by Richard Eddie (March 2026)
Augustine Clark enjoyed writing books and reading books. She bought many books, and there were plenty of those books that she did not read. The summer of 1930 had just come to an end, and she was more excited than ever to buy even more books. Aside from books, she had an undying passion and talent for writing stories of fiction. The hot summers in Kingston were always the best time to stay up during the uncomfortable nights for all who lived there and loved living in Kingston.
For some reason, the idea of fall approaching was fantastic and mysterious, and to Augustine, she probably could not explain it herself. Oftentimes, she wrote poems, but writing fiction was more fulfilling. She promised herself that in the winter, she would read a collection of mystery short stories that was sent to her from her godmother, who lived in England. On the final day of that summer, she organized her books in order from the times that she bought them. Her godmother told her that winter is the best time to read books—mysteries in particular.
School was back in session, and at the age of ten years old, Augustine Clark was at the top of her class, passing each and every subject; she loved to learn. Her teacher, Mrs. Batiste, with a strong accent as if she were from an island, also had a love for books, and she would see Augustine sitting under a tree reading instead of playing with the other children during recess—reading and looking up into the sky. For a teacher and being an adult, Mrs. Batiste was not confident enough to approach Augustine about her reading and standing out from the other children. It delighted her to see that Augustine had read the type of books that she read as well.
In some ways, Mrs. Batiste was shy, and she never called out students in class. It was a sense of peace and respect for her; respecting even children was important to her and their feelings. Could Augustine, a young girl who was smart, intelligent, and darker than her parents, have been an inspiration for her teacher? It was almost unbelievable that, out of all of the entire time Augustine had been in her classroom, Mrs. Batiste felt a magical whirlwind that she had never felt before—so late in life!
Augustine’s parents did not have to worry about her when it came to learning, doing her homework, and studying; she never asked them for help. She was very independent, and they were always amazed at how they did not have to ask her for much. She was perfect in their eyes. Like Augustine, her parents were glad and happy that the summer was making an exit, but not for reading and writing; they were both artists. They chose not to have a studio or an art gallery showcasing their work; there were many who loved their work, even outside of Kingston. They could have had an art gallery in Beverly Hills.
They loved Beverly Hills without a doubt, and both parents had spent large amounts of time there when Augustine was much younger; they strongly thought about living there for the rest of their lives but, at times, they felt out of place, wealthy or not. Kingston was real and beyond what they expected; they wanted to be in a place where you were never too old to be free in ways others may not have imagined. Painting is what brought them together, and the relationship and marriage have been wonderful. Augustine’s father, Kirk, was a quiet and gentle giant of six feet and five inches.
He was her hero, and she loved his light-colored brown eyes and his long, thin face. Kirk Clark was just as meticulous as his daughter, but his work kept him busy to where he worried less about keeping his space tidy. Augustine’s mother, Phyllis, was a tall woman, about the same height as her husband, with dark blue eyes. She loved art and painting, too, but she had a passion for writing stories like her daughter and looking for underground treasures as an archaeologist. One could guess that both of Augustine’s parents were her heroes, and her mother always inspired her even when she was younger. Her parents wore nothing but black clothes, hats, and shoes.
They had plenty of money and wealth, and they certainly could afford a housekeeper and possibly a cook to maintain their lovely cottage, but they enjoyed Kirk’s simple but delicious cooking. With many books and their paintings strategically and elegantly placed throughout the cottage and the garden, no housekeeper was required. Their garden, however, was a collective pride and joy even for Augustine; Augustine was a closet gardener in her own right. As quietly as they tried to keep it secret, especially from the other children in Kingston, but not that it mattered, some of them knew about it.
Some of the kids thought it was wonderful to take time and work in the garden, as they worked in their gardens, too. One day, Augustine sat in the garden grass for hours dreaming about writing, reading, and gardening all at the same time. After being in the garden for so long, she fell asleep with a joyous smile on her face and held her journal that she cherished. She awakened before dinnertime, but she was not hungry; her parents, Kirk and Phyllis, knew that the garden was a place of excitement, wonder, and peace, and for them as well. Kirk looked out of the kitchen window and saw his daughter, and he was excited to see her with her journal and being free.
“Since we have already eaten our dinner, my dear, I am going to make something special for Augustine, and she can still eat what was left from what I had already cooked.” Could she really eat what he had planned to make for her along with what her parents had eaten for dinner? Scrambled eggs and hash browns were her favorite breakfast food for dinnertime. “She can have some of our roasted salmon tomorrow, dear. And besides, when you cook the roasted salmon, it tastes just as wonderful the next day,” said Phyllis.
Phyllis would have been out in the garden with her daughter, and she possibly would not have been. As parents, they knew not to underestimate children, especially not Augustine Mae Clark. She loved her space and privacy, and as a child, she knew better than to always disrespect her parents and the home that they provided for her. Her love for the garden was undeniable, and the fall assisted with the beauty, the air, and the fragrance ready and willing to be ushered in.
Augustine spent more time in the garden and writing in her journal before going into the kitchen to eat the scrambled eggs and hash browns, and surprisingly, a moderate portion of the roasted salmon. Her parents allowed her to eat her food in peace by leaving their modest but attractive kitchen. She was pleasantly full from the meal, and she loved how moist and tender the salmon was, even though she was not much of a fish or seafood eater and was a meat eater. “My wonderful father and mother did not have to leave on my account,” she said to herself.
After eating breakfast food for dinner, Augustine cleaned the kitchen while focusing on plans for the fall gardening. She took her time washing the dishes and thinking about school, which was an automatic and guaranteed priority. Though it was dark outside, the shadow of the large garden, glistened by the full moon, was another wonder of Kingston. Supposedly, there was a myth or legend that the moon shone so brightly and broadly that, from looking at the ocean from a distance, you could see the whales and dolphins very clearly, gliding and playing together.
A person can make a wish and not make a wish at the same time. Augustine wished that they had a gardener’s cottage; there was certainly room for one. Their only gardener, Robin Croft, had just returned from vacationing in England and, originally from England, knew that the fall season in Kingston was the most magical time to be there. “My dear Augustine, I cannot tell you how happy I am to be back here; England, my first home, is wonderful, but Kingston has my full heart.” She moved the wheelbarrow from the shed.
Robin Croft represented what a gardener was, or that was her belief; she wore her gardening clothes with a badge of honor, with style. A short, evenly featured woman with wavy dark brown short hair and light green eyes. It seemed that her trademark was a short jacket she wore with a different carnation that she wore without fail, along with dark sunglasses and many caps. “Ms. Croft, it is so swell to see you again! How was England?” To her, the English accent captivated Augustine; it was poetic and elegant.
“Kingston is my home, Miss Augustine, and I love being back.”
The day was cloudy and gloomy after the sun had made an appearance. The sea went from quiet and restful to restless and bold. Robin still wore her dark sunglasses, and come to think of it, there was not a time when the Clark family had ever seen Robin without them. Augustine had a feeling that Robin’s eyes were exotic. “I know that school is back in session, and you must be happy to learn, but you are very special, Miss Augustine.” Augustine saw that Robin’s luggage was neatly placed toward the end of the garden; she counted ten pieces of luggage.
Augustine did not even know where Robin had lived, and she had always wondered. Why was Robin’s luggage in the garden? “You know, the fall season is the key to making all of the gardens so grand and lovely in Kingston,” said Robin.
Augustine was willing to help Robin with what she was trying to do. “I am sure that your flight from England was tiring, and you want to rest?” The idea of seeing the luggage in the garden was intriguing to Augustine.
“Rest is the last thing I want to do now, Miss Augustine; and I am already home.” Robin pointed to the right, prompting Augustine to frown in confusion, as Robin touched up the flower bed.
Augustine was old enough to know Robin was in her own world when it came to gardening, because she always whistled delightful tunes. As Augustine was going to ask her about the direction that she was pointing to, she stopped and saw that there was a mountain of giant trees in the distance; the most wonderful trees, not noticed before.
Robin stopped whistling and remained working on the flower bed. “It was meant for you now to know where I live, and what it all means, Miss Augustine.” Even more so for a child, Augustine Clark was astonished and mystified at what Robin Croft had said to her. Her eyes were completely fixed on the trees, and she wondered with a powerful and overwhelmingly unknown mystery that was being shown to her. Robin moved from the flower bed to the pink rose bush, still whistling happy and calming tunes. She felt it best to let Augustine be taken and mesmerized, while Augustine remained speechless, and thought it best not to question Robin for the moment.
The wind increased, and a cold but friendly and refreshing sensation ran down Augustine from top to bottom. Finally, she moved from where she stood, where her feet were almost planted from not moving, eventually leaving Robin to her craft or talent—or a simple passion for gardening. Did Kirk and Phyllis know that she had returned from England, and did it really matter? Augustine was astonished and slightly fearful of the unknown, but why? She walked down to the beach and then up to the winding steps that were beautifully made and a captivating gray and black color.
The steps were steep, but what could that matter to a ten-year-old girl? When Augustine reached the final step, the giant trees that she noticed from her house swayed in the wind. Inside was a silhouette that resembled a jigsaw puzzle that could have formed letters or a message or some sort. She could not believe what she was seeing. The trees no longer swayed over her, giving her time and freedom to open a wood door that was the same color as the steps. The trees knew that Augustine knew that she was not afraid of them, and they looked like the giants of giant trees; they started to sway again, but she was determined to open the door. When she opened the door, she discovered a wonderful and huge garden that was totally dilapidated but gracious at the same time.
“This is where Robin lives?” Augustine asked herself, looking at the garden with a slight disappointment of a garden that once was, or could certainly be.
She stepped past the door, and the door closed instantly and quietly when she moved. The black and gray walkway was covered in a variety of vibrant roses and flowers. Augustine’s impression of the garden simmered down and brightened up when she caught the scent of lavender, and she looked around to see from which part of the garden the scent had originated, but she could not decipher it. A bed of Petunias and Salvias were happily united; a thought occurred to her that the colors were somehow in order. Sunflowers even had their very own territory, but did not discriminate against the types of flowers and roses.
However, they took pride in their height and were overshadowed by the giant trees with the shapes of jigsaw puzzles when Augustine headed towards the garden.
“Where on earth is Ms. Croft’s house?” After she asked herself that question, the garden became broader than she anticipated. The garden had the capacity to create any sound that it chose. It felt like the right moment to add a melodic tune or singing. Instead of worrying about where Robin’s house was located, she remembered a tune Robin had hummed at the beginning of the year. As she looked up and around the garden, she stepped on an acorn, and saw that there was a squirrel on the top of a black and gray dollhouse that totally surprised Augustine. The squirrel stared at her with a look that she was expected and accepted in the garden.
“I do apologize for stepping on your acorn; I do not want to take your food away from you,” she said to the squirrel. In the main doorway of the dollhouse, there were multiple acorns neatly piled up. Robin must have made the dollhouse, and the garden was more than ready to be redeemed.
The squirrel remained staring at Augustine with comfort, and she pulled out an acorn and gave it to the squirrel. The squirrel ate the acorn while continuing to stare at Augustine. “Believe it or not, I have always wanted to eat an acorn, but I know that it would ruin my teeth, would it not?” She hoped that the squirrel believed her, because when she was younger, she was curious about eating foods for animals, especially when she was in England in the country home of friends of her parents.
Would an acorn actually be hard on the teeth? Augustine was not that curious! The squirrel departed from Augustine in utter appreciation for the acorn and the friendship. There had to have been many other squirrels in the garden, perhaps waiting to make their introduction as well. Her mind was filled with questions—questions about the garden, Robin Croft and where she lived, the dollhouse. Robin was indeed a good person, and Augustine liked her very much, of course, but there was no doubt that this was a mystery. The garden looked like a long valley, an endless valley that was still and peaceful, unmoving.
It seemed as if there was nothing else for Augustine to do except walk through the garden, introduce herself, and allow the garden to introduce itself to her. The landscapes were green, and a part of it was almost gold and shining with sunlight, putting Augustine into an imaginative state of fairy tales, coloring books, and music that she had read and listened to as a little girl. During her continued walk, she heard a sound that sounded like water; she stopped and listened carefully, and looked around for the squirrel and a friend, or so she hoped. The sound did not make her uneasy or afraid, but a feeling of loneliness came over her at missing the squirrel. The sound did not end as she walked along the garden; in the distance on the right of her, with more green and plush landscapes, there were old antique benches, a stream, and a large pond with a complete garden well tended.
Augustine was again frozen where she stood and confused over the contrast between where she stood and what was immaculate and wonderful. “My heavens, you are completely groomed and perfect!” This other side of the garden had many colorful flowers and roses, plants that revealed the true meaning and feeling of fall. The sound of the stream captivated her and made her thirsty; she noticed a table in front of one of the benches that had drinking cups on a serving tray. She had never drunk water from a stream before, and she had always wanted to; this was finally her chance to.
Did Robin place the cups there, or someone else? After all, she did live there, but where? Augustine had to get over the myriad of questions that she was letting try to put fear and speculation, flooding her mind. The sun appeared directly over the garden, providing a summer-like feeling that would remind Kingston of August, and she was reasonably thirsty. Putting aside all of the doubts and all other nonsense, she took a cup and walked over to the stream and filled the cup. Whenever Augustine drank cold water, she closed her eyes, picturing a waterfall, or streams that were so captivating to her that when she saw one it made her thirsty each and every time.
“This is absolutely delicious and soothing, like it was meant for me to drink it!” She filled the cup up to the brim and drank more water from the stream.
The sun moved away from the garden, and as Augustine enjoyed drinking the water, the stream had a sound and a look of appreciation and applause—an appreciation that she had given the water a chance—but of course, Robin Croft, too, had drunk the stream water. Next to the stream, there was a pond, with blue and green colors letting it be known that they were the dominant and only colors to exist in the pond. “Thank you, pond, for allowing me to taste and love what you have to offer; I know that I should not drink too much as of now, and you are plentiful.”
Augustine stood over the pond looking into it, and trying to see past it or underneath it; she imagined that the pond had a world of its own. The pond was filled with fish, small ones and some that were larger, such as catfish. The fish noticed that she was staring at them, but they were not bothered by her presence. The pond water turned darker than the blue and green colors, but vibrant and welcoming. The water of the pond became still and there were footsteps; Augustine could not tell where the footsteps were coming from. She looked at the pond water and its stillness, and the blue and green colors reappeared; the water remained still.
Augustine was caught between watching the pond water and trying to see who was in the garden. The pond water glided while the footsteps increased; she was not afraid of the unseen person, but goodness gracious, the garden was large and spacious. Augustine was glad and felt somewhat safe being at the pond and watching the colors change. If the footsteps would reveal the identity of the person, it would end the unsettling feeling of the footsteps.
The pond water stopped moving again, but did not change from the blue and green colors.
“Hello, Ms. Clark. You have finally come to make this garden a wonderful and magical place for my sister and me.” Mrs. Batiste stood next to Augustine over the pond, looking down at the pond, the water moving, and different fish from before had appeared. Augustine was shocked and slightly speechless; she did not immediately look up or turn to look at her teacher. The shock caused her eyes to remain on the pond water, but she knew better than to ignore people; could her teacher understand that she was astoundingly captivated in this newly discovered world? Yes, she understood.
“Mrs. Batiste, forgive me, it is just that this pond is very … I hope that I am not intruding by being here.” It did not even register in Augustine’s mind when Mrs. Batiste said that Robin Croft was her sister!
“Ms. Croft and I had hoped that you would finally come across this garden and help us with it, or you can do whatever you like.”
Augustine wondered if the pond and the fish were relieved that she had stopped standing over it and staring into their world, and would cease the need to try to hide in the impossible attempt of entering the depths of the pond. Thank Heaven!
Mrs Batiste continued, “And, no, my dear, this is no intrusion—certainly not an intrusion committed by you.” Mrs. Batiste stood in a way that echoed as if they were on a stage, and she was waiting for Augustine to take the next step that would usher her into something special that was meant for her and only her.
“Ms. Croft is your sister? I never knew that,” said Augustine, moving from in front of Mrs. Batiste to slightly face her, or to stand on the side of her.
“Ms. Croft is my half-sister; we have the same father, and we have been talking for quite some time about you and this garden of ours.”
As a child, or a young girl, Augustine knew it was best that Mrs. Batiste did not elaborate any further on the two women’s relationship. She wanted to hear more about the garden, and Mrs. Batiste was glad to oblige.
“But I don’t understand. Why me? I am happy about this garden, and I love being here. Can you please help me understand, Mrs. Batiste?” Yes, Augustine did enjoy a mystery and the details that lurked in the shadows. Trying to make sense of these two women and their ultimate request and wish for a girl to take on a garden. Not just any girl in Kingston, but Augustine Mae Clark specifically to do this—but why?
“Ms. Clark,” the woman answered, “I have watched you for quite some time—at school when you are by yourself reading books, writing, and the way that you would look up at the sky and into another world with the answers you knew that it would provide. My sister and I have always loved gardens, but she is more hands-on than I am.”
Augustine noticed that Mrs. Batiste was somewhat dressed like Robin Croft, her sister, except that Mrs. Batiste had her hair down with a large, older-looking hat over it. Augustine liked the sunglasses that she was wearing—almost the same as Robin’s. Augustine watched Mrs. Batiste look around the garden, looking at every section, nodding her head with approval and happiness.
“How about we see more of the garden, or perhaps sit down?”
Where was there to sit? Augustine knew that she had no reason to be either apprehensive or uncomfortable around her teacher. Mrs. Batiste took Augustine by her hand and led her through the entire garden. The garden was filled with furniture, some not garden furniture; there was a bench for only two people to sit, and Mrs. Batiste led Augustine to it.
“This garden is larger and grander than I thought or imagined,” said Augustine. Every garden tool was strategically placed and looked brand new.
“This is your garden, my dear, and you can start anytime. You may not remember anything that has happened. Your little friend, the squirrel, will be with you, even when you wake up.” There was nothing Augustine could say, nor ask; she fell asleep on her teacher’s shoulders on the bench, and she slept peacefully for a good while. She awakened after a time feeling tired. When she awakened, Mrs. Batiste was nowhere in sight. Augustine was wearing gardening clothes, and the garden was complete. The squirrel, who was on the bench eating an acorn, looked at her, and left.
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Richard Eddie reads and collects books, and has a passion for writing. Her favorite authors are Daphne Du Maurier, Kate Morton, and Victoria Christopher Murray and she lives in California.
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