Hyacinths With my Last Penny
The
birch trees came first, three sisters planted with trepidation in the poor
ground left by the contractors. Of
the petite variety that would not obscure a view, they were permanent residents
around which the rest of the garden was to be built.
They also marked the head of the grave.
Alyssum
came next, small, round seeds sprinkled over ground worked with compost.
Watered and warm, it would care for itself, growing low and keeping weeds
at bay with it's round clusters of white flowers.
Purple here and there, but the white grew best and red and yellow grew
not at all, they formed a colored flag announcing the formation of a small,
sovereign state.
In
time more plants went in, each bought with small moneys earned in small pieces.
Pansies in bunches, looking up at her with their cat-like faces, Johnny
jump-ups in their colorful uniforms, and marigolds, not for their beauty, but
because their smell was said to keep pests from the gravesite. And later came a
path, each border rock collected and every bag of white gravel carried by the
planter. She enforced it with a
lavender hedge, which was to yield up purple and green stalks to be woven with
ribbon for gifts and to sell, money going back into the garden.
Finally,
when the season came about, she found bulbs at her doorstep, carefully shipped
from catalogs in their colorful cardboard containers.
Tulips and lilies in the back because they grew higher, daffodils in the
wet area where the hose dripped, crocus to bloom early, feathery narcissus, and
hyacinths paid for by cashing in the last of the penny rolls.
These last flowers went in around the little stone marker.
Hyacinths for the soul.
The
planter herself knelt on earth-worn jeans, a broad hat protecting the exposed
skin of her neck and ears, patchwork gardening gloves on her hands.
She was contemplating an herb patch in the early morning light.
Maybe
something with pattern borders, like the ones in my gardening books.
Or a wild planting, like Jess plants in her front yard.
She
tried to ignore the two voices that came chattering up the path.
The chatters were in the back house, not out here in her garden, but the
voices carried. It was her mother,
in on a visit from down south and her young daughter, as excited as the
mockingbird that scolded her from the birch trees.
They were talking about make-up and nylon stockings and an impending
reunion down at the grandparent's house that they would make the trip for.
They
would all take the children together to an amusement park and let them run until
they flopped into the deep, oblivious sleep of exhaustion.
Then the grown-ups could talk and play cards at the kitchen table,
companionship made tolerable by the distance between their lives.
She used to be too close to her parents before she knew what kind of man
her stepfather could be. The others
didn't know, but if they did it wouldn't make any difference to their mother, so
she shut her mouth and made sure that she didn't stay up later than her
siblings. In time her mother would
have to make her own decisions.
Thyme,
she paused. I could take the
extra herbs and sell them in bundles at the fair.
Maybe use the money to plant some dwarf fruit trees.
Pear crisp… that makes me hungry.
"Yes!"
Funny how that little bit of a lisp returned whenever she was around her
grandparents. "Grandma said that I'm going to go see them on the
airplane. Grandma said we’re
gonna live with them!"
"We
will go see them, and all your cousins too, and then we'll come back here,"
her mother reassured her. "Not
today, but soon."
"But
Grandma said!"
"I
know, sweetheart."
"But
I like living with Grandma and Grandpa!" Tears threatened on the horizon.
"Honey,
I know. But here we have a yard and a house to live in.
And who would take care of Angie if you're not here?"
The
little girl perked-up. "Oh! It's
time to give Angie her medicine!"
As
if on cue, the woman who lived in the larger of the two houses poked her head
out of the kitchen door and called, "Where is my assistant?
Who's going to help me give Angie her medicine?"
As
the child loped excitedly towards the house the gardener waved.
Thanks, I owe you a rescue! Angie
was one of the owner’s two dogs, in need of tender care in her last days.
The little girl was a natural with her soothing hands and gentle voice,
and the dog would lay with her head in the child's lap, gazing up with cloudy
eyes.
The
younger dog spent the rest of the day running after clumsily thrown rubber balls
and chew toys or playing gentle games of tug-o-war on the grass.
Dog moped every moment that child went off to school, child fell into bed
early every night. It was a good
arrangement. Big dogs and green
grass, what every child needs to grow.
These
quite thought were interrupted as the planter's mother strolled down the path,
her black-rubber flip-flops tossing white gravel in her wake.
A fresh Salem Menthol
The
voice of blame. The planter paused to pinch some dead flowers off of a clump
of pansies. "There's nothing
wrong with that dog except old age. Besides,
it's good for her to learn to take care of other living things.
She's a very caring child. I
thought the make-up was a nice touch, by the way."
"I'll
leave some on the dresser, “I ordered a kit from the Shopping Channel and they
sent way too much.”
"That's
OK, it doesn't go well over my sun block. Pull-up
one of those plastic chairs from the patio, you’ll hurt your feet."
The
chair came. "Listen,
Missy." Inhale. "I spent 20 years working on these feet."
Exhale. "I'm not so feeble as you think I am."
Four-o-clocks.
A border by the patio. Baby and I
can sit on the patio this summer and watch them open in the evenings.
Red, white, and yellow, like fireworks on the
Fourth of July. She took off
a glove and tested the soil with the tips of her fingers for moisture. Time
to water.
Better
let the baby do it. "She's really looking forward to flying down with all
the cousins. I think they'll run
themselves ragged."
"She
wants to come back. You're really
not thinking of her. You're being
very selfish."
"That's
because they had to go to where the work was."
"That
isn't being selfish?"
Cigarette
falls to the gravel and is stamped out. "They aren't single parents."
A
new weed had sprouted in the place reserved for lobelia.
Out it came. "Well, I
didn't have much choice in that."
"You
could have chosen better. What a
looser!"
Don't
let yourself get drawn in. "I came by it honestly." That’s done it!
"The
baby misses her grandfather and he misses her! You should think of somebody else
for once!"
"He
should treat you better!" Our
absence makes it harder on her.
"Your
father paid the bills and took care of us all when we were in trouble."
The
gardener fingered a tea rose set into a patch of oval cobblestones.
She had to be careful; it was so pretty she could miss the thorns until
she got stuck. "He's not my
father, he's your husband. And yes,
he's done a lot of good for people, but that doesn't give him the excuse....”
"I
don't want to hear it."
"He
treats you like farm labor!"
"Well,
I'm too old to get married again. But
it's not too late for you. Start
coloring your hair again, lose a few pounds."
Get
the goods in shape. "I hate it when you say that! It takes more than being
thin to get a husband. I love
living here. We have a house and a
yard for the baby to play in."
"You
rent the house and you share the yard with dogs! Your brother said that he'd
give you a job. You can work on the computer."
“I’d
be miserable in an office. Besides,
I’m not qualified.”
"He's
the vice president of the company. You
don't have to be qualified, for God's sake!
You wouldn't even have to set foot inside of the personnel office.
Be grateful when someone offers you something like that!"
Deep draw, smoke drifts out through gritted teeth.
The
planter looked down at her nails, chewed short over the last three days.
Oh, yes! That will
definitely endear me to my co-workers!
"I am grateful!" Self
control. "But I'm making
money and my landlord is an old friend."
There
was silence between them. They
could see dog and baby playing fetch on the lawn.
The little girl ran well now, her feet turning straight with the exercise
she couldn't get before. Her mother
noticed that she was developing a good throwing arm.
The dog bounded back, ears and legs flying out at all directions, sitting
obediently while the child got ready to throw again.
Her voice rang out over the garden, “Get it Sherry! Go get the ball! Bring
it! Good girl!
Sit!"
“Funny
how it sounds like gull when she says girl.”
"I
can't believe you did this." Nervous
ashes flutter to the ground.
"It
was time." She rubbed the dirt off her hands onto her jeans and slid the
gloves back on. "Let's not
fight on your last day. There are
some nice restaurants and the baby will really enjoy it." Her mother didn't get to eat out at home. Her
mother loved eating out.
"It's
a sickness, you know. He's not even
buried there." Another
cigarette.
I
should get another peat flat and start some more seedlings before it gets too
late to plant.
She smoothed over the soil. "He's
not buried anywhere."
"That's
what he wanted."
"He
was Irish Catholic." He
wanted a Mass. He wanted a wake. He wanted his family there.
She looked up at the three sisters.
He wanted someone to place flowers on his grave.
Another
long draw.
"How would you know? You
were too young to remember." Smoke
drifts away.
I
won't let you ruin this for me. She used to think that her mother did it on purpose, but then
she learned to stop hinging her life on her mother's problem.
But this garden, this whole move, was something entirely for her,
something her mother wasn't used to.
"I
did the best I could."
"I
know you did." Put yourself
in her place. Widowed penniless,
children to raise. "No one
blames you for anything."
"Some
people live in the past. Not
me!" Another Salem came out, leaving the pack empty.
"I choose to live in the future!"
"You
can go wherever you want now. You
don't have to stay there."
"He
just hasn't been the same since you left. He
misses the baby so much."
"I
couldn't let her grow up thinking that it was OK to be treated that way."
"I
can't leave him. Who will take care of him?"
"Who
took care of him before you did?"
"I
don't want to talk about it any more."
The
planter stood up and dusted herself off. Let
it go. You can't make her.
“Anytime you want to move up here, you know you're welcome.”
“I
know.”
“You're
out of cigarettes. Thank you for not smoking in the house, by the way.”
"Did
I tell you I’m down to two a week? Her
legs are straightening out nicely."
“It's
all the running. I just give her some allergy medicine and turn her
loose."
“Watching
all that exercise makes me hungry. Let's
get cleaned-up and go out to eat. The
baby will enjoy it.”
They
walked back up the path together, the gardener carrying her mother's chair.
"Call the baby so we can get some clean clothes on her.”
"OK.
I'm glad you could come."
END
"Hyacinths With My Last Penny"
by NC Anderson © 1998
I'm Writer6608 and you may contact me @aol.com
© 2000 NC Anderson