was some time since the older woman had enjoyed a good night's rest.

"I did. Scarce can believe it myself, but I did. Oh, and it felt--it felt delicious, too," she said with emphasis. "But you know what else? I feel that now I remembah
how
to sleep, I could just sleep on and on."

"Then perhaps you should. You haven't slept decently for days--or rather nights," Belinda corrected herself with a sly smile.

Mrs. Stafford-Smyth chuckled weakly at Belinda's little joke. "You need sleep every bit as much as I," she informed Belinda. "You've been up night aftah night. I declayah, I don't know how you do it."

Belinda leaned over the bed and laid a hand on the silvery head. "I'm fine," she smiled. "In fact, I feel just great this morning. I've even been out weeding with Thomas."

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Mrs. Stafford-Smyth showed her surprise. "You have--at this hou-ah?"

Belinda nodded. "And you should just see the new rosebush!" she exclaimed, "It's covered with the most exquisite roses. And they smell absolutely wonderful."

Belinda thought of her other bit of news. She hardly knew how to tell it so it wouldn't sound boastful, yet she had to share her delight with the older woman.

"And something else, too," she said, and she couldn't help smiling. "Thomas took me to his greenhouse."

The building was always referred to as "Thomas's greenhouse," and no one else would have dreamed of trespassing. The truth was, the greenhouse, like every other building on the grounds, belonged to Mrs. Stafford-Smyth.

"He did?" said Mrs. Stafford-Smyth, sounding duly impressed.

"He did--and more than that. He showed me a brand-new rose he has developed. He hasn't even set it outside in the gardens yet. It had its first flower--though others are coming quickly"

"I declayah!" said Mrs. Stafford-Smyth, seeming to enjoy the telling of the tale as much as the story itself. "It must be something very special to put that shine in you-ah eyes," she noted.

"You will never guess what he has named the new rose," Belinda said, feeling shy.

"Aftah some lovely lady, I suppose," mused Mrs. StaffordSmyth. "They always do, it seems."

Belinda could feel her cheeks grow warm.

"Well, I hardly expect he named it Old Prune Face, aftah me," joked the elderly lady.

"Oh, Aunt Virgie," protested Belinda, "no one would ever say that about you."

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Mrs. Stafford-Smyth just smiled. "Well, they should," she said matter-of-factly. "I declayah, I looked in my hand mirrah befoah I went to bed last night, and I've lost some more weight. I do look like a prune, foah sure."

She has lost weight,
Belinda acknowledged silently as she looked at the pinched face against the pillow.

"Well, now that you are able to eat again," Belinda assured the lady, stroking her hair back from the dear face once more, "Cook'll have you fattened up in no time." She smiled as she fluffed up a pillow and made the woman more comfortable.

"But you were telling me about that new rose," encouraged Mrs. Stafford-Smyth. "What did Thomas name it?"

"Let me show you the rose," said Belinda quickly.

"You mean he picked one--already? He nevah does that."

"Well, he picked this one--the very first blossom," beamed Belinda. "Let me run get it. I have it in a bud vase in my room."

"I declayah!" exclaimed the woman again.

Belinda soon returned with her cherished flower.

"Oh my," Mrs. Stafford-Smyth said, her voice properly respectful, "it is a lovely one, isn't it? I hope he chose an equally pretty name."

Belinda felt her face flushing once more. "Well, he. . ." she began. "He. . . honored me by naming the rose Belinda." Her cheeks flamed, and she wished she had never brought up the subject. Mrs. Stafford-Smyth would think her dreadfully self- centered.

But the older lady beamed. "How very apt." She smiled her appreciation. "Thomas is an astute old gentleman. He named a beautiful rose aftah a beautiful young lady"

Belinda blushed further as she accepted the compliment.
"Just
Belinda?" asked the woman further. "Often Thomas

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has added a descriptive word--something else to go with the lady's name."

"Princess Belinda," admitted Belinda, dropping her face to hide her embarrassment.

"Princess Belinda--that is nice. That's quite an honah, you know, to have one feel so about you," said the elderly lady. Belinda was able to face her then.

"It really isn't me he is honoring," she explained. "The name shows his feelings about you. You see, he named the flower after me because--" Belinda struggled to find the appropriate words--"because he wished . . . he wished to express his appreciation to me for . . . for caring for you. You are the one who is special to him."

Mrs. Stafford-Smyth stared wide-eyed at Belinda. "Me? Why, whatevah do you mean? What did he say?" she probed.

"He said something like 'for carin' for m'lady,'" Belinda said evenly.

"How sweet," murmured Mrs. Stafford-Smyth, reaching up to brush at tears forming in her eyes. She was silent for several minutes as Belinda busied herself about the room. Finally she spoke again, softly. "You know, one gets to thinking sometimes that one is really of no worth at all. Life could just go right on without you, and no one would scarcely notice." She sighed, then went on. "Heah I lie day aftah day, no good to anyone. And then. . . then a deah old friend, a gardenah, shows you he cares. Makes one wish to get bettah again."

"Oh, Aunt Virgie," Belinda cried, moving swiftly to the side of the elderly woman and touching her cheek gently. "The whole household has been tiptoeing about, hardly daring to breathe. We've all been worried
half
sick that you might ... might not get better. We all need you ... love you. Do you really have any doubt about that?"

The lady stirred almost restlessly and smiled back at Belinda.

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"I'm a foolish old woman," she answered softly. "I have so much to live foah, so many deah friends. I don't deserve them, but I'm so thankful foah them." She sighed again and stirred in her bed, shoving a pillow away with a pale hand.

"Belinda, deah," she said with determination, "bring me my robe and slippahs."

At Belinda's little attempt at a mild protest, Mrs. StaffordSmyth hurried on, saying, "One nevah gains strength by lying abed. I've got a lot of convalescing to do if I want to enjoy this summah before it's gone. I'd best get at it. The blue robe, please."

Belinda did not argue further. Once Mrs. Stafford-Smyth had made up her mind, it was useless to argue.

Belinda went for the blue robe, glad that the woman had requested the warmest robe in her closet. As she lifted the garment from the hook, Belinda felt an enormous weight of worry fall from her. It had been some time since she had seen a sparkle in her employer's eyes. Truly she was on the road to recovery. Belinda could hardly wait to rush out to the kitchen to share the news with the rest of the household. They all had been very concerned.

"The first thing you need is a good breakfast," Belinda stated as she helped the older woman into the robe and slippers. About to ring for Windsor and a breakfast tray, she responded to a light tapping on the door. Belinda opened it on its silent hinges. She could see the distress in Windsor's eyes. "Is m'lady awake?" he asked in a raspy whisper.

"Yes. Yes," Belinda assured him. "Come in. She's much better this morning. In fact, I was about to ring to have a breakfast tray prepared."

Windsor could not hide his relief, as practiced as the good butler could be at concealing his emotions.

"Come in, Windsah," called Mrs. Stafford-Smyth.

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He stepped cautiously into the room, his hands fidgeting nervously. "Thomas wished to know if you'd like a bouquet, madam," he announced with proper dignity.

"Oh yes," agreed Mrs. Stafford-Smyth, a smile lifting the weariness from her face.

Windsor turned on his heels with a sharp click. "I shall be right back, m'lady," he assured her and left the room with a great deal more briskness than he had arrived.

While Windsor was gone, Belinda hurried about, helping Mrs. Stafford-Smyth with her grooming and settling her in the comfortable chair by the open window

Sarah came with two trays of nourishing food. For the first time in weeks, Mrs. Stafford-Smyth looked with some interest at the meal. Belinda smiled with relief and set a tray in front of the woman, accepting the other tray of food for herself.

They had just said grace together when there was another tap on the door. Windsor was back again with a bowl of fragrant, freshly cut pink roses. Belinda recognized them immediately.

"That's the new climbing rosebush on the back walk," she commented. "The one I told you about earlier. That's Thomas's new Pink Rosanna."

"Pink Rosanna," mused Mrs. Stafford-Smyth. "What a lovely name." She buried her face in the bowl of flowers. "And what beautiful flowers," she added.

Mrs. Stafford-Smyth stroked a soft petal, then breathed again the sweet smell of the flowers.

"Tell Thomas thank you for the flowers," she said, her voice husky. "I . . . I am deeply, deeply appreciative."

Windsor nodded and departed as Mrs. Stafford-Smyth lifted her head and smiled.

Belinda took the rose bowl gently and set it on the small table close beside the woman.