Some come here to view this garden's spectacularly beautiful roses; but most come because of her, in the hopes that they will feel her presence. Some visitors to the garden comment about the garden's unusual fragrance. The sweet floral scent of the roses is always a delight to the visitor's senses; but here there is a fragrance which usually overpowers the natural scent of the roses. It is the strong aromatic scent of a woman's perfume. The aroma is strong and distinct and is not produced by any flower that blooms in this garden. This perfume has a sensual flavor and it tends to remind one of the Orient. The oriental nature of this perfume has been the basis for one of the legends concerning her.

It is said that an American Soldier was stationed in Japan for the occupation following World War II. While he was stationed there, he met and fell madly in love with a young Japanese woman, and she happened to return his love. They were married in a secret ceremony and the soldier brought his new wife back to America with him to meet his family. His family was shocked to learn that their son had taken a Japanese bride and did not take kindly to the young woman. They refused to recognize the marriage and threatened to disinherit the young man. His family insisted that he must choose either his inheritance or his new bride. Since the young man came from a wealthy family he had much to lose and ended up choosing his inheritance over his young bride.

Finding herself alone and abandoned, a foreigner in a strange land, she felt frightened and devastated. She ran to the garden and in a moment of despair, she clipped one of the roses. Using one of the huge, razor sharp thorns she slit both of her wrists, taking her own life. This concludes one of the legends concerning her possible identity.

A few fortunate visitors to the garden have been able to take their experience a step further. A few have had the unique privilege of hearing her sing, though her song does not include any audible recognizable words. The song is more of a humming actually, and a few skeptics have ventured to say that the sound is not that of a woman's voice but merely the sound of the wind.

Those who have heard the strange but beautiful sound say that there is a mournful quality to the distinctly feminine humming. The soft, soprano tone sounds as if it is humming some sort of lullaby. One is transfixed, almost mesmerized by the beauty of her voice. This strange sad song is the source of the other legend concerning her.

It is said that a beautiful young woman with the voice of an angel would walk these garden paths cradling her tiny infant in her arms. She would sing him sweet lullabies as she walked among the fragrant roses. The baby which had been somewhat frail from birth became gravely ill and died. The woman buried her tiny babe in this garden beneath the rose bushes. The despondent young mother still walks these paths singing comforting lullabies to her child who sleeps beneath the roses.

These are the two most popular legends concerning the ghost who haunts these lovely gardens. But the ghost is neither of these fascinating young women. Should I tell the visitors what I know? Should I reveal the true identity of the lonely spirit who walks these garden paths? I know the answer and could solve this mystery easily once and for all.

My great grandparents used to live in the house on the hill, the house where I now live. My great grandfather first planted this garden. He had a love for plants and flowers and a green thumb as well. Fortunately, I inherited his way with all things green and growing. My great grandfather had spent many of his waking hours working here in this garden.

Then one day he went out to work in the garden and never came back. It was as if he had simply disappeared. My grandmother waited for him to return day after day. The days turned into months, and the months into years. She had been forty when he had disappeared and still had much of her life ahead of her. She finally remarried, and people thought she had given up on ever seeing my grandfather again.
Though she called another man husband, she never stopped yearning for the love of her life. She never stopped hoping that one day he would return to her. Every day she would walk these garden paths searching for an answer to the mystery, searching for a way to heal her wounded heart.

It is indeed my great grandmother who hums that soft, sad tune the visitors have heard. But it is not a lullaby they hear. The song she hums is actually an old Irish tune which my great grandfather had always sung.

My grandmother died without ever knowing what happened to my grandfather. She never received the closure she had so desperately needed. And so she walks these paths even now, hoping for some sign from her long lost beloved.

My grandmother has nothing to do with the exotic oriental fragrance that lingers in the garden. I must admit that I am the one responsible for that. It is simply the fragrance of the perfume that I always wear; and I happen to be the caretaker of this garden. Hence, a very simple and quite unspectacular explanation for the exotic fragrance the visitors constantly comment on. I much prefer the rumor I started many years ago about the ill fated young bride from Japan.

Should I tell them about my great grandmother? Should I reveal the true identity of the spirit who haunts this beautiful place? Should I put an end to this fascinating mystery...? I think not.