As I kneeled in the east garden, surrounded by the vibrant flowers and lush greenery I’d tended for decades, Margaret rushed over with a worried look on her face. “Arthur, Mr. Stuart is coming home today. He’s taking over everything.” I nodded, my mind racing with thoughts of the estate’s new owner and the potential changes that might come.
The estate, where I’d worked tirelessly for years, held a special place in my heart. I’d watched the seasons change, pruning and planting alongside the late Mr. Jared, who had become more than just my employer – he was my friend. We’d share stories, laughter, and silence in the small garden behind the main house, where the climbing roses and stubborn weeds seemed to thrive under our care.
My 14-year-old grandson, Eli, joined me in the garden, and together we worked in comfortable silence until Stuart arrived. His presence was a stark contrast to his father’s warmth and kindness. Stuart was arrogant and entitled, and his criticism of my work was biting. Despite my best efforts, I couldn’t shake the feeling that my time at the estate was limited.
As the months passed, Stuart’s behavior became increasingly erratic. He’d host lavish parties, and his friends would recklessly damage the gardens. The once-peaceful estate had become a playground for the wealthy and careless. One fateful morning, Stuart stormed toward me, furious about a scratched car. His anger was misdirected, and he fired me on the spot.
With a heavy heart, I removed my uniform and walked to the garden I’d shared with Mr. Jared. As I kneeled to clear away weeds, I noticed a patch of disturbed soil. Digging deeper, I uncovered a small wooden chest, sealed with a simple latch. Inside, I found bundles of cash, gold bars, and a heartfelt note from Mr. Jared. Tears streamed down my face as I realized that, even in death, my friend had looked out for me and my grandson.
The discovery was a turning point. I left the estate, started a new job at the local high school, and secured Eli’s future with the inheritance. As we built a new life, news of Stuart’s downfall reached us – a consequence of his own actions. I felt no satisfaction in his misfortune, only a sense of closure.
Years passed, and Eli grew into a bright and compassionate young man. One evening, as we strolled through the park, he asked about the mysterious box. I smiled, knowing that the time was not yet right to share the story. “When you’ve built a strong foundation,” I said, “and you won’t let it change who you are.” As we continued our walk, I reflected on the seeds we plant, both in soil and in souls, and how they can grow and flourish long after we’re gone.
