I DIDN’T allow that thought to dwell in my mind as I continued the tour of that part of the estate grounds. Nature was at her fantastic best, and I looked in amazement at the orchards of mango, cashew pear, soursop, French cashew and cherry.
“Gosh!” I exclaimed, not sure how much more amazed I could be.
From the many books I had read since I was a young girl—always fascinated with princes, mansions and beautiful gardens—I had never dreamt, the simple country girl I was, that I would be swept off my feet by a charming rich man to live in this splendid place.
And here I was!

I still hadn’t toured the entire flower garden, having had to put that on hold for a short period as I focused on registering my son and daughter at a new school. I also had to find new shopping centres, markets, plant shops and a beauty salon.
As the days and weeks went by, family and friends came by on visits, and my husband and I began entertaining on special occasions. On his birthday, he had a cocktail party on the lawn, and one middle-aged woman, an ex-office assistant, said to me, “You have brought life back to the place.”
I smiled warmly, for life there was, in a wonderful way—different—and in my journal there was always something interesting to write about.
Then came the mystery!
One morning, after washing my hair, I let it dry naturally in the wind as I walked in the garden.
The old gardener woman, who did not speak much, said to me in broken English, “She had long hair tuh.”
I looked at her a bit perplexed and asked, “Who?”
She hesitated a little, then answered with a smile, her eyes twinkling, “De ole missus.”
I made to say something but didn’t bother, for like the male gardener, it was her memory of the past.
I just smiled a little and continued my walk, but stopped when I heard her say quietly, “She still deh hay.”
I turned, but the old lady had already gone back to her work.
“This is getting weirder,” I said to myself. “Now I guess I have to look out for a ghost.”
I wasn’t too thrilled about that, not sure I wanted any encounter with a ghost from the long-gone past.
“Could the false statement I made to scare my mother-in-law come back to haunt me?”
I took a deep breath to shake that off my mind and entered a secluded part of the garden I hadn’t explored yet.
It was over a long, narrow waterway with exotic lilies growing on the banks. Over the concrete bridge was an intricately designed arch with white and orange bougainvillaea growing from both sides, intertwined in a fusion of colours.
I walked down a paved path where, on one side, were large relic pots with crotons and hibiscus plants, and on the other side were psidium, carambola and guava trees. In the middle of that little garden was a huge flamboyant tree, and close to the fence was a yellow poui tree.
The small garden, it seemed, was a private place where the fruit and flower trees cast shade but let in a little light. The peacefulness and serenity were hushed wonders of nature, and I voiced quietly, “Someone created a little paradise here.”
And the old gardener’s words came back to me.
“She still dey hay.”
My eyes searched every inch of the ground, but there was nothing to indicate someone had been laid to rest there.
I smiled wryly and shook my head. “Crazy of me to think that way.”
As I made to leave, a sudden gust of wind blew up my hair and dress, and as I straightened myself, I saw a tiny glint of something near the carambola tree. I did not feel the need to leave anymore, for my eyes were drawn to the glinting object, and on closer look, I saw it was a gold cross embedded in the ground.
A slight shiver ran through my body, and I whispered quietly, “Does this mean…?”
I left the thought unfinished.
In bed that night, I couldn’t sleep, wondering about that private garden, wondering about what I saw. My husband was in blissful sleep after a busy day, and I stepped out onto the patio, looking across the grounds to the garden.
“What happened here over a century ago?” I asked silently.
“What was their story?”
The next day, I did some research on the house’s previous occupants when the sugar estate was a hub of sugar production, but I could not find enough information, so I summoned both of the old gardeners.
“You told me you had worked here from a young boy during colonial times.”
“Yes, missus.”
“Were you here still with the last colonial master and mistress?”
“Yes, missus.”
“And when they left…?” I left the question hanging.
A look of sadness glinted in his eyes, and he said in a low tone, “De missus never go back to England wid de master.”
“What happened to her?”
“She fell sick,” he said, the sadness deepening in his eyes. “Nothin’ doctors hay coulda do tuh save her, and by de time the doctor from England reach, it was too late.”
“What happened after that?”
The gardener said nothing for a short while, but the old lady, who had been silent, spoke up. “He buried she hay,” she spread her arms to indicate the entire grounds.
“All dis was she idea, so he said she mus be here foreva.”
Those words impacted me so deeply that they left me a bit stunned.
“He didn’t wan tuh leave,” the male gardener said, “but he had tuh, and asked us tuh continue working hay suh she could have company.”
Going back in that time, in my mind, it was kind of heartbreaking.
“But is a good thing yuh come hay now.”
“Why?”
“Because yuh just like she,” said the male gardener.
“And yuh bring light in dis place,” the old lady stated.
Somehow, a warm feeling entered my being, and I smiled, happy to be a new feature in this century-old story.
The two gardeners and I cleaned her resting place that had been hidden from others, the golden cross now casting a luminous glow in the night.
That night, standing on the patio and looking across the garden to where she lay, I said silently, “Once upon a time, you stood here and slept in this room—a woman from a different era. Now, I’m here, the new mistress, but the place will remain your forever home.”
Two women of different ethnicities.
The past and the present.
One home.