Among The Roses

Chapter 3: Master of the House

AN: In case you don't know, I'm American, and a middle-aged lady, so if I screw up something and it doesn't sound authentically English, for the love of god please tell me so I can fix it!

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Chiara looked around and smiled, though there was no one to see it.

It was a beautiful late summer day, and Langton was one of her favorite jobs. The acreage and surrounding wilderness were not her responsibility, but it was a beautiful estate. The trees had been cleared to make room for the house and grounds, but left alone otherwise, and the lush woodland was the English countryside at its best.

Plus, she was wearing her mother's old hat, the one with yellow flowers all over it. There was a photograph of her in it on the mantle at home, and Chiara always felt closer to her when it sat on her head.

She (her father, really) was in charge of the grounds, just the couple of acres surrounding the house, and even that was misleading, because her father rode a power mower to cut the expanse of green, rolling lawn; there was really no tending of that required, except to fertilize once in a while, and keep the deer off.

The front of the house had a circular driveway with a garden and fountain in the middle. There were planting beds on either side of the massive front doors, a formal rose garden in the back on one side, and an extensive kitchen garden area outside what Chiara assumed was the kitchen. Fruit trees were planted, espalier style, along the brick wall that surrounded the garden, and the whole place was just too beautiful to be believed.

The best part, as far as Chiara was concerned, was the fact that no owners or tenants were in residence, which meant she was free to tend what she considered to be her garden in peace, with no stupid opinions about what to plant, when to cut, or any other rubbish.

She had told her father she was going to spend the morning deadheading the numerous rose bushes, then fertilizing them with a combination fertilizer/insecticide. Then one last spray of herbicide to take care of the spots of powdery mildew she'd seen on a few bushes would round out her morning.

She put on her gloves and grabbed her clippers, and the large bin into which she'd put what she cut.

The trick to good deadheading was to keep in mind when you'd next be able to perform the task, so you'd know what to leave so the roses would look their best longest.

Chiara put in her earbuds and went to work, cutting all spent blooms at a low point on the stem, angled toward the middle, just above a bud-eye, the little knob that let her know where the next stem and bloom would appear. She enjoyed the birdsong that surrounded her between the songs on her playlist.

She saw that a bush she thought she'd lost for sure to root and cane rot (it sat in a low area that held too much water) was bouncing back, and she clapped her hands with joy. She'd ruthlessly pruned it down to almost nothing, then lifted it and added drying elements to the soil, along with nutrients and a systemic herbicide.

It was a Double Delight, which produced the most fragrant cream-colored rose with magenta tipped petals, and Chiara had been surprised when it succumbed to disease. It was known for its hardiness, and she'd left it in that spot because she thought it would be able to handle the soil.

In fact, every time they needed new roses, Chiara always chose Double Delight if left to her own devices, a fact her father teased her mercilessly about.

"The world would be a better place if everyone had a Double Delight planted near them," was Chiara's response.

She saw that, in addition to healing, it also had significant new growth, and this fact made her do an impromptu happy dance around the bush.