Bishop's Road (27 page)

Eve extends her hand in greeting. “I will show you where the flowers are. This is my first earthly garden and I am afraid I have taken too much a liking to it. I can't seem to leave. It's all right to come out. The children are fine. They are dreaming now. Just over here there is lily of the valley. You could miss it, tucked away as it is, and never know where the perfume is coming from.” Joanie can't help herself. She goes to Eve and follows her to the juniper to see, there, underneath, it's ice and snow now but soon the leaves will appear and then the pure white flowers, so tiny you have to marvel that they can make such perfume. Lily of the valley. And Eve points to the place where the scilla grows brilliant blue against the May snow. Crocuses. And here it looks like dead grass but wait awhile. The most incredible flowers. Cheddar pinks. And you get down on your hands and knees. Push your face as close as you can for surely that scent is God's breath.

“My husband will hire a landscape architect to make it over. He likes things to be just so when he brings people around. We give a lot of dinner parties during the summer and he will need to score points with his garden. There's no sense in telling me all this. I'm sure the flowers would be pretty but unless they are rare or exotic they won't be staying. My husband doesn't care for sweet things unless they make him look good. Like me. I make him look good. Obedient little wife,” and immediately regrets her words. Regrets that she has so hastily broken the rule and spoken ill of John. What if this woman were to tell him what she said? But Eve smiles a sad smile and Joanie knows she won't.

“Oh, you poor dear. You are so unhappy. But you must have my garden. It will do you all the good in the world. I don't think we can let John have his way. I must think about this. I'm not supposed to be here, you know. But I miss it so much. Usually this time of year I'm digging and moving things around in my mind. Do you have a sheet of paper? I could draw a little map for
you. And show you what I would do this year if you'd like me to. Did any of my seed catalogues arrive? Everyone left in such a hurry they probably didn't have time to cancel them. My, it is nice to have someone to talk to. I'd love a cup of tea if you're thinking of putting the kettle on.”

When she has exorcised her demons to her satisfaction Ruth goes around to visit Sarah and Peter. Finds they have been wondering about her. “You look rested,” says Sarah. “We were worried when you didn't answer the phone. Where did you go?”

“Hell,” says Ruth. “That must have been hell but I'm back now and everything is okay. I thought I'd take the children shop-ping. I have a sudden need for something green in my little womb. Can't say for sure but I think Eve came by last night and all I can think of is flowers. I haven't a clue how to grow one but they probably come with instructions.”

“Eve is dead. Are you saying you saw a ghost?”

“I didn't see anything. Just had a sense of her and woke up wanting to plant flowers. Are the children home?”

In their search for the perfect plant they run into Joe Snake because the seed lady called him to say the new stock has arrived and he should get some things started indoors now if they are going to be ready when the ground thaws. They talk awhile and end up going back to Ginny Mustard's house to look at Joe Snake's garden plans and Ruth decides that he has so much space they will work on it together. And though she's never had her hands in the earth she knows she needs to put them there. Joe Snake says he has to go get Harvey. He's been at the house on Bishop's Road for too long now and since Judy ran off he finds his home terribly lonely.

“We'll walk with you,” says Ruth and when they arrive, decides to go in as well. Joanie's children are at home and take Joseph and Eleanor to visit in their playroom while Joe Snake tries to convince Harvey to come away with him.

“I like what you did with the kitchen,” says Ruth. “If ever a place needed a once-over, it's this one.”

Dorrie is coming up the front steps just as they are going down. “Oh good,” she says. “This will save me some leg work. I'm opening my Barbie shop on Saturday afternoon and I want you to come, Ruth. Oh. And you too,” looking at Joanie. “I heard someone with a little girl is living here now so I brought you an invitation since you're new in town and it might be nice to meet some other mothers. There's sure to be lots of them there. Get your daughter to bring her favorite Barbie. We're going to dress up and have a fashion show.” Eleanor wants to go too and Ruth says, “Sure. Should be a blast.”

Joanie must decline. Her daughter is not allowed to have a Barbie doll which breaks her heart sometimes because she had one when she was young and wishes John would relent. But Beth looks so hopeful that Joanie says perhaps they will. Her daughter already knows how to keep secrets from her daddy. Michael is another story. So honest it hurts. Wanting so badly to please no matter the punishment. She'll talk to him. “Yes. Yes. We can go.”

Eleanor thinks it would be a really good idea if they all go together and Ruth says, “Why not? We'll come by and get you at two. How's that? And we might as well dress to the nines. I have a feeling it will be that kind of gathering.” Joanie looks at them with their bright scarves and mittens sharp against the grey, wet day and can just imagine what dressed to the nines means. Sees herself a lumpy turtle in her ugly suit and old brown boots, one of them falling a good three inches below the other so she's always pulling it up and seconds later it's drooping again. But being with Eve last night has given her a spark where there was
none and she surprises herself with a laugh. John won't be back until Sunday night.

When the day is over she tucks the children in and goes to the kitchen. Spreads Eve's garden plans all over the table. Wishes John hadn't thrown away the catalogues that came last month. Her parents had a garden, wild and rambling. A high fence to drown out the grumbling of the neighbours with their manicured lawns and well-paid groundskeepers. Joanie spent her young summers with her mother, digging and planting and moving things about. In the evenings they sat beneath a willow whose branches swept the ground and her mother would read to her.
The Water Babies
and
Peter Pan. Under the Ulacs
and
Tittle Women.
And as she grew they read to each other. All the poems of Edna St. Vincent Millay who is her mother's favorite writer in the world. And Joanie remembers.
The world is wide on either side. No wider than the heart is wide.
But the rest of it is lost. In the grass. Beneath the willow.

Joanie is missing her mother and father and her tears are falling into hands covering her eyes and spilling to soak Eve's garden plans. She hasn't heard from them since the move to this place. She has written and sent pictures of the children - no response. And if she could she'd telephone them now but John made arrangements to ensure that no out-going long-distance calls be made from the home phone. He thinks the children might accidentally call Japan.

Joanie is smart but she married stupid. It happens to some. You needn't be damaged starting off. Just too proud to admit you blew it and next thing you're jelly woman in the corner of your kitchen with not enough clothes and nowhere to go even if you had some. And if you can remember who you really are before the children come along escape might be possible but once you have them, forget it. The day dawns that the nicest thing you can say about your marriage is, “Well, at least he doesn't beat me,” and by then it will take an act of God to put things right.

Ginny Mustard is growing thin. Her eyes are sinking and have a secret look about them. She is afraid and only now will admit it. Joe Snake is reading to her. Words that break her heart.
Let us go then, you and I, through certain half-deserted streets,
and
Shall I say, I have gone through narrow streets and watched the smoke that rises from the pipes of lonely men….?
and something about
the yellow fog that rubs its back upon the window-panes
and she starts to cry for home and her ocean and river, her own foggy, narrow, half-deserted streets. Cries to be away from this prison and her fears. Tells how Crazy Rachel watches and wants their baby for her own. How she stares at her belly and threatens to take it from her when she is asleep.

And there's no point in Joe Snake saying that can't happen, because Crazy Rachel has already stolen the guard's keys twice and can do it again whenever she wants to. She tells of waking to find Crazy Rachel taking the knife from under her pillow saying that's how she could have the baby, just wait until it's big enough and take it with the knife. And she can't tell the guard because she wasn't supposed to have a knife in the first place. And now Crazy Rachel has it and will take their baby. Joe Snake says he'll talk to the warden right away.

When John comes home there's hell to pay. He had telephoned on Saturday afternoon, about the same time that Joanie and Beth were putting on make-up with all the other moms and daughters and laughing at themselves for being so silly - the moms - not the daughters. Of course there was no answer and when he
arrives on Sunday night he sits Joanie down. Stands over her. Towers over her. “Where were you? There's no point in lying. You'll only make it harder on yourself in the long run. Eventually you'll have to tell the truth so you might as well do it right away.”

John has never raised a hand to Joanie. He doesn't have to. When he finds fault he has merely to suggest that a
woman like you
might be found unfit to raise children should the matter ever come before a judge and he would have no choice but to leave her and take Beth and Michael. If she hadn't had the awful baby blues those long first couple of months after the children were born then he wouldn't give his
woman like you
speech every time she messed up. There'd be no sword'dangling over her head. But he tells her she's unstable and that's the reason he has to keep the reins so tight. If he were to relax, let her have her way all the time, then who knows what might become of her and the children. He can't take the chance. After all, don't forget what happened after Michael was born, Joanie. Don't forget that you left Beth alone in the bathtub when you went to tend him and she might have drowned if I hadn't come home when I did. You can say you were exhausted. You can say you were depressed. That's the point - not an excuse.

And Joanie can't tell him that if he had let her breastfeed the babies instead of being up half the night warming bottles and dealing with colic then perhaps she wouldn't have been such a basket case. Why bother? He won't hear her. If that was the worst thing she had ever done, leaving little Beth alone in the tub for two seconds, he might get over it. But one day she had awakened briefly to the truth of her life. Had put her babies in the car and driven away. She has no idea where she thought she was going. She can't imagine what she thought she'd do without a penny to her name. John reported the car stolen when he came home from work. Reported a kidnapping. The police found Joanie on the side of the highway, gas tank empty, eating fruit and sandwiches with
the children. Chewing sweet apple to pulp and kissing little bits of it into Michael's baby mouth. And they were laughing. Kissing and laughing.