Chapter Text
Marty squints up at the new day’s sun rising through the brash of the trees, his face heating up in the sweet rays. It was another fine day for his job as the senior gardener at Johnston Gardens-- or the ‘prettiest damned place in the whole of Louisiana,’ in his words. A six acre privately owned garden, filled with herbaceous borders, a stream garden, formal bedding, kitchen garden, and lush lawns. Marty had been working there for over twenty years now; he was part of the garden, a living shrub. Over time he'd brought the garden to life, he'd planted out most of the borders himself and he'd treated tender plants as if they were his own children. He'd raised various cuttings and seedlings to maturity. He'd taken such good care of the main lawn that it was almost like lush green carpet. He'd stood and admired the view from the top of the Stream Garden so many times that he'd left imprints of his boots as if that would be where he'd take root. He adored the place, it was not unusual to find him there, either tinkering away in the glasshouse or strolling around the place on his days off.
Today was to be a little different for him, somewhat of a challenge. Today was the first day for his new student who was to work with him every day for the next 12 months. It was safe to say that Marty wasn’t best pleased when head gardener, Maggie, delivered the news.
“We‘re trying something a little different… you‘re to take care, teach, and work with Rustin Cohle for the next year.”
“Who the hell is Rustin?”
“Your new student.”
“Oh. You mean my new shadow. Great.”
“He’s spent time working in the UK and in Japan, he has a degree, he’s an intelligent guy, and you should be happy to have him as your student.” She brought her mug of coffee to her lips and with a smirk playing on her lips she added, “Who knows, maybe you’ll be the one learning from him?”
So this morning he would be meeting this Rust character and all Marty was praying for was that he was just a normal guy who he’d be able to get on with. Surely that wasn’t much to ask?
He was always the first to arrive of the garden team so his eyebrows rose briefly in surprise as he spotted a tall, slim figure standing outside of the staff room, which resembled more of an old shed than anything else. As he approached, Marty looked the stranger up and down, trying to suss him out. He was dressed smart enough as a gardener can be; dark work pants, steel toe capped boots, a branded button up shirt with the sleeves rolled up past his elbows. He looked to be around 30 years old, long nosed with high cheekbones; which oddly Marty felt a whisper of an urge to run his thumb across them before letting it dip into the hollow of his cheeks. Their eyes met, blue on blue, Marty feeling a small tinge of heat rise up his neck which he tells himself is simply the morning sun.
Marty clears his throat and holds out a hand. “You, uh, you must be Rustin?”
Rust pauses a second, his lashes falling to blink slowly before shaking his outstretched hand. “That’s right. Call me Rust.”
Marty notes how the s’s seem to whistle as sweet as a birds from his mouth as he lets go of his hand. “Well, I’m Marty Hart, senior gardener here. I hope you’re not afraid of hard work ‘cause you’re gunna be working with me everyday from now on.”
“I wouldn’t be here otherwise.”
Marty gives one brief nod and exhales through his nose. “Good. Then let me give you the tour of the place.”
Rust follows him as they walk across the courtyard, clutching a large ledger under one arm. They enter a passage in a crisply cut yew hedge and Rust’s eyes widened when the site of so many colors and textures greet him. Marty stops next to one of the wide borders and Rust couldn’t take his eyes off of a flowering deep purple clematis, just over Marty’s shoulder, which was entwined throughout the back of the border and up onto the boundaries of the hedges.
“As you can see, these are the main herbaceous borders, themed after the classic English cottage garden with overflowing borders. You’d know a lot about that I guess with your travelling background?”
“Mm,” Rust replies, his eyes still taking in the many stems of the clematis. “This has gotta be based on the works of Gertrude Jekyll. I studied a lot about her in England.”
“Right. Well, let‘s carry on, next stop is the stream garden.”
Marty heads towards a door in an old wall at the end of a long lawn between the borders. Rust follows, the other man eyeing him as they walk.
“You planning on knocking on some doors later?” He points his chin to the ledger in Rust’s arms. “Collect some tax or somethin’?”
“I like to document the things I see and do. I draw, take notes. Sometimes it’s just nice to preserve and capture a beautiful moment.” He brings his eyes up to meet Marty‘s. “Then it’s right here in these pages forever.”
Marty shrugs. “As long as you get the work done, you can draw whatever the fuck you like.”
They enter through the aged, wooden door, shoots of ivy climbing up the doorway. Rust could almost see them slithering upwards like leafy snakes. He tells himself to ignore their soft hisses toward him as he passes.
On the other side of the door was a wide expanse of pure art. Everything was set on a slight decline down from where they stood, making the viewpoint purposefully breathtaking once you step through the door. There were borders full of bog-loving plants alongside a running stream which was full of the giant foliage of Skunk Cabbages; their waxy, green leaves shining in the sunlight. The boundaries of the area were lined with huge specimens of the Cedar of Lebanon, apart from in the centre ahead of them, where no trees had been planted to create a vista to the farmer's fields beyond. The trees remind Rust of the bonsais that he used to keep, it was as if he'd transported back to Japan and shrunk down to a size of a mouse. He blinks hard to clear the vision and focus on the rest of the garden. A few magnolias, past their flowering season but nonetheless impressive with their abnormal shaped fruits and large canopy of egg-shaped leaves, were dotted around either side of the stream. The sweet smell of the hundreds of yellow giant cowslips fills their nostrils; as they both inhale deeply there was almost a feel of euphoria rushing through them.
'Just like honey,' Rust thinks, his eyes closed as he breathes in once more. When he opens his eyes, he catches the sight of what look like glistening diamonds in the middle of the stream; a mini waterfall, as he focuses on the sound of the water gently flowing it instantly relaxes him.
Marty watches Rust's mesmerised face, taking it all in, the wind catching his curly mop of brown on his head and giving the impression of gentle waves on a beach. "As I said before, this is the stream garden. We'll be working in here later this week you and that ledger will be pleased to know."
Rust just blinks out into the vista for a few moments before replying, "Me and the ledger are looking forward to it."
Marty led him round the rest of the areas of the garden; the alpine garden, with distinguishing huge rocks, various succulents, and colourful Angel's Fishing Rods. The woodland garden, where dozens of species of ferns engulfed you. The kitchen garden, full of rows of vegetables and neatly trimmed fruits surrounded by espaliers. The formal bedding, sitting colourful in front of the manor and lined with topiary. Then finally towards the glasshouse which was situated the other side of the main lawn.
"Now this here is my pride and joy," Marty states, proudly, as they make their way across the finely cut grass. "It takes hell of a lot of work to keep a lawn looking this pristine."
"I've used all different kinds of mowers so I should be good dealing with a lawn this size."
Rust barely finishes his sentence when Marty stops dead in his tracks. He lets out a short, sharp laugh. "You won't be mowing this lawn. This is my lawn. Don't you worry your pretty young head about this lawn." He began walking once more. "Understood, Rust?"
A fire seems to light behind Rust's eyes as he looks at Marty, the corners of his mouth on the brink of a smile, "Absolutely, Marty."
Marty can't help but enjoy hearing his name coming from his new student's mouth. His thoughts switched from 'well fuck me this is new' to 'this is nothing' in a second. He makes a mental note to make sure he drinks an extra strong coffee at break, and an extra helping of whiskey at night.