Leota's Garden (19 page)

Leota watched her face and saw the wonder there.
Oh, she’s so young, Lord. Don’t let life stamp out that light in her eyes.

“You can tell a lot about a person by what they draw,” Annie said. “She loved people and architecture.”

“What would you draw?”

“Flowers.” Annie smiled up at her. “I’d love to paint an English garden someday.”

Leota sighed, stricken with regret. No wonder Annie remembered the backyard.

“What’s the matter, Grandma? Did I say something wrong?”

“Not at all. It’s just that I wish you’d seen the garden a few years ago when it was all I had hoped it would be.” Afraid her granddaughter would see the sheen of tears building, she rose stiffly and headed for the kitchen. “I’ll warm up our lunch.”

They ate Chinese food together at the kitchen table, with the sounds of children playing in the backyard next door. Leota thought about the sparrow the children had buried and the flower plucked between the slats of her fence. Maybe Annie would come and put a flower on her grave. There was some solace in that thought, for it carried the hope that someone would care when she passed on.

Annie picked at her food and gazed out at the backyard. Leota wished she hadn’t said anything about the garden. Yet she couldn’t help thinking about how Annie would have loved it a few years ago when it had been in its glory. Everything had come together in a blaze of color that was a wonder to behold. But Leota had been the only one there to enjoy it.

Was that when she lost her desire to work in the sunshine? Had it been the grief that no one cared enough to come and see the work she had done and how it had turned out? It was the last Easter she had invited her children to come for dinner. It was the last time they had told her they had other plans.

The sorrow came up inside her, and it took all her determination
to press it down again where it wouldn’t break through and show. If it did, Annie might never come back. Why would she want to spend time with a maudlin old woman who couldn’t let go of the hurts of the past?

“Mother never let me work in the garden,” Annie was saying. “She didn’t want me interfering with Mr. Tikado’s work. She said he had planned everything to have a certain effect and planting other things would only spoil it. And with piano lessons and gymnastics and school, I really didn’t have much time left over.” She turned her gaze from the window.

Leota looked into those clear, blue eyes and saw the hurt in them. “I’ve spoiled your visit. I’m sorry, dear.” What more could she say?

Annie’s eyes filled with tears. “You didn’t spoil anything, Grandma. I was just thinking of all the times we could have come to see you and didn’t. It wasn’t right. It
isn’t
right. Mother is . . .” She pressed her lips together and looked away again. Leota saw her swallow and felt the girl’s pain as though it were her own. “So unforgiving,” Annie said finally.

Leota caught a glimpse of Annie’s fears. She wanted to be able to reassure her that Eleanor would forgive her for her rebellion, but she couldn’t be sure. She didn’t want to offer false hopes to this hurting child. Eleanor had proved intractable where her mother was concerned. Might she be the same way with her own daughter? What a terrible loss that would be.

“I wish I understood my mother.”

And I, my daughter.

Annie put trembling hands around her coffee cup and stared into it for a moment. When she raised her head, Leota saw the desperate unhappiness there. Had she been covering it up for her sake? “I need to know,” Annie said softly. “What does Mother hold against you?”

Leota sighed. “I’ve thought that over for years, Annie. She’s always said I didn’t care about her or her brother and that I was a bad mother.”

“Did . . . did you care?”

Annie spoke so tentatively, Leota pitied her more than she pitied herself. “I cared very much, and I was the best mother I could be under the circumstances.”

“What circumstances, Grandma?”

“What life hands you.” She didn’t want to talk about it. She couldn’t give all the details without putting others in a bad light. And she didn’t want to be put in the position of defending herself against her own
daughter. What good would that do? It would only put Annie in the middle of something she couldn’t fully understand. It might make Annie feel ashamed, too. There were so many things that came into it, things Leota had never told Eleanor. Some things were best left unspoken.

Weren’t they?

If only Mama Reinhardt had known everything from the beginning, then things might have worked out differently. She hadn’t known, and her careless words had cost so dearly. Leota thought of the poor old woman in her later years, wanting to make up for earlier mistakes and knowing it was too late. The darkness had triumphed, it seemed, and no amount of light had been able to dispel it. So far.

“I didn’t know. He didn’t tell me . . .”

“I know, Mama. And I couldn’t. It’s done now. Let’s put it behind us.”

This is the way it would always be. She had accepted that.

Eleanor was descended from strong German stock. Her blood was a blessing and a curse.
Oh, God, why couldn’t her strength have been channeled elsewhere than into her resentments and endless disappointments?
What would it take for Eleanor to see the truth—all of it—and finally purge herself of bitterness? Leota was weary of the battle. Too much time had passed for things to be undone and put to rights.

Leota had almost given up hope of anything changing until Annie came. But she couldn’t burden her granddaughter with her dreams. She had the hope of her salvation and that was enough. Death would come, and the pain would stop.

Annie reached over the table and took her hands, startling her from her grim reverie. “What if we brought it back?”

“Brought what back?” Leota’s thoughts were stumbling over the past, searching for other avenues she might have taken. Why? It was too late. You couldn’t relive your life or change the course of it.

“The garden, Grandma. What if we worked together and made the garden what it was?”

Leota’s heart leaped, but only for a moment. It was sweet of Annie to suggest it, but the girl had no idea what she was saying. Leota had been cast out of the garden five years ago by old age. Her joints had ached horribly from arthritis. She had become dizzy in the warmth of the afternoon sun. On fall days, even two sweaters hadn’t been enough to ward off the chill that seemed to set into her bones. She had finally come into
the house one day, taken off her work gloves, and thrown them away. What was the point of all that toil when she was the only one around to see the result? And it made her sick anyway . . .

No, it was too late. She shook her head at the impossibility of the task. Annie couldn’t know. She couldn’t even guess the work that went into making a garden flourish.

And yet . . .

Hadn’t that been her dream over the years? To work in the garden with her children and grandchildren?

No, she must be sensible. It was only kindness that had made Annie offer. “I’m too old.” She couldn’t climb a ladder to prune trees or turn the soil. She couldn’t work on her knees anymore. If she got down on them, she’d never get up again.

“You have the knowledge, Grandma, and I have the strength. You could tell me what to do.”

She saw the eagerness in Annie’s eyes, an eagerness no doubt born of ignorance. “It takes
time
, Annie. You have school and work and friends. You have your own life.”

“I want to spend time with you.”

“You’re welcome here anytime, dear. Don’t think for a minute you have to work to be welcome.”

Annie searched her eyes. “Couldn’t we try, Grandma?”

“Well, I don’t . . .”

“Please.”

Leota weakened. She looked out the window, remembering how the garden had once looked. Then her vision cleared and she saw all that needed to be done. “Not today,” she said finally, weary and depressed. “We’ll talk about it next time.”

Next time Annie would have had time to think things over more carefully and realize she had better things to do.

Chapter 7

“Where did you say Anne was?” Nora’s hand gripped the phone tightly, her face going hot.

“She’s gone to visit with her grandmother in Oakland,” Susan repeated.

The adrenaline of anger pumped through Nora’s veins. Her daughter wouldn’t do this to her. She couldn’t. Susan Carter was lying. She had to be. Anne-Lynn wouldn’t dare betray her like this.

“Mrs. Gaines?”

“You must have misunderstood, Susan.”

“Leota Reinhardt. Isn’t that her grandmother’s name?”

Nora’s heart pounded.

“Would you like to leave a message, Mrs. Gaines?”

“Did Anne-Lynn say what time she would return?” Her hand gripped the phone so hard her fingers hurt. She had no intention of leaving a message with Susan Carter. It was sure to be forgotten or given incorrectly.

“Later this afternoon.”

“Could you be more specific, Susan?”

“No, ma’am. I’m sorry. I can’t.” She sounded anything but sorry. “But
I can tell you Annie and I are both on the same schedule at the restaurant this week. I’m sure she will be home in time to get ready for work.”

Nora fumed. How dare the cheap little no-account call some hole-in-the-wall flat Annie’s
home
. Nora could hear someone talking in the background! “You have a male visitor.” Some hooligan, probably on drugs. Any self-respecting man would be working at this time of day. Or going to college.

“There’s no one in my apartment, Mrs. Gaines. I’m all by myself.”

“You needn’t lie, Susan. I can hear him.”

“What if I told you he wasn’t a man?”

“A television, I assume.”

“We don’t own one.”

Cheeky girl. Nora had never liked her. She liked her even less now that her daughter was living with her. She could just imagine the sort of influence Susan Carter was going to be on Anne. The man continued talking in the background, and what he said raised the hair on the back of Nora’s neck. “What’s he telling you? To call the police? What’s going on, Susan?”

“Oh, nothing much. He’s talking about another mugging, I suppose,” Susan said with airy indifference.

“He’s telling you to dial 911!”

“Good old Barnaby. Always the one to overreact.”

“I knew there’d be trouble if my daughter lived with you.”

“I’ll tell Annie you called, Mrs. Gaines.”

The sharp click in her ear made Nora wince. Furious, Nora grabbed her personal directory, slapped through the pages until she found the number she needed, and punched it in. The telephone rang four times before she heard an answering machine message. “This is the Carters’ residence.” The calm, sweet voice made Nora feel she was listening to fingernails raking down a blackboard. “We’re sorry, but we can’t come to the telephone right now. Please leave a message at the sound of the beep.”

“This is Nora Gaines. I suggest you look into what’s going on in your daughter’s apartment before she gets
arrested
for indecent behavior! One of the men she’s entertaining was screaming for 911 when I called.” She slammed the telephone down and stood up. She was so angry she was shaking.

How could Anne-Lynn do this to her? Nora was meeting two friends
for lunch in half an hour. What was she going to say to them? If she didn’t have her emotions under control by then, they’d be like sharks in bloody water. They’d want to know what was wrong. They would want to know what had happened to make her so upset. What could she tell them? That her perfect daughter had run away? That Anne-Lynn, with her straight A’s and sky-high SAT scores, had thrown away the opportunity to go to a prestigious eastern college? That Anne-Lynn preferred living in some cheap little dump with some cheap little tramp in San Francisco rather than live another day in Blackhawk with her own mother?

“Stupid! She’s stupid!” Nora went into the kitchen, opening and slamming cupboards as she took down the coffee grinder, a cup, and some sugar. Her heart pounded hard and fast as she stuffed a filter into the coffeemaker. Beans scattered as she poured them too quickly into the grinder. She shook the machine as it hummed. Taking the top off, she poured the grounds carelessly, spilling half over the sides of the filter and some onto the tile counter. Cursing, she hurled the basket into the sink, leaving a trail of grounds across the floor in its wake. The maid was coming this afternoon. Let her clean up the mess!

She didn’t want coffee anyway—and she certainly didn’t need it when her heart felt as though it would burst any second. One cup of coffee and the caffeine would push her over the edge into a heart attack.

And it’ll be your fault, Anne-Lynn Gardner. All your fault. You’ll be sorry for hurting me like this. You’ll come to the hospital and stand by my bed and hold my hand and beg me to forgive you. You’ll say, “I’m sorry, Mother. You were right. I should’ve gone to Wellesley. I should’ve listened to you.”
Nora uttered a ragged sob and bit her lower lip.

She deserts
me
and goes to visit my
mother
!