Where Lilacs Still Bloom Read Online Free Page B

of gardens that offered happiness.
    The stage bumped along, and Shelly remembered Bill’s description of his mother’s garden and conservatory and how he’d planned an outdoor luncheon for them. She wondered what flowers he might choose for the centerpiece, hoping it wasn’t chrysanthemums, because those made her sneeze. Had she told him that? Mums were his mother’s favorite. She was glad now she’d chosen to wear what she had. She needed to be direct and let him know exactly who she was—his mother as well.
    He’d shared stories about his mother—whom he obviously adored—stories that caused a stream of perspiration to dribble down Shelly’s neck now, alighting at the collar of her dress. Bill loved his conservatory and the garden on the family estate where he said he “forgot about his loneliness in the company of stately roses, flashy peonies, and the ever-quiet sweet williams in season.” His mother seemed unaware of her son’s companionship with blooms, urging him to “let the gardeners do it; that’s why we pay them.”
    Shelly shifted on the seat, put her feet up across to reduce swelling. She was glad she was the only one on this stage so she could lift her legs. Bill would meet her at the stage stop. She’d stay with her aunt that evening. Even though Shellywas twenty-two and had lived around the world, traveling with her parents, her father insisted she have proper escorts. At least he’d let her make the trip alone. Bill had told her he admired independent women but “it makes sense to accommodate your father until such time as you marry and would then be accommodating your husband.” He used his professorial voice, and she’d bristled at that view of independence but kept silent. The relationship wasn’t far enough along yet.
    Shelly’s poor father worried she might never marry, since she’d found happiness tending him after her mother’s death five years previous and looking after the gardens she and her mother had both loved. “Putting down roots,” her mother called it when they arrived at a new army base and she nestled petunia seeds inside squash hulls for spring planting or laid tulip bulbs they’d brought from the last military station into new soil. It was the sign they were home when her mother found the place where “the lilacs would grow and the soap would foam up in the nearest creek.” She was from New England, and that was the story told about Vermonters staking their claims with soap and lilac starts.
    Bill had invited Shelly to come to his garden for tea six months into their travels. Traveling was how they’d met, Shelly visiting her aunt in Baltimore and Bill coming back from his week of teaching in St. John’s College in Annapolis.
    “Why I’d be pleased beyond words, Mr. Snyder,” she’d said when he invited her. “Beyond words.”
    “Excellent. Shall I send a cab for you?”
    “That would likely please my aunt.”
    “Oh, of course, your aunt.” He cleared his throat. “She must come too.”
    She heard the disappointment in his words and was grateful when he added, “She’ll be most welcome.”
    “I’ll do my best to convince her of the opportunity to see one of Baltimore’s finest gardens.”
    But her aunt had not found the “opportunity” because Shelly hadn’t given it to her. Shelly sent a note with just the tiniest of fibs expressing her aunt’s regret but giving her blessing that Shelly come alone by stage. Now here it was, the important day. She would meet his mother, and she would see where the garden path would take them.
    She felt the driver slow, and she pushed back the curtains when the stage stopped. Bill stood there in a white linen suit, straight as one of the four thousand cadets that surrounded her daily. He stopped to adjust the silver pin on his white tie, check for spots on the white linen suit. He took a deep breath and approached the cab. Why, he was as nervous as she was!
    The driver leaped down, opened the door.
    “Miss