The Treasure of Netherstrand

Chapter 26

It was four o'clock in the morning. Timothy knew just what he wanted to do. Today, there was no need to dust in the drawing room or dining room. He and Izzy had done a good job of it the day before. But there was another task which needed done, and he liked it even better.

"The gardener's gettin' awful old an' stiff," he told himself as he pulled on his clothes. "An' just yesterday, I 'eard 'im soundin' awful tired as he weeded the flower garden. I s'pect I know what's a weed an' what ain't. So, I'll just see that the poor ol' chap don't 'ave t' do so much bendin' up an' down."

In a few minutes, the little boy crept noiselessly down the servants' hallway and out the back door. It was a cool, cloudy day with a sprinkle of rain. Soon enough, the season for flourishing plants would be long gone, and the first frost would hail a long, cold winter. But for now, the garden was still vivid with green foliage.

Timothy went about his business, quietly picking weeds and marveling over each little plant and the bugs that roamed around in their garden home. He made his way down a tidy stone path which wound between the raised flowerbeds. As he went, he began to realize that he wasn't alone. He could hear a deep, quiet voice humming a solemn, beautiful tune.

Curiosity got the better of Timothy. He had to know who had woken up so early to sit in that garden and sing. He snuck forward, and the song got louder as he came close to a garden which was enclosed by a high, decorative fence. It was set about by rose bushes which climbed and wove so closely around it that you could hardly see through the iron bars of the fence.

Timothy was too shy to peek through the open gate and look in at the man, but he crept up to the vine-shrouded fence and peered through the leaves and branches. It didn't surprise him to see Arthur standing inside. It seemed fitting for the mournful young man to sing such a sad, sweet tune. Several minutes passed. Then, suddenly, the man stopped his humming.

"Timothy, would you like to come and speak with me?" he asked unexpectedly. He cast a smiling glance toward the place where Timothy was hiding.

The little boy laughed guiltily. "Ah, sir! Ya wasn't s'posed t' know I was there. I wanted to 'ear 'ow the song ended! What's it called?"

The lad slipped into the garden, smiling sweetly. It was a beautiful place with beds of the most delicate plants and a very old-looking well that was covered in moss. The well wasn't very deep, but every time it rained, the fresh water collected in its ancient reservoir, making it easy for the gardener to water his flowers from its bounty.

It was hard to describe the depth of sorrow in Arthur's eyes. But it was the kind of sadness which still allowed him to smile as Timothy skipped into the beautiful arbor.

"The song is called, Tis the Last Rose of Summer," he answered. Then, in a reminiscent way, he added, "My wife used to sing it when we lived in the country."

The grief and loneliness in the man's voice filled Timothy with pity. For a moment, the boy didn't quite know what to say. He knew that the lady's death had made Arthur very sad. But in the child's innocent mind, the thought of death didn't seem so dreadful to him. All he could think of when he imagined a soul parting from this world was the glorious kingdom of God.

"I reckon she's singin' all kinds o' pretty songs now," the lad ventured at last, smiling with a mixture of sympathy and awe.

Arthur let out a long, hopeless sigh. "No," he answered quietly. "She is gone now."

Gone. To Arthur, that was an empty, lonely, horrible word. "Gone" was an infinity of nonexistence, the point in time when something he had loved and cherished had left him forever. "Gone" was when his own life would suddenly run out, and everything he had once known would vanish into the darkness of a deep nothing. "Gone" was everlasting. "Gone" was grim and dreadful. In Arthur's understanding, there was no coming back when you were gone. But to Timothy, that word painted a completely different picture. "Gone" was the time when someone went away, but not forever, like the sailors who left in their boats and came back with their nets full of fish. "Gone" was when Hannover went out of town to manage his second hotel and came back the very next day.