Leota's Garden (13 page)

The border alongside her grandmother’s house was entangled with climbing rosebushes. Pink roses, Annie remembered. The white picket fence would be glorious when the vines leafed up and covered it with blossoms. She saw the wisteria overhanging the carport at the end of the drive. Soon, its lavender blooms would hang like overripe bunches of grapes, mingling with the scent of roses.

This home must be simply glorious in spring.

Brightly painted front steps greeted her, and there was an old rocking chair pushed back in the corner of the front porch, its seat so worn, Annie thought, her grandmother must have spent countless hours sitting outside. It was dusty and cobwebbed now, but perhaps when the colder weather passed, Grandma Leota would sit outside again. The rhododendrons were too high in front to see over them to the street, but that could quickly be remedied. Annie also noticed the hanging pots and thought how pretty they would be filled with fuchsias dripping hot-pink and purple comet-shaped blossoms.

Her heart thumping, Annie rang the bell. She thought she could hear the television playing inside. Grandma Leota must be home. The question was, would she open the door to someone she hadn’t seen in years . . . someone she probably wouldn’t even recognize?

Lord, please let my grandmother invite me in. Help me not to say anything that will upset her and close any lines of communication between us. Help me see things clearly from all sides. Lord, help.

She waited, hoping, excited, her stomach trembling with niggling fears and uncertainties. Why should she expect any kind of welcome? Had she even bothered to write? She thought of a dozen ways she had slighted her grandmother without even thinking about it. She didn’t even know when Leota’s birthday was.

The door opened a crack. “If you’re selling something, I’m not interested.”

“Grandma Leota? I’m Annie. Annie Gardner.”

The old woman looked at her oddly. “Annie?”

She must not remember. Why should she? “Annie Gardner,” she said again, hoping to jog her grandmother’s memory. It had been such a long time. Her mother and father had divorced when Anne was five, and she could count on one hand the number of times she had been brought over here. “Nora’s daughter.”

She looked into her grandmother’s brown eyes but couldn’t read her expression. Did her grandmother remember anything? Maybe she had even forgotten she had grandchildren.

Annie’s heart sank.

Leota remembered. Oh, indeed, she remembered. She just couldn’t speak past the lump in her throat as she looked at the beautiful young girl standing on her porch. How many years had it been since she last saw her granddaughter? Anne-Lynn Gardner wasn’t a little girl anymore. She was tall and slender, with that lovely fall of strawberry-blonde hair. She was holding an African violet with lovely purple blooms. How did Annie know violets were her favorite flowers? The plant was in a little pink ceramic pot.

“Nora’s daughter, Grandma Leota,” the girl said again, clearly distressed.

“I know who you are.” Leota was dismayed that she sounded so gruff and impatient. She opened the door a little wider to show the girl she was welcome. After all these years, little Annie was a young woman.
Oh, God, all those lost years.
Leota’s throat closed tight.

Annie stepped inside and glanced to where the television was still on. “I hope I’m not interrupting.”

Leota stepped over and punched the Power button. “Geraldo can live without me.”

The room fell into silence. She turned and looked at her granddaughter again, studying her. She could see Eleanor in the girl. She had
her mouth and nose, with some of her father in her as well. Those beautiful blue eyes. Leota drank in the sight of her, wondering what to say, wondering why she had come. She must have some reason. She looked nervous and embarrassed. “Are those violets for me?” Leota smiled at her, hoping to put her at ease.

“Oh! Yes. Of course.” She held them out in both hands, as though they were an offering.

“My favorite flowers,” Leota said as she took them and admired the soft, velvety, purple petals. “How did you know?”

“I didn’t,” Annie said softly. “I thought they were pretty and that you might like them.”

“I do. Very much. Thank you.” She thought of the violets she had planted in her yard and how lovely they had looked peeping up from the feather moss. She looked at Annie, wondering again why she had come, yet too afraid to ask. Why spoil the moment? “Would you like something to drink? Tea? Coffee?”

“Anything would be fine.”

“Come into the kitchen then. I’ll fix us some tea.”

Tea. With her granddaughter.

I wonder when I’ll wake up from this lovely, lovely dream?

Annie followed her grandmother. She hadn’t expected Leota to be so small. She was only about five feet tall and thin. Her hair was white and pinned up in a French roll with wisps here and there. She was wearing an old-fashioned, white cardigan, a blue flower-print dress, and pink slippers. Annie thought she looked adorable. Her grandmother held the pot of violets as though it were her most cherished possession. She looked at it for a long moment and then set it carefully on a small table by the windows. A newspaper was spread out, and Annie noticed the half-worked crossword puzzle. Then she noticed the backyard.
Oh, how sad . . .

“I remember your garden. I thought it was Wonderland.”

Leota glanced up. “Wonderland?” That description seemed to please her; then a sadness filled her expression as she followed her granddaughter’s gaze. “Well, it’s not a wonderland anymore. It’s a jungle. I haven’t done any gardening in a long time.”

“Are the elves still there?”

“Elves?” Leota thought for a moment, but she couldn’t remember.

“In the rose lattice back by the vegetable garden. There were green, porcelain elves sitting on the slats. Three of them, I think. Just big enough to fit in the palm of your hand.”

“Oh, my, I’d forgotten all about them.” She had put those little figurines out years ago when Michael was just a child, hoping he would take delight in them and they might spark some sense of surprise in him. When he never mentioned them, she forgot all about them.

“There was a big green frog, too,” Annie said, smiling as she looked out the window. “Over there in the far corner where those calla lilies are growing.”

Leota warmed at the way Annie remembered details about the garden. “I imagine he’s still there. I haven’t moved him.” She had put those silly things in the garden to bring joy to her grandchildren, but they had never been around long enough for her to know if they’d even noticed them. She’d dreamed once, long ago, of having Easter egg hunts and . . .

She turned her thoughts from going down that rocky path again. What good was it, going over past hurts and disappointments? Thinking about what might have been never made things better.

Annie looked around the kitchen, and Leota wondered what her granddaughter thought about it. It was small and cozy. At one time, it had been very cheerful, with its canary-yellow walls and white cabinets. The window over the kitchen sink looked straight across into the neighbor’s kitchen. Annie wouldn’t know it could be pushed up so ladies could talk back and forth while they did their dishes and their children played in the backyard.

“What would you like?” Leota watched Annie’s face as she looked around the room. She had such a sweet expression. What a contrast to that young man who had come to “volunteer.”

“Whatever you’re having, Grandma Leota. Could we sit in here?”

“You sit anywhere you want, dear,” Leota said and watched her granddaughter sit in the chair opposite her own. Annie gazed again out the window at the backyard, and she didn’t look the least bit put off by the lack of care. Might the girl be seeing what had been, not what was? Leota wished she hadn’t let things go, but her arthritis made it difficult to get around. Of course, that wasn’t the full reason. She might as well admit it. She had let things go because she had given up. Why spend all those hours in the garden when there was no one but her to enjoy it?
She was sorry now. She shouldn’t have done that. She should’ve kept it up. Now it was too late. She couldn’t undo the destruction of the last few years. She was too old.

This was no time to count her regrets. Her granddaughter had come to visit.
Praise God.

Leota felt like having something special, something to celebrate this occasion. Opening a drawer, she poked around and found a few packets of Constant Comment tea she had tucked away after Mama Reinhardt had died. Mama had loved Constant Comment tea, and the two of them would sit together in the afternoons and sip it together. Did she have any cookies stashed away? If so, they would be as old as the tea and stale and hard enough to set with mortar. Crackers? None. Oh, how she wished she had known Annie was coming. She could have bought the fixings and made some Toll House or peanut butter cookies. Maybe next time.

Would there be a next time?

Oh, God . . . please.

Her hand trembled as she filled the teakettle. She carried it to the stove and turned on the gas burner. “It won’t take long.”

Would Annie get tired of waiting and leave? Young people these days seemed to be in such a rush about everything. Places to go. Things to do. She had heard about all that from Cosma.
“Maybe it’s those video games they play all the time. Everything moves so fast. Like gnats on a screen door, battering away and driving you crazy.”

“I’m not in any hurry,” Annie said, returning her attention to her grandmother.

“Are you hungry? I don’t have any cookies, but I could fix you a . . .” A what? She didn’t have any lunch meat. She hadn’t fixed any tuna. She didn’t even have peanut butter on hand. “. . . an egg sandwich? Would you like that?”

“I’m not hungry. I just wanted to see you and talk with you.”

Leota came and eased herself into the chair opposite Annie. “How’s your mother?” The girl’s eyes flickered slightly, and she lowered her head. The tension was back. Leota watched as Annie clasped her hands on the table. Something was wrong. “Is Eleanor ill?”

“No, Grandma Leota. Mother’s fine. It’s just that . . .” She looked out at the yard again, and Leota saw the sheen of tears in her eyes.
Oh, dear. Something’s wrong again. Isn’t that always the way of it?
Leota waited,
wondering why Annie had come to her. She had never been included in the family circle before. Why now?

“We’re not on the best of terms right now,” Annie said after a long pause.

Leota felt the girl’s pain. Did she dare pry? What if she asked the wrong question and her granddaughter left? She wanted to offer some comfort, but what could she say that wouldn’t be misconstrued?
“Things will blow over in time?”
That wasn’t necessarily true. Things had never blown over between Leota and Eleanor. “Would you like to talk about it?” she said cautiously.

Annie looked at her again, her blue eyes so troubled and filled with pain that Leota’s heart squeezed tight.
Oh, Eleanor, what have you done to our little Annie?

“Mother says I’m like you.”

“Oh, dear,” Leota said ruefully, and Annie’s face turned pink. The poor girl looked so embarrassed and distressed, Leota was sorry she had said anything. She knew where she stood with Eleanor. The
why
was not as easily understood. “Why would she say a thing like that?”

Annie looked down at her clasped hands. “I decided to study art in San Francisco instead of going east to Wellesley.”

“Are you good at art?”

She raised her head and looked at Leota, letting out her breath softly. “Mother said if I had any real talent, she would’ve sent me to Paris to study.”

Leota heard no bitterness, nor did she see any resentment as Annie repeated her mother’s assessment.
Oh, Eleanor. Ever the judge and jury.
A spark of anger lit inside Leota. “What do
you
think, Annie?”

She smiled bleakly. “I may not be as good as I think, but I love it.”

“What sort of art do you do?”

“I’ve tried all kinds. I’m not sure where my strengths are yet, if I have any. I did a lot of pencil sketching through high school. The budgets were cut so much, though, that our school could offer only two courses. Art wasn’t a high priority.”

“What are you going to study?”

“I’ve registered for a course in art appreciation and another in form. I’d like to try watercolors and acrylics. Maybe in time I’ll know what I’m supposed to do.”

“It’s not out of the blue. You have a relative who was a commercial artist.”

“Really? I didn’t know that.”

Did Eleanor even know? She couldn’t remember if they’d ever talked about relatives long past. “She would’ve been your great-great-aunt Joyce. She was from my side of the family. She died before your mother was born. A few of Aunt Joyce’s things were passed on to me when my mother died. I might have a few of her pictures tucked away somewhere. She made a good living drawing ladies’ fashions and stoves and farm machinery. Things like that. Nothing very exciting. She did a few greeting cards, too, if I remember correctly.”

“I’d love to see them.”

“I’ll see if I can find them.” She hadn’t thought about them in years. Where might they be? In her hope chest, perhaps? Or in a box in the attic? How could she get up there to look for them?

The teakettle whistled. Leota rose and turned the gas off. She poured hot water over the tea bags and set the kettle back on the stove. “Do you like your tea strong?”

“Any way you’re having yours will be fine,” Annie said.

Leota dipped the tea bags up and down until the tea was a rich amber. “Sugar?”

“Plain is fine.”

A people pleaser.
Leota had a feeling Annie liked sugar in her tea, but didn’t want to be a bother. The teacups rattled slightly as she put them on the table, one before Annie and the other on her crossword puzzle. She opened a cabinet and took out a cobalt-blue sugar bowl. Removing the lid, she loosened the sugar inside and set the bowl on the table close to Annie. Opening a drawer, she took out a spoon and set it on the table as well. She couldn’t offer cream—she didn’t have any. Nor did she have any milk. She needed to make another trip to the grocery store.