Leota's Garden (36 page)

“No, it didn’t work out that way. Things seldom happen the way we plan.”

“What happened when your husband came home from the war?” Corban said. “Did he get everything straightened out?”

“We had a whole new set of problems.” She held out her hand for his plate. “You’re finished?”

Annie saw how her grandmother’s expression changed subtly. Grandma Leota didn’t want to talk about Grandpa Bernard. The pain was all too clear in her eyes. Memories too painful for tears.

Corban must have seen it, too. “Yes,” he said slowly and handed her his empty plate. “Best meal I’ve had in a long time.”

Annie was thankful he didn’t press her grandmother with more questions. She smiled at him when he glanced at her.

Grandma Leota took his utensils and put them on her plate. Then she carefully slid his plate underneath her own. She held out her hand to Annie. Annie didn’t want her to stop talking about the past; she needed to know everything in order to understand her mother. “Were you ever able to make peace with Mama Reinhardt, Grandma?”

“Years later.” She sighed, her hands resting on the table. “It’s hard to explain. I think she knew it was my salary that saved the house, because Papa signed it over to Bernard as soon as he came home from the war. But it wasn’t until years later, when Papa was dying, that he told her everything.” Her eyes had grown moist. “That’s when she changed toward me.”

She blinked and was silent and still a moment. “I knew she was sorry. I understood her better by then, too. We reached an understanding. We loved one another as best we could. Toward the end, I think we both put the past completely behind us.” Taking a deep breath, she let it out and pushed her chair back from the table. “After all was said and done, she was the only company I had after your grandpa died.”

Annie felt the anguish of that quiet statement. Both women had been alone in the end. She knew the fullness of that, for her mother had wept bitter tears when Great-Grandma Reinhardt had died.

“I would’ve gone to see her if my mother hadn’t still been there. . . .”

Filled with pity and a sense of shame she couldn’t define, Annie rose. “I’ll do the dishes, Grandma.”

“You can put them in the sink for me, but I’ll wash them. I need to stand up for a while and
do
something.”

Annie relented. She knew it was her own nature to step in and try to take over the chores, but doing everything for her grandmother wasn’t merciful or kind. Grandma did need to get up and move around and do
things for herself. More important, she needed to know she was useful. There would come a time when more care would be needed, but this wasn’t it. Not yet. Not now. Setting the plates and utensils in the sink, Annie stepped aside. “The dishes are all yours, my dear. Would you like me to dry?”

“No. We’ll leave them in the rack. It’s supposed to be healthier. Corban, why don’t you get another bundle of wood and stoke the fire. I’ll join you two in the living room when I’m finished.”

Annie understood. Her grandmother was asking for a few moments to be by herself. She glanced at Corban and saw he, too, understood. He rose and headed into the other room. Annie put her arm around her grandmother’s shoulder and kissed her cheek. “I love you, Grandma,” she said, embarrassed by the thickness in her voice. “I love you very much.”

Her grandmother looked up at her, her blue eyes full of tears. “I love you, too. And whatever your mama may have told you, I love her, too. Always have. Always will.”

Corban put cut branches on the fire. Annie was behind him, stroking the small parrot. “I didn’t know your grandmother had a bird.”

“Barnaby belongs to my roommate’s friend, but she’s hoping Grandma Leota will adopt him. And you’re hoping, too, aren’t you, Barnaby?” Turning her head, she smiled at Corban again. The sweetness of it caught him off guard. “Susan and I haven’t enough time to spend with Barnaby—” she stroked the parrot again—“and birds need company.”

Corban was disturbed by his reaction to Annie. Looking for a distraction, he picked up her sketch pad. “Is this yours?”

She glanced at him and her eyes flickered with embarrassment. “Yes,” she said simply and looked away again. He wondered if she was worried at what he might say. Surely she didn’t think him such an ogre that he would slam her work?

“Do you mind if I look them over?” He was determined to show her he could be kind.

“I suppose not. I was practicing.”

The first sketch surprised him. “These are very good, Anne.” He was amazed how good.

“You really think so?”

She looked so vulnerable. Did she really have so little self-esteem? He caught himself, remembering a similar look on Ruth’s face when they were first dating, though he hadn’t seen that look since she moved in with him. There were times when he wondered if Ruth had ever really been vulnerable or if it had all been a ruse. Even as the thought came, he felt guilty for it. Ruth had been trying harder lately, though he had sensed a hardening beneath the surface smiles. Was it his attraction to Anne-Lynn Gardner that made him see Ruth Coldwell in a different light and question her feelings for him?

What about his own motives and feelings? Did he dare scrutinize his own behavior? Mouth tight, he sat on the old sofa and flipped through more pages. “How long have you been studying?”

“I just started classes at the art institute, but I’ve always loved to draw.”

He studied one page. “Do you know what you’re going to do with it? As a livelihood, I mean?”

She straightened slowly, whispering to the bird before answering Corban. “Oh, I don’t know yet. Right now, I’m learning the fundamentals.”

“What’s your passion?”

“The Lord.”

He glanced at her. There hadn’t been the least hesitation or embarrassment in her response. Had he heard her rightly? “I beg your pardon?” Was she some kind of religious zealot? She didn’t look the part.

She seemed to consider for a moment. She smiled and shrugged. “I want to paint things that will glorify God.”

“Landscapes? That sort of thing?”

“And metal sculptures I buy at garage sales. Or walls.” She laughed at herself. “Whatever. The Lord will let me know in His time.”

She wasn’t a ditz. She was just plain weird. Her face was lit up, her blue eyes shining as though lit from the inside. He thought she was the most beautiful girl he’d ever seen, including Ruth. Even if she was a little nuts.

He couldn’t help but smile. Unlike Ruth, who kept him off center all
the time, this girl made him feel comfortable. And curious. “You weren’t kidding about the bowling balls, were you?”

“No, I wasn’t.” She laughed. “Visitors could imagine them to be dinosaur eggs, don’t you think?”

Her laughter wasn’t forced or flighty. It was full of warmth and spilling out of her—and it was contagious. He grinned. “I hadn’t thought of that. If I spot one at a garage sale, I’ll buy it for you. How’s that?”

“You go to garage sales?”

“Not often.”

She gave him a dubious look. “Ever? Come on, Corban. Be honest.”

She reminded him of her grandmother, nailing him on every white lie. “Okay. Once or twice. Out of curiosity. But I’ll start looking around. I promise. I mean, I didn’t realize people sold such valuable items as bowling balls. Anything else on your wish list? An old tennis racket, maybe? Some golf clubs?”

She grinned. “Well, let me think about it for a minute.” She sat on the other end of the sofa and crossed her legs Indian fashion. “Yes to the tennis racket and golf clubs. I have some ideas how I could use them. But I’m more interested in old wash buckets and watering cans, birdhouses, ceramic animals, pots, and big rocks . . . that sort of thing. How’s that for a start?”

“Do you think I’m a Rockefeller?”

“Bargain. Keep track. I’ll pay you back. Just don’t go whole hog.”

“I was kidding, Anne.” His mouth tipped. “Money’s no problem for me.”

She tilted her head slightly, looking at him with a strange expression. “I think it must be more of a problem than you realize.”

Frowning slightly, he looked away from her intense scrutiny. He flipped another page in her sketch pad and tapped the drawing. “This is really good, Anne.” The sketch of Leota Reinhardt’s hands was so real he could see the paper-thin quality of her skin, the veins, the wedding ring that had become part of her finger, the short nails. They were hands that had worked hard, yet held a quality of grace.

“I’m sorry if I was out of line.” The apology was quiet and utterly sincere.

He let out his breath and looked at her again. “Having money has its drawbacks.” He thought of Ruth again. It would be nice to know where
he really stood with her. He never remembered her being so offensive and defensive before they started living together. Or was it when they started sleeping together that things began to change? He wasn’t sure anymore. He just knew something wasn’t right. Something dark was working beneath the surface, something deadly that was eating away at the relationship he had hoped to have with her.

He stared at Anne’s drawing and marveled at the detail.

Anne leaned over to look at what he was studying. “Her hands have always struck me as beautiful. Don’t you think so? There are so many women now who have soft hands with long, silk-wrap nails painted in pretty pinks and reds. But my grandma’s hands have such . . . character.”

She was right. He thought of Ruth and the time she spent on her hands and nails. And her hair, and her body . . . even her feet. She’d sit and sand her heels and rub in expensive lotions. Everything about Ruth was practiced, right down to the voice lessons. Ruth was a work in the making. The sound of the exercise video played in his head. He laughed under his breath as a thought came to him.

“What?” Anne glanced at his face, curious.

“I was just trying to imagine your grandmother doing a workout in front of the TV.”

Anne laughed. Oh, how she laughed. He loved the sound of it. He loved watching her face. She made him laugh, too. Oh, man, it felt good not to have to worry whether she would take offense at his mirth.

“What are you two cackling about?” Leota said from the doorway, a dish towel over her shoulder.

“I thought you were going to let the dishes air-dry, Grandma. You just wanted to be rid of us.”

“This old mare is not completely out to pasture.”

Corban grinned at the old woman, enjoying the moment. “Do you work out, Leota?”

“With barbells, you mean?” She gave him a droll look. “Not lately.”

Anne laughed harder. “Add barbells to the list, Corban. Wouldn’t they look great in the yard, Grandma? We could lean one upright against the fence and train a baby rose vine around it. Most people buy exercise equipment and let it gather dust in a corner anyway.”

“If you find some barbells, you can bring them over and plant them.” With that, Leota went back into the kitchen.

Corban turned another page in Anne’s sketchbook. “Where’d you get these designs?” He studied the intricate swirls and curls, the sort of patterns he imagined he could find in a Moorish palace.

“Oh, that’s just doodling.” She got up and headed for the kitchen.

Just doodling? Corban watched her, his gaze starting at the thick fall of long, curly, strawberry-blonde hair tied back at the nape of her neck and dropping down over her lithe form. She was thinner than Ruth, but definitely curved in all the right places. She dressed carelessly—a short-waisted pink sweater, worn blue jeans, and old tennis shoes. Ruth wore Levi’s, too, usually with a white T-shirt, black leather belt, and tan blazer with a gold pin on the lapel. She wouldn’t be caught dead in jeans with grass and dirt stains on the knees and a torn back pocket.

He turned the last few pages of the sketchbook, admiring Anne’s work, then set it aside as the two women joined him again. Leota settled herself. Gripping the arms of her chair, she pushed so that the chair tilted back and the footrest was raised. She looked tired and pensive. She caught him studying her, sighed, and closed her eyes. Did she think he was going to start an interview?

Anne sat on the sofa and took up her sketch pad. Corban hoped she would start drawing again so he could watch how she worked. Instead, she put it aside and focused on him. “How long have you been doing volunteer work?”

“Couple of months.” He glanced at Leota and saw she had one eye open and trained on him. “Okay. Okay. Your grandmother is my first assignment.”

“Corban has such altruism. He’s going to change the world for the better. Just ask him.”

He blushed. Leota was smiling at him. Resigned, he looked at Anne and confessed. “I needed a subject for a paper I’m writing. Your grandmother is it, much to her disgust.”

Leota chuckled. “In the beginning, that was true, but I’m beginning to enjoy your august presence.”

“Thanks a bunch.”

She closed her eye. “Doesn’t take much to get your dander up, does it?”

“Look who’s talking.”

“Good for you.” She folded her hands on her lap. “Don’t let me get away with anything.”

Corban decided to take up the challenge. “I’d like to hear more about your husband.” He saw the muscles of her face tense slightly. Or had it been a wince? “You said there was a whole new set of problems when he came home. What sort of problems did you mean? Delayed stress? Family? Job?”