Darcy wandered around the walled garden and tried to pull herself together. The attacks from Marjorie's children every time she met them left her wondering what in the world she was doing here. She had her own grief, but nothing compared to theirs. She wanted to pay her respects, but the price was a bit high.
Strolling up the path through the gates, on a tree-lined path, made her feel as if she could forget the present. The breeze was cool, and the sun was hot. She imagined the garden looked just as it had over two hundred years ago. The only things out of place were the noises: an occasional car door slam, the drone of the lawn mower. All around, yellow tiger butterflies flitted through the air like falling leaves. There was peace.
The grass in the center of the garden was dark green and filled with clover. The old trees, lining what must have once been a road to the kitchen when it had been a separate building, were split open, their insides filled with brick and mortar to keep them from toppling over. The air smelled sweet with the scent of flowers, like perfume, and Darcy could hear the sounds of the mighty James River in the distance. The river's course had obviously altered over the centuries, as the house now overlooked smaller back channels and marshland on one side, with the main river running directly in front of the house.