Family Secrets

Chapter Eight

For the next three weeks, the majority of my time was spent listening to John Wesley talk about plants. Well, it started as listening, but he soon insisted I needed to get my hands into the dirt myself. He offered me a pair of gloves, however I found them unwieldy and more irritation than help. Though the dirt became stuck under my fingernails, it was easier to grasp and pull things.

There was something oddly satisfying to pull something up and out of the ground, and even more delightful to bang the dirt out of the roots. Any time I disagreed with Miss Greaves—which was nearly every day—I could vent my frustrations with the garden. Several times, Wesley advised me to be careful when thinning out plants, though I believed I saw amusement in his eyes.

Between us, the garden was somewhat tamed. There were distinct divisions between decorative flowers and useful herbs.

For it being her suggestion, Miss Greaves was furious about my new occupation. Which only made me more delighted to dig in the dirt. After all, it wasn't as though anyone of consequence would see me in such a state.

Twice I considered walking to the Henderson's home for another visit, but was relieved when the weather offered a believable excuse to put it off. Autumn was in full force and brought rain with it. Digging in the dirt with my hands was one thing, but trudging through the mud was entirely out of the question.

On those days, I turned to the two books that Grandmother had left in the kitchen. They were surprisingly helpful for identifying plants, specifically which plants are useful to a garden.

Katie took an interest in the sketches that were placed inside the books. My grandmother's work or someone else's? None of them were signed, so it was impossible to tell.

While I'd had several governesses try to teach me the finer points of drawing and watercolors, I'd found it all very boring. Not that I didn't appreciate looking at a lovely picture, but the act of standing or sitting in one position to make a sketch was intolerable. There were far better things to do with my time.

Keeping busy was useful in preventing my thoughts from straying to other matters. The child growing within me was showing more and more. My ankles were painfully swollen by the end of each day.

Being with child was tedious and I couldn't believe women longed for this state.

But I suppose that was the price to pay for being married. One's husband desired an heir and it was a wife's duty to give him one. Unfortunately for me, I was not married and had none of the benefits that would come from a husband: wealth, status, maybe even a title.

Instead, I had fallen for a man who only used me.

Shaking my head, I pushed away thoughts of Conrad Ingram. I had kept from thinking about him this long. Why did he keep creeping back? He had no place in my life anymore.

The village midwife, a Mrs. Shellman, made a visit. She was a large, cheerful sort of woman. Naturally, she won me over by shooing Miss Greaves out of the room before making an examination of me and asking me some very personal questions.

At least, now I knew when the baby would be born, though 'sometime in March' was a vague date. I supposed I should be grateful I knew how long I had some freedom left to me.

But then what?

Again, something I couldn't think about. Frowning at the rain pouring down outside, I reached for my grandmother's diary. I was sure I had read most of it but I needed to take my mind off the future.

I flipped through the pages, pausing to read the first few words. After a few minutes, I reached a section in the middle of the diary that I did not recognize.