Page 149 of The Queen of Roses

If the house was a burden, however, the garden was proving to be a boon. Adele spent as much time out there as she could. In the midst of all of the plants, she could forget everything from the approaching Christmas holiday to the fact that her mother had left Pasadena without even writing to her.

Adele lifted the arm of the water pump for what felt like the fourteenth time that day and pumped directly into the green watering can positioned underneath it. When the stream of water slowed to a trickle, she hauled it up with two hands and made her way slowly to the potting table, where her seedlings were waiting for her.

Carefully, she tilted the can so that the spray of water gently cascaded over the plants, bending their bright green leaves with the droplets.

Every time the household work became too much, every time she wondered whether she had made a mistake in leaving Guy and coming to live here, she returned to her garden and felt better. This was her home, a place she had crafted entirely on her own, almost as though she had known that she would end up here one day, and being alone at Rosewood House was better than living at the Gables with Guy—of that she was certain.

Already she had grand plans for the garden in the spring—some things she had discussed with Macalister and others she had decided to do all on her own. Her heart ached when she thought of him, but the sensation was not more powerful than the delight in the freedom she felt every morning when she woke up and found her home exactly as she had left it when she went to bed. That was a sort of liberation she never could have dreamed of.

The watering can was nearly half empty when Adele heard the crunch of a boot against the ground. She looked up and saw a figure approaching, the face shielded from the sun by a light blue parasol. Even before the parasol dropped, she knew who it was.

“Mrs. Whitley!” Mrs. Barnes called out.

Adele set down the watering can and used the edge of her canvas apron to wipe her hands dry.

“I must say, this is impressive,” said Mrs. Barnes, her eyes sweeping over the potting table. “You will have a veritable nursery in the spring.”

“Thank you,” she said.

“How are you settling into your life up here?”

She crossed her arms. “Do you really wish to know?”

Mrs. Barnes sighed. “You are angry that I have not called on you before today.”

She shook her head. “I am not angry. I am disappointed that you, who have professed to be my friend, have not written, called, or in any way inquired as to my health.”

Mrs. Barnes seemed to chew her lip for a moment. “Yes, well, circumstances dictated—”

“I expected everyone else in society to turn from me when I left Guy, but not you, who preached about the importance of a woman’s freedom and the joys of your life after your husband’s death.”

The words seemed to cut Mrs. Barnes, because the lady winced. “I can understand your disappointment, but do not mistake my lack of communication for a lack of interest or concern for your welfare.”

“Oh yes, I expect you are very invested in maintaining a friendship with the woman who left her husband,” Adele said, letting her sarcasm loose.

“Oh, my dear, I have no quarrel with you over you leaving your husband. Quite the contrary,” said Mrs. Barnes.

“I saw you the morning that I left Guy. Your housekeeper told me that you were out of the house, but you were at the window. Why bother to lie to me if you were not ashamed to be seen allowing me admission to your house?”

Mrs. Barnes’s expression seemed to harden a little. “There were forces at work that you could not possibly have understood.”

Adele rolled her eyes heavenward. “Why are you here, Mrs. Barnes?”

Her former friend pulled herself up. “I have come about your husband.”

“If you have come to broker a reconciliation, I am not interested.”

“Goodness, I should hope not. That is decidedly not the purpose of my visit,” said Mrs. Barnes.

“I have no interest in speaking about Guy to you or anyone else.”

“You should. Your future could depend upon this conversation.”

Adele reached for her watering can again, uninterested in whatever riddles the woman had for her. “Good day, Mrs. Barnes.”

She was moving to make her way back to the pump when Mrs. Barnes stepped in her path. “You must grant Guy a divorce.”

“I beg your pardon?”