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Garden of Dreams
by Amanda Mcintyre
Satisfied, Celeste rocked back on her heels and surveyed her first day's efforts in the garden. Having a purpose had become her salvation. She'd seen the picturesque ad of the remote seaside, Victorian bed and breakfast in a magazine three weeks ago. The day was vivid in her memory. She gave up on love the same day.
"Listen Celeste, I'm not sure this is what I want. I think some time apart will do us both good." Her live-in boyfriend, the man she thought she'd eventually walk down the aisle with, calmly picked up his suitcase, gave her a peck on the cheek, and shut the door to her heart.
Though only a few weeks, it seemed a lifetime ago.
She stood and brushed the dirt from her knees. The heat of the mid-morning sun warmed her skin, easing the tension in her shoulders from bending over the rich, dark soil. Tomorrow she would clean the older beds near the white picket fence, maybe even give the old boards a new wash of white paint as well.
Odd, when Celeste first arrived, she wasn't sure of her tomorrows. She wasn’t sure of anything other than surviving one day at a time.
The proprietor, an elderly woman with the most startling violet blue eyes Celeste had ever seen, ushered her into the kitchen for breakfast the very first morning of her stay. Her name was Iris, an older name to be sure, but one Celeste found entirely appropriate given the rich color of her eyes. Still, Celeste harbored a great deal of anger and preferred to be alone, but the woman would not be ignored. She seemed bent on taking care of Celeste.
"Have you had a chance to walk around the back and see my poor garden? Or rather, what has become of it? I'm afraid I've not tended it as well as I used to. These old hands aren't as strong as they once were." The old woman's gaze drew to the yard beyond the back door, as though she was remembering another time.
"Oh my, in its day it was the talk of the town, a sight to behold. People who viewed its splendor walked away forever changed. The rich colors of every variety of flower and their heady fragrance filled every corner of the yard.”
She drew in a quiet breath. “And the gazebo, surrounded by the blossoms of rich purple Iris and sunny orange and yellow Tiger Lilly, looked like the top of a wedding cake."
Her quiet sigh caused something inside Celeste to stir. A familiar yearning that she couldn’t put her finger on.
"I can remember the butterflies and humming birds made my backyard their home. I could count on them to return from their journey's every year, without fail."
Celeste stood from the table and walked to the open back door. Beyond the screen was a small back porch with two wooden steps leading onto a flagstone path to the gazebo. She gazed at the structure perched at the edge of the lawn. The wood, in disrepair, blended with the dead, brown leaves and brush snaking through its latticework frame. Her soul felt akin to the spent foliage. She was weary, empty, and yet…
Celeste gazed past the yard to the vast ocean that served as backdrop for the home. A soft morning breeze wafted through the screen touching her face with a gentle kiss.
"I wish I knew someone that would love my poor garden back to its beauty."
Forgetting for a moment that the woman was still in the same room with her, Celeste wrapped her fingers tighter around the warmth of her coffee cup. She wasn't ready yet to share her pain with anyone.
"Aren't there lawn services around here?" She pulled back from her wispy thoughts and took a sip of her coffee to bring her back to reality. Celeste glanced at the old woman, now standing shoulder to shoulder with her staring at the yard.
"Unfortunately, these days labor like what my gardens need is much too costly for me." The woman gave Celeste a sweet smile; a brief flicker of sadness flitted across her expression.
"Where are my manners? You’re here to recuperate and relax, not hear of my silly garden. You've no need to concern yourself my dear. I'll find someone to take care of it one of these days."
"Is that why you're named Iris?" Celeste blinked.
The woman's purplish gaze narrowed. "Yes, my mother's favorite flower was the Iris. It's mine too. I once had the most beautiful Iris. Imported they were, brought here by…" Her voice trailed off along with her distant expression.
Celeste watched the old woman seemingly lost again in time.
What spurred her next comment, she couldn't say. Perhaps the desire to fill her hands with the earth, to see something grow and live. Maybe something to keep her mind occupied. "I might be able to help. It wouldn't be professional, but it would give me something to do."
Iris turned to Celeste with a look of curious wonder.
"You'd do that for me? What a generous thing to offer." She touched Celeste's cheek softly. "That would be wonderful, child. You get what you need and send me the bill." Her smile was gentle, and her eyes sparkled with life.
Celeste had been there a month and so far, the sole guest. Still, Iris had generously given her free reign of refurbishing the gardens. Celeste toyed little with the fact that a few short weeks ago, she’d quit her job in search of her identity. Here working in this garden, she felt it begin to emerge.
She stretched her arms over her head. Sweat trickled down her spine, and her tank top stuck to her dewy flesh like glue. There was a sense of accomplishment growing inside of her, more than she’d felt in months.
Iris had offered her partial rent in exchange for her labor, but Celeste knew that eventually her savings would run dry. Still, she couldn’t stay forever and that served as motivation to accomplish the gargantuan task of restoring the gardens.
She scanned the yard, pleased with what she'd done in recent weeks. Pink and White Nicotania lined the flagstone path to the gazebo. Silvery tufts of Silver-mound acted as a soft border frame to the fragrant flowers.
Beneath the dead vines and nature's rubble, she'd discovered Iris bulbs buried deep within the soil. And not knowing if they would ever blossom, she re-planted them with the hope that they would. Along the fence line she planted white baby's breath and hearty purple lavender, giving plenty of room for both to spread over the years to come.
She'd uncovered a few large moss-covered stones and used them to accent the blooming flowers now beginning to sprout around the gazebo. A neglected stone birdbath served as a focal point for a small landscaping arrangement near the back porch.
It was back breaking work, but with each new discovery, she found her heart loosening from the confines of her painful loss.
After full days of planting and weeding, she dined with Iris in her kitchen, sole guest to her magnificent meals made from scratch.
"There's too much processed foods these days." Iris would say as she kneaded a wad of dough for bread. "Not healthy for a body."
Celeste wasn’t sure if she believed it or not, but she did notice her body was physically stronger, her mind alert, and her dreams more vivid than she could remember.
Their conversations were long and varied, covering everything from Iris's childhood to social changes. Celeste soon began to open up to Iris, telling her of the pain she held inside.
As their friendship grew, so too the bond between them. When Iris finally admitted that she too had loved and lost her love, turning here to heal, Celeste found that she was not all that surprised at the news.
"He was the captain of a trade ship. Collin was his name and I loved him with all my heart."
Her soft violet eyes misted. Celeste empathized with the woman, though she couldn’t say that the love she’d had for her boyfriend was reciprocated as much as Iris’s. In fact, Celeste found herself wistful that she would ever find a man such as the captain.
"He'd sail off to exotic ports, trading and delivering his cargo, and he'd always bring back unusual flowers for my garden." She paused, glancing at Celeste with a smile. "Once after a hard rain, I remember he was helping plant the bulbs. The ground was saturated, a muddy mess, and we were covered from head to toe."
She chuckled remembering the event. "It started out so innocently. I shook my hand to get rid of the caked on mud and he, in turn, swiped my cheek with a muddy finger."
Her gaze, though poised on the vase of flowers, was far from focused on the arrangement. Her smile transformed her wrinkled face, and for a moment, Celeste could almost envision Iris in her younger days.
"Soon it turned into a full fledged mud slinging match. He was like that, full of life, always a smile on his face. To some, he was intimidating with his broad shoulders and rugged sea-faring ways. But to me, he had a heart and a touch as soft as a spring morning."
Iris's laughter was light, bringing fresh air to Celeste's weary soul.
"It was a wonderful day. I can remember it all so clearly." Her smile turned less joyful. "There we were, both of us covered in mud, and he took me in his arms and pledged his troth, promising that one day he would take me to all the exotic places he'd been. All those fabulous places he'd told me about."
Her mirth sobered, the light in her eyes dimmed as she returned her attention to Celeste.
"The next day, he had a trip. But he was gone much longer than usual. I knew something wasn't right, so I went to the dock and asked when the ship was scheduled to arrive. I must have shocked the man at the docking office that day. Even now I can see the startled look in his eye. Unsure whether to tell me the news he had to share."
Celeste's breathing halted as she anticipated what was to come.
"The man said they'd received word there’d been a ship caught in a storm several miles out to sea. He apologized, but said there was no word of survivors.”
A small gasp escaped from Celeste’s mouth.
Iris was silent for a moment, before she heaved a quiet sigh. "What more could he say?" She shrugged her frail shoulders. “There was little else to do, but return here where our love once flourished.”
"Oh Iris," Celeste spoke softly. "I'm so very sorry."
Iris picked up her wineglass and raised it toward Celeste. With sadness etched on her aging face, she said, "It was at some point after that I simply lost interest in the garden.”
The old woman stared at the wine in her glass. "I loved once and perhaps one day again we will meet, but my life is here and I believe that fate has brought you to me Celeste. For what reason, I don't know. But I suspect it’s as much for the dreams you carry inside as it is to help me."
That night, Celeste began to dream. The clarity of the images emerging from them was so strong that more than one night, she awakened to go out on the widow’s walk overlooking the dark silent sea. Restless, but not understanding why, she would gaze at the brilliant moon, with a yearning in her heart she couldn’t explain.
Was it Iris’s sad tale affecting her? Or was it the fact she was finally facing her deep loneliness?
Celeste couldn’t dispel the void in her heart. The pain of Paul’s leaving had left her spirit wounded. Yet inside, coupled with the slow and steady healing, was a flicker of hope, a hope that maybe somewhere out there, she’d find the love she yearned for. A love like Iris’s with her captain.
* * *
Night after night, as the garden blossomed under her hands, her dreams repeated, strengthened, each time more vivid and clear. The scent of the garden flowers wafted through the night air and blew into her room, as though fanning the thoughts in her sleep.
A man had emerged in her dreams, standing below in the garden, though his face was covered by the shadows of the night. The image of her hurrying down the stairs to meet him always ended the same, with her awakening before she could reach him.
The torment in her heart served as a catalyst of inspiration in the garden, as though pushed by an unseen force to complete the project.
"Iris, I'm having strange dreams." Celeste finally confessed one morning as they ate. She waited for the old woman's response, wondering if she had some magical way of knowing what her dreams meant.
Iris gave her a smile that would rival Mona Lisa's.
"Dreams are sometimes messengers, Celeste. Why don't you tell me about yours?"
Celeste hesitated a moment, wondering what the woman might think of her active imagination. "It's the same every night. There's a man standing out there," she pointed toward the door, "in my--in the garden."
The cup in Iris's hand tipped forward, its contents spilling over the white linen tablecloth.
"I'm sorry. Did I say something to upset you?" Celeste dabbed at the stain with a handful of napkins.
Iris shook her head, replacing the cup upright with shaking hands. "You'll have to excuse me today, Celeste. I've got a million things to do." Without explanation, she left the table with a look of purpose.
Her gaze followed Iris as she disappeared. The quiet creak of the stairs punctuated confused thoughts. Shrugging off Iris’s strange behavior, she finished her breakfast, anxious to get to work on the garden.
* * *
By evening, Celeste, covered in dirt from head-to-toe, stood with her fists firm on her hips. With pride she surveyed her accomplishment, grinning with satisfaction at the result of days of intense work. Somehow the earth had complied with her labor and had produced its first reward. She wanted to celebrate.
"A glass of wine is in order this evening, Miss Iris," Celeste announced out loud as she let the screen door slam behind her.
Her gaze was drawn to the note that lay propped up beside a glass jar filled with white and yellow daisies.
"Celeste, please help yourself to the cold chicken in the icebox. I am retiring early. It's been a very busy day for me."
Celeste raised her brows in agreement. It had indeed been a very busy day. She grabbed a chicken leg, a glass of wine, and checking the locks on the downstairs doors, made her way upstairs to her vision of a frothy bubble bath.
* * *
There was no sound from Iris's bedroom as Celeste soaked in the bathtub. The warmth of the water eased her tired muscles even as the wine eased her tired mind.
She considered checking in on Iris before retiring to be sure she was all right, but decided against it, as she could barely keep her eyes open.
She slipped into her nightgown and crawled between the fresh cotton sheets. Between the bath, the wine and her fatigue, she drifted off to sleep, hearing only the gentle lap of the surf outside.
The sheer gauze curtains billowed in the strong evening breeze. Something tugged at her, pulling her toward them until at last she stepped over the threshold into the night. The wind caught her hair, causing it to spiral upward into a tangled web. He was there again, standing below in the garden. The same man as in her dreams. But this time, she sat in the gazebo, staring at the young woman braced on the railing high above on the widows’ walk. Her eyes glowed with a purple iridescence and her raven hair spun in a frenzied whirl around her head. In the next instant, the beautiful woman stood before the man. Celeste couldn’t determine if she was awake or dreaming, only that she was a spectator to the two lovers. She watched in rapt attention as he touched the woman's cheek, and the woman, anticipating his kiss, closed her eyes in sweet surrender.
The wind stilled, and all seemed to come to a standstill as their lips met. A heavy mix of the scent of flowers and sea mist shrouded their faces. But in a whisper, soft as a rose petal, Celeste heard the man whisper, "I've come such a long way to be with you."
Celeste bolted upright in a cold sweat and shoved the covers away. She ran to the French doors overlooking the garden and flung them open, bracing herself on the railing as she scoured the lawn below. Prompted by her dreams, or some other force she couldn’t see, she turned and tiptoed down the stairs trying not to awaken Iris. She didn't want to have to explain her silly wanderings to the poor woman and risk upsetting her again.
Feverishly, Celeste opened the backdoor and ran across the cool grass, misted by the night sea. She sensed his presence as soon as she was in the center of the garden. He was very near, though she couldn’t see him.
The scent of flowers overpowered her equilibrium and with her head spinning, she made her way to the gazebo to sit down until the spell passed. Resting her head in the crook of her arm, she wondered if she might be going mad.
She sensed his powerful presence first, even before her gaze snapped to meet his.
He stood before her, an apparition she was certain for no modern man she’d ever seen compared to the rugged strength he exuded. He was dressed as though he’d stepped out of time, a roguish mariner of the sea in his billowed white shirt, dark, skin-tight breeches and black boots. His hair he held secure with a strip of leather and tucked at his waist was a rolled parchment.
She could only stare at the formidable man, his dark orbs seemingly holding her captive, unable to speak.
A gentle gasp turned their attention toward the house and there stood Iris, her wrinkled hand outstretched to the man. She teetered down the path as a gentle cloud swirled around her, making it difficult for Celeste to see the woman. Iris moved to meet the handsome man, now holding out his arms to her.
"It's yours now, Celeste,” Iris said. “Collin has come for me as he promised. Tend the garden and it will bring you happiness. All else will take care of itself."
Celeste watched as the elderly woman transformed into the beautiful young woman with fiery violet eyes—the same as the woman in her dreams.
The two embraced as the mist shrouded them. There was no sound, except the steady cadence of the ocean to the shore.
Celeste blinked, hoping to clear her head of the hallucinations she had to be experiencing. When she opened her eyes again, she sat alone in the darkness, the sea and the chirping crickets her only companions.
* * *
She met the dawn, still contemplating Iris's words. But she realized now that in giving herself to help Iris, she'd come to embrace the idea of being happy again.
The coffeepot perked merrily and for a moment Celeste thought she'd simply had another dream. When she entered the kitchen, she realized that the appliance was set on a timer and the familiarity of it caused her eyes to well.
She sat down at the kitchen table acutely aware of the faded flowers and the threadbare corners of the tablecloth. Stacked in front of her were bound books. As she sorted through them, she realized they were all of the records for the house, everything Iris owned in the world. And in her kindness, Iris was giving Celeste a second chance for happiness.
Tears streamed down Celeste's face as she read the papers, all signed over to her. Iris must have been expecting this, but how would she know? Something Iris said lingered in the back of Celeste's mind.
"Tend the garden, and the rest will take care of itself."
Celeste had no idea what she meant, but she immersed herself in the days following, tending the garden and greeting scores of guests to her door. She found a particular joy in running the B&B, and often thought she could hear Iris making suggestions about how to handle a crisis.
* * *
Celeste snapped open the clean sheet, her gaze mesmerized as she watched it flutter to the unmade bed.
"Hey, anyone home?"
Celeste opened the French doors to the brilliant blue sky. Shading her eyes with her hand, she searched to match a face with the voice she'd heard.
Her gaze traveled below, where a man stood in the garden, his eyes shaded as he gazed up at her. The sun too bright to detect his face, she blinked against the sunspots dancing before her eyes.
"Are you the caretaker of this bed and breakfast?"
Celeste nodded. "Yes, how can I help you?"
"I'd like a moment of your time, if I may? Just have a few questions."
"I'll be right down," she offered. Perhaps he was with the Chamber Office. She'd called there to get her bed and breakfast listed on the chamber’s brochure.
As Celeste stepped outside, he turned and removed his sunglasses. There was a gentle sparkle in his dark gaze that warmed her long before he offered his equally dazzling smile. She stretched out her hand to greet him.
"My name's Skye Robinson."
His hand swallowed hers in an inviting, friendly grip.
She tried unsuccessful to suppress her wry smile. "You're kidding, right?” Was it her imagination, or did his hand fit hers perfectly?
"Last time I looked at my driver’s license." He gave her a strange look as he released her hand.
"I’m sorry, it’s just that my name is Celeste Parker." She grinned easily. What were the odds of two strangers having flower children for parents?
His smile sent a sweet jolt through her system.
"Sixties parents, huh? Woodstock as well?” He held her gaze.
"Yeah." She stared at him wondering if she'd seen him someplace before. His face seemed familiar.
"What are the odds?" he chuckled.
"I was just thinking the same thing." Celeste shook her head, attempting to clear her hazy thoughts. "I’m sorry, what can I do for you, Mr.—"
"Robinson."
"Right, Mr. Robinson."
His grin widened, producing a lovely dimple on his left cheek. She was captivated.
He cleared his throat. "I hope you'll forgive me, but I have a few questions about this house. I was hoping you might be able to help me?"
"To be truthful, I haven’t been here very long myself, Mr. Robinson, but I can try."
"Hey, that's all I can ask." He looked around and ushered her to the gazebo. "How about we sit over here, out of the sun?"
She walked ahead of him, pleased at how fragrant the flowers were today.
"I really appreciate this. I've come a very long way to be here."
His words caught her by surprise and she stumbled up the first step to the covered garden porch.
He reached out and caught her arm, holding her so she wouldn’t fall flat on her face.
"Be careful," he warned gently.
Celeste found refuge in the shade, a welcome relief from the late afternoon sun and the heat that surged through her body at his touch. She turned to get a better look at her strange guest.
He wore a navy polo shirt and khaki cargo shorts, a pair of leather sandals donned his feet. But it wasn’t his clothes that intrigued her. It was his kind manner and his confidence.
She turned her face to the sea, letting the breeze cool her cheeks before she continued. “Now Mr. Robinson, how may I help you?”
Celeste could see plainly the hesitation in his expression, as if he was weighing how to say what it was he wanted to ask.
She clasped her hands on her lap hoping to quell her nerves.
"I've spent the last year or better following my genealogy, and what I've discovered is that I had a great uncle who died at sea. I have his journals, passed down through generations of my family, and in them he writes about a woman he loved. I think her name was—"
"Iris?"
He stared at her a moment, then continued. "Um, he wrote about the garden, how they would sit for hours in the—" He paused, scanning his surroundings.
"A gazebo?"
His focus returned to her. "How did you know?"
"Because I've seen them." Celeste spoke without reservation. She told him her remarkable story, including her dreams.
"The man in my dreams must have been your uncle. I can see the resemblance now."
Both curiosity and skepticism showed on his face. He simply stared at her.
"I'm telling you the truth, Mr. Robinson." She tipped her head, scrutinizing his expression. Everything about him was solid and steady. The wind lifted his dark hair, blowing it over his brow. Celeste balled her fist to keep from brushing it from his eyes.
"May I rent a room for the night? Would you have dinner with me so we can talk more?"
"Sure.” Celeste saw no reason not to take him on as a boarder, if only for the night.
He grinned. "Is that yes to both requests?"
"Of course. I do run a bed and breakfast, and I have a guest who left this morning. I was getting that room ready when you arrived. Why don't you go ahead and get your things while I finish your room." Celeste smiled and received the same in return.
* * *
Over dinner, he told her of his quest to find his roots after his parents were killed in a boating accident. The journals led him here. "I'd expected to find an empty house. Not a beautiful bed and breakfast with a one of the most amazing gardens I’ve ever seen." He paused, resting his elbow on the table and propped his chin on his fist, staring at her. "You know it's not just about the journals."
Her gaze met his as she lifted the water glass to her lips.
"You know those dreams you told me about?"
Celeste returned the glass to the table. A prickly sensation crept across the back of her neck and she shivered.
"When you told me about yours, um, I was afraid to say too much. I was concerned that you might not believe me—"
"Not believe what?" She was nervous to know what he was being so mysterious about.
"I've had dreams, too. I didn’t want you to think I was trying to take advantage of you."
Celeste laughed as she pushed from the table. "That’s not one of those pick-up lines you hear real often."
He sighed as he stood to face her.
She wasn't ready for this. Too much had happened and she needed more time. "Maybe we should call it a night, Mr. Robinson." Celeste picked up a dishtowel, unaware until she followed his gaze that she was wringing the hell out of it.
"I didn't mean to frighten you."
"Oh heavens, no. It's just been a very long day, and I need to do some paperwork."
It was a bold-faced lie and they both knew it. She could see the realization in his eyes. The thought that a dream drew him to this place was more than a little disconcerting, even after all that had happened. After all, happily ever-after’s were for Iris, not for her.
A moment more clicked by as Celeste kept her gaze on a spot on the tablecloth.
The sound of his steps as he climbed the stairs echoed through the empty house and the rooms of her heart.
* * *
It took Celeste until the wee hours of the morning to fall asleep. Not that she feared having Skye in the house. She feared what kind of dreams her discussion with him might produce. The anonymity of not having to explain her encounter to anyone had helped to dull the reality of it actually happening. Skye's confession and his presence brought back the fact that what she'd experienced, whether plausible or not, could not be explained.
The man came again to her, in her dreams, but this time the stranger in the garden was Skye. His hand softly stroked her cheek as she anticipated his lips touching hers.
Awakened by the banging of the French doors blown open by the wind, Celeste threw off the coverlet and staggered groggy from sleep to the gapping door. Outside the moonlight poured a bright path into her room. The scent of the flowers in the garden below swirled through the room. As she stepped to the railing, she gazed down at the garden illuminated by the moon.
Searching for something, perhaps someone, Celeste scanned the yard until her attention landed on the silhouette of a man.
She reasoned that for some reason her ghostly captain had returned to tell her news about Iris. Sent maybe to give her a message of what she was to do with this new life she'd been given.
Without thought, she grabbed her robe and fled down the stairs to the backyard. The minute her foot touched the stone path, the man turned to face her.
"Skye, uh…Mr. Robinson?" She masked her surprise at seeing him there instead of the captain’s ghost. Celeste realized how absurd it seemed and debated whether to tell him about her recent dream.
"I had that dream again, Celeste. There was a woman. One minute she was watching me from the window, the next she was at my side. Her skin was soft as silk, the sensation was so real. In my dream, I touched her cheek and told her—"
"I've come a long way to be with you?" Celeste finished, waiting for Skye to realize that whatever had brought them to this point was greater than either of them could understand with reason. It had everything to do with what lay deep in their hearts.
"You dreamt it too?" He reached up, tentatively touching her cheek.
Celeste nodded. "It was you I saw in my dreams. I thought you'd think I was crazy if I told you."
His soft laughter warmed her.
"If that’s the case, then I'm fine with crazy."
He slipped his arm around her waist and smiled as he held her close. "You are the woman in my dreams. This place is special to us, Celeste. Somehow it brought us together." He turned his gaze toward the old Victorian house, its dark windows staring out over the black sea. The ebony sky above was sprinkled with a wash of brilliant stars. "This place is the keeper of our dreams and maybe the dreams of others.”
He faced her, brushing an errant wisp of hair from her cheek. "If I’m crazy, then be crazy with me, Celeste."
His voice fell to a whisper as his mouth captured hers in a kiss that claimed her, body and soul.
Celeste circled her arms around his neck, finding her home in his embrace. She knew now, without a doubt, that dreams do indeed come true.