Hope sneezed and wiped her nose, leaving a muddy smear on her face. Linnea’s inner alarm went off. That was the fifth time she’d sneezed today. Linnea tightened her lips in concern—could she be coming down with a cold? She’d not enforced mask wearing outdoors for Hope, given her age, but the sneezing gave her second thoughts. Especially when Flo was in the area. She glanced toward the old woman staring at the rosebuds.

“How are you today, Flo?” she asked, walking to her side.

Flo swung her head and looked at Linnea. After a moment she offered a quick smile of recognition. “Good. Roses coming up.”

“I hope it’s a good year.”

“No black spot,” Flo declared.

“That’s good.”

“Maybe. Insects a problem.” She shook her head and looked at Linnea, her once bright blue eyes faded now. “If it’s not one thing, it’s another.” Without another word, Flo walked away.

Linnea watched her stooped form, the hesitancy of her steps, and recalled the upright, strong stride of the woman she’d once been. Florence Prescott’s wisdom had guided them all for decades. It was hard to watch her diminish.

In contrast, Hope flitted from plant to plant like a butterfly. Linnea walked over and asked her questions about the plants, listening intently, giving the child her full attention. Hope pointed out, in a voice bubbling with excitement, each seed and flower she’d planted. The child’s garden was a mishmash of a few potted annuals—colorful zinnias and marigolds—and two crooked rows of radishes, spinach, and lettuce seeds. Linnea took a photo of the little finger indentations in the tilled soil for Cara.

Emmi came closer, beaming with pride. “She’s a natural.” In a lower voice, she added, “Those are seeds that grow fast for impatient children.”

“And look!” Hope called out, running to the flagstone patio on the opposite side of the garden. “A pond!”

Emmi’s voice rose with excitement to match the child’s. “We’re building a small koi pond. I’ve always wanted one, and John offered to build it for me. It’s a work in progress.”

Linnea saw the kidney-shaped hole dug into the ground, and beside it, liner and equipment. Listening to Emmi describe the project, Linnea couldn’t tell which thrilled her more—the fact that she was getting a pond, or that her son was building it for her.

“How’s John doing?” she asked.

“Why don’t you ask him yourself?” asked Emmi.

Linnea’s heart began to pound and she searched the garden. “Why? Is he out here?”

“He was, earlier this morning.”

“He’s out of quarantine?”

“At last. What a relief he didn’t have any symptoms. Not like poor David. We have him in our prayers.”

“Poor Hope. She’s anxious to get home. Who knows how long it will be now?”

“And Cooper! Doesn’t he get home today?”

“Yes, thank God. Daddy got him a seat on the earliest plane he could. He’s gone directly into quarantine at home, so I can’t see him. But I received a text that the package has been delivered.” She chuckled. “Mama is over the moon, as you can imagine. She’s been baking and cooking for days. I’m hoping she’ll bring leftovers here.”