Chapter Twenty-Nine
“Oleanders,” Florence commented brightly, leaning carefully against the door.
Alfred grinned at her reaction. He had bought the roses but cut the oleanders from Mrs. Poplar’s garden. He would be owing his proprietor several dozen bushes by the end of the summer.
“It’s the last day of June, so I thought it appropriate to send it off with a love story.”
She blushed and stepped aside to let him into the house. Aunt Katherine entered from the kitchen with a warm expression, wiping her hands on a dirty apron that was wrapped about her waist. “Good afternoon, Mr. Ridgeway. A pleasure to see you again.”
“You as well, Ms. Goldman.
“I’ll be tending to the garden,” she informed Florence.
Florence nodded and watched her aunt move through the house toward the backdoor. When
