Your Dream and Mine by Susan Kirby

Author:Susan Kirby [Kirby, Susan]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: HarperCollins Publishers

Seven Gardens was a popular evening spot, offering outdoor dining in the summertime when the gardens were in full bloom. The menu featured ethnic specials that correlated with gardens from different parts of the world. The restaurant was like a jewel within a seven-garden setting.

At Thomasina’s request, the hostess lead them to a table in the Biblical Garden. A fountain was the centerpiece of the garden. Lush greenery surrounded it. The setting was so lifelike, it was hard to believe that a parking lot lay just beyond the low-stone wall and the vine-draped wroughtiron fence enclosing the garden on the west.

Tables were arranged on cobblestone in cloistered spaces fragrant with anise, corriander, mint and cumin. There was hyssop, too. Once used in the temple for ceremonial cleansing, it bloomed blue on square sturdy stalks. A mideastern lamp burned fragrant oil on the linen-spread table tucked amidst the lush greenery. Harp music and soft choral chants played in the background.

“Warned you,” said Trace, and tipped his face as planes droned overhead.

Thomasina followed his glance. Rectangles of light shone through the green arbor overhead. Beyond was a patchwork of silvery clouds and two open-cockpit biplanes. “Winged angels in the heavenlies. All part of the ambience,” she said.

“Noisy ambience.”

Thomasina smiled and fingered the costmary leaf flanking her napkin and thought of Mary, who kept such a leaf in her Bible as a bookmark. “Bible leaf. That’s what Mary calls it,” she told Trace, after the waiter had taken their order, “Have you seen anything of Mary and Milt?”

“Just yesterday. I dropped by Milt’s before going to work. They’re busy making plans,” said Trace.

The waiter brought lentil soup, teeming with olives and thyme, crumbled marjoram and lovage leaves. When he had gone, they resumed their conversation, “Milt’s going through with it, then? He and Mary are going to sell out and move to town?” she asked.

“Yes. I think Will and the girls are relieved not to have to make the decision.”

There was no mistaking his growing anticipation. Thomasina had to confide her competing interest in the farm. But how did she broach it? Why did the dread of contention silence her tongue?

“The retirement village you took Mary to see last Saturday phoned to say they have a vacancy.” Trace gave her another opening a short while later as they were finishing watercress salads smothered in an olive oil and chive vinegar dressing.

Thomasina pushed her salad plate aside and fished for words that never came. The waiter came with Trace’s steak and Thomasina’s lamb in dill sauce. When he had gone, Thomasina picked up the thread of the conversation. “Spanish Cove was Mary’s first pick. But they had a waiting list”

“They usually do, from what Milt said. He figures they better move in while they can. The girls are going to stay and help them pack.”

“So soon?” Thomasina felt pressured by the speed at which things were progressing. “What about the auction? Will it be right away?”

“No, not until after harvest.”

“Which is?”

“November,” said Trace.

Relieved, Thomasina buttered a slice of fresh-baked cinnamon bread.

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