Chapter 13 - The Hedge Rescue

Morning light filtered softly through the shade trees as Rebecca carried the small hosta from the hedge to the potting bench.

Sam followed behind, coffee mug in hand like it was part of his permanent equipment. “Careful,” he said casually. “That thing survived years under a hedge. Don’t shock it now.”

Rebecca smiled as she set the plant down beside the other two pots. The wounded seedling sat quietly in its clay pot, its small leaf now opening wider than it had the day before. Next to it sat Dave’s sturdy plant — Old Faithful — strong and steady. Rebecca gently loosened the soil around the roots of the newly discovered hosta.

“Three survivors,” Sam said.

Rebecca nodded. “Seems right they should sit together.” She filled another clay pot with fresh soil and carefully placed the hedge hosta inside, pressing the earth lightly around the base. The leaves were deep green, slightly cupped, and a little worn from their years of hiding beneath the hedge canopy. Rebecca studied them closely. “You know what this reminds me of?” she said.

Sam leaned closer. “What?”

Rebecca brushed a bit of soil from one leaf and smiled softly. “Something from my grandmother’s yard.”

Sam raised an eyebrow. “The old gardens?”

Rebecca nodded. “The kind that have been there forever. Big clumps that nobody remembers planting.”

Sam took another sip of coffee. “So what does that mean for this one?”

Rebecca adjusted the pot so it sat neatly beside the other two plants. “If I’m right,” she said thoughtfully, “it might be one of those older hostas.”

Sam looked skeptical. “Older how?”

Rebecca pointed gently to the leaves. “Simple shape. Deep green color. No flashy margins. The old varieties were like that.” She paused, thinking. “And if it blooms…” Sam leaned in slightly.

“What?” Rebecca smiled. “It should be fragrant.”

Sam nodded approvingly. “Well, that’s something to look forward to.”

Rebecca wiped her hands on her gardening towel and stepped back to admire the row of pots. Three hostas now sat side by side on the potting bench. The wounded seedling. Old Faithful. And the hedge rescue. For a moment the garden felt perfectly still. Then Rebecca suddenly looked toward the path. “The azaleas.”

Sam groaned lightly. “The ones from the farmers market?”

Rebecca nodded and headed toward the corner of the shade garden where she and Linda had planted them days earlier. The small shrubs were settling nicely into their new home. Fresh leaves glowed softly in the filtered sunlight, and the soil around them still looked dark from the last watering.

Rebecca crouched beside one and gently pressed the soil. “They’re taking hold,” she said.

Sam stood behind her, coffee mug in hand. “Well that’s one thing you didn’t overthink.”

Rebecca laughed quietly.

Just then the distant rumble of an engine drifted down the road. Sam turned his head. “That sounds familiar.”

A moment later Beverly’s mail truck rolled slowly into view. She pulled up near the driveway and leaned out the window with her usual cheerful smile. “Morning, gardeners!”

Rebecca stood and waved. “Morning, Beverly!”

Beverly reached behind the passenger seat and lifted a small box. “This came for you.” She stepped out of the truck and handed it over. The box was small but carefully labeled. Rebecca read the sticker aloud.

LIVE PLANT

Sam leaned over her shoulder. “Well now,” he said.

Rebecca turned the box slowly in her hands. No return address she recognized. She looked up at Sam. “Did you order something?” Sam shook his head. “Nope.” Rebecca glanced back toward the potting bench where the three hostas sat quietly together. Then she looked down at the mysterious package again. “Well,” she said slowly. “Looks like the garden just sent us another story.”