Free Silver Wedding by Maeve Binchy

part of their world. And safe. Safe from everything else.
    Like everything Helen had touched, the building of the garden had its highs and lows. Helen found three boys who said they were anxious to help the Sisters in their great work building a refuge and they'd be happy to join in with a bit of the heavy work. They brought spades and shovels and Sister Joan said it was beyond the mind's understanding how much tea they wanted, how they couldn't have this butter on their bread, or marge, it had to be a particular spread. And they wondered was there a little something going at lunch time. Sister Joan said nervously that the nuns all had their meal in the evening, but fearing that the volunteer workforce would abandon everything, she ran out and bought provisions.
    After three days Sister Brigid thanked them and said that there could be no further imposition on their kindness.
    The lads had begun to enjoy the good food and over-powering gratitude of the nuns and didn't really want to leave at all.
    They left the place in a possibly greater mess; earth had been turned over certainly, but no pattern or plan had emerged.
    But Helen soldiered on, she dug until she had blisters, she spent her scant off-time in bookshops reading the sections of gardening books that concentrated on 'Starting Out'.
    She learned the differences between one kind of soil and another.
    She told the Sisters amazing things each evening about the sexuality of growing things.
    'They never told us a word about this at school,' she said indignantly. 'It's the kind of thing you should know, about everything being male and female even in the garden, for heaven's sake, and going mad to propagate.'
    'Let's hope it all does propagate after your hard work,' Brigid said. 'You really are great, Helen, I don't know where you find the energy.'
    Helen flushed with pleasure. And she was able to remember those words of praise too a little later when the problem of the bedding plants came up. The nice woman who said she really admired the Sisters even though she wasn't a Roman Catholic herself and disagreed with the Pope about everything, brought them some lovely plants as a gift. Red-faced with exertion from planting them, Helen assured the others that evening they were very very lucky. It would have cost a fortune if they had to buy all these, nobody knew how expensive things were in garden centres.
    She had barely finished talking when the news came that the plants had all been dug up from a park and a nearby hotel. The repercussions were endless. The explanations from every side seemed unsatisfactory. Helen said she had to protect her sources and wouldn't give them the name of the benefactor. But in mid conversation she mentioned to the young policewoman that Mrs Harris couldn't possibly have taken them deliberately, she wasn't that kind of person, and that was enough for the two constables to identify exactly who she was talking about. Mrs Harris had been in trouble before. A latter-day Robin Hood was how she was known down at the station, taking clothes from one washing-line, ironing them and presenting them as gifts to another home.
    Only Helen could have got herself involved with Mrs Harris, the other nuns sighed. Only Helen could have got them all involved, was Brigid's view, but she didn't say anything at the time.
    Helen realized that the garden couldn't be considered her full-time work. And even when she had reassured the Community that she was taking on no further assistance from gargantuan eaters of meals or compulsive plant thieves she felt she should take on more than just a horticultural role. She was determined to play her part as fully as possible. She said she would do half the skivvy work, leaving Sister Joan or Sister Maureen free for a half day to do something else.
    It worked. Or it sort of worked.
    They all got used to the fact that Helen might not have scrubbed the table or taken in their washing when it started to rain. They knew that she would never