Chapter 9 - The Garden by the Sea
Six months later, the early summer breeze swept across the Rhode Island bluffs, carrying the intoxicating perfume of blooming beach roses, sweet bayberry, and warm cedar shingles.
The cottage in Watch Hill looked entirely transformed.
The old wooden porch had been completely rebuilt, expanded into a wide, wraparound deck lined with comfortable Adirondack chairs, hanging pots of purple petunias, and a large wooden picnic table made of reclaimed maritime timber.
In the backyard, sloping down toward the private sandy cove, a sprawling wooden treehouse had been constructed between the branches of three ancient pitch pines. It featured a rope ladder, a brass ship’s wheel, and a blue canvas flag bearing the hand-painted silhouette of a flying seagull.
Daniel stood at the edge of the newly planted vegetable garden, wearing a faded denim shirt with the sleeves rolled up, his hands covered in rich, dark compost as he helped Noah pat down the soil around a row of fresh strawberry plants.
“Make sure the roots are completely covered, buddy,” Daniel murmured, guiding his son’s small fingers. “Otherwise, the sun will dry them out before they can drink.”
Noah, now seven years old, beamed with pride, his face smudged with dirt, his hazel eyes dancing with energy. He wore worn denim overalls and canvas sneakers, his shoulders broader, his skin tanned to a healthy golden brown.
“Are the strawberries going to be ready before my birthday, Daddy?” Noah asked, his voice bright, clear, and unburdened.
“They’ll be ready in three weeks,” Daniel promised, ruffling his son’s hair. “Just in time for Mrs. Gable to bake that three-layer shortcake you’ve been begging for.”
From the treehouse above came the sound of joyous, unrestrained laughter.
Ava climbed down the wooden ladder with practiced, fearless agility. At eight years old, she had grown two inches, her dark curls whipping in the sea wind, wearing a bright yellow sundress and carrying a sketchpad filled with vibrant watercolor paintings of the lighthouse across the bay.
She ran across the soft grass, throwing herself into Daniel’s side, wrapping her arms around his waist.
“Daddy! Look! I finished the drawing of the boat!” Ava announced, holding up the heavy paper for his inspection.
Daniel knelt in the grass, wrapping one arm around his daughter while keeping his other hand on Noah’s shoulder. He looked at the painting: a sturdy wooden sailboat cutting through bright blue waves, with three smiling figures standing at the helm beneath a brilliant yellow sun.
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“Ava,” Daniel said, his voice thick with a quiet, overwhelming reverence. “This is the most beautiful painting I have ever seen in my life.”
“It’s our boat, Daddy,” Ava smiled, leaning her head against his shoulder, pressing a small, sticky kiss against his cheek. “The one that never sinks.”
