Leota's Garden (69 page)

Had Uncle George learned of his windfall sooner, he might’ve insisted Grandma Leota be embalmed and laid to rest in the “bronze, nonrusting” casket with the “champagne whitehall velvet” interior.

I’m going to lose it, Lord. I’m going to lose it completely and become hysterical. I want to pound on this table until it cracks in two.

Poor Uncle George. What was going to happen when the truth hit him between the eyes? No amount of money would ever ease his guilt. And her mother . . . Fred had called that morning and said she wouldn’t be coming to the funeral home to help Annie with the decisions at hand. Her mother was so sick she couldn’t get out of bed.

Annie’s eyes welled with tears. Her throat ached. Reading through
the option descriptions, she realized her grandmother had been taken away in a cardboard box.
Oh, God, how could I have let that happen? Grandma, I’m so sorry.
She reached out and drew the box of Grandma Leota’s ashes closer. It was hard to breathe.

“Would you like to be alone for a few minutes, Miss Gardner?”

She nodded.

The man left the book listing services, products, and prices open on the table. He had been so kind to her when she called from the hospital. What must it be like to run a mortuary and see the dead and the grieving every day?

She had to get down to business and decide on an urn. Taking a deep breath, she reined her emotions in tightly and pressed them down deep inside. Still, feelings bubbled to the surface.

Oh, Lord, did they take Grandma away in her hospital gown? I never thought of that. I should’ve taken something nice for Grandma to wear when she was cremated. A nice suit. A pretty dress. A wedding gown. And her Bible. Grandma would have liked to have had that in her hands.

Annie opened the book and paged through it until she found the pages with the urns. She wiped her eyes, blew her nose, and studied the pictures. The urns were in various shapes and quite lovely. Painted chests, royal-blue cloisonné, ebony marble . . . urns of mahogany, cherry, maple, walnut, and poplar. The most expensive one was cast bronze on white marble and looked like a Roman vase. It was called “The Aristocrat.” Annie’s lips twitched.
Oh, Grandma Leota. How you would love that!
She laughed. She couldn’t help herself. It just bubbled out and then died. The cost was over a thousand dollars, but that would satisfy Uncle George.

The man seemed to know the precise moment to return to the small conference room. “Have you decided?”

“Yes, I have.” She turned the black binder around so that he could see the picture she tapped. “I’d like this one, please.”

“A good choice.”

Annie filled the first few days of Grandma Leota’s absence washing sheets and blankets and remaking the beds. She vacuumed, scrubbed the kitchen floor, scrubbed the bathroom floor, washed the windows,
polished the furniture, and cleaned the stove and oven. She cleaned Barnaby’s cage every morning and made sure he had fresh food. He hadn’t said anything for a while, and she hoped he wasn’t going to get sick and die, too.

Arba came by the first night with a casserole. She didn’t linger. “You let us know when you’re ready for company,” she said and left. The casserole was still in the refrigerator.

On the third day, Annie went out into Grandma Leota’s garden.

The air was cold, the trees winter-barren, the ground hard. When Annie looked up at the lead-gray sky, her chest ached so badly she thought she’d die. She almost wished she could. At least then she would be with the Lord and Grandma Leota.

She heard the gate open and saw Arba and the children entering the garden. She tried to smile, but her mouth trembled. She couldn’t speak a word of greeting. The pain was still bottled up inside.

“Oh, honey . . .” Arba’s dark eyes filled with tears. “You need to let it out.”

She shrugged because she didn’t dare try to speak.

Kenya came and wrapped her arms around Annie’s waist. “Mama says Grandma Leota’s in heaven.”

“What do you feel like doing?” Arba said, gently pressing.

“Screaming.”

“Then you do it, girl. Why should the old Israelites be the only ones to rend their clothes and wail?”

Annie started to cry.

“Ah, honey. Is that the best you can do for your granny?”

The pain burst forth then, and Annie did wail. Arba and the children surrounded her, laying hands on her, crying with her.

“That’s it,” Arba said over and over, weeping with her. “That’s it. Let it go, honey. Let it go.”

And Annie was the better for it.

During the weeks that followed, Annie went through Grandma Leota’s things. Grandma had precious few clothes. In her bottom drawer, Annie found the jewelry box mentioned in her note. Annie found the safety-
deposit box key and put it on her key chain. There was a blue velvet box with a string of pearls and a note:
All my love forever, Bernard.
Another white box held an acorn, two blue feathers, three agates, and a package of sweet pea seeds, still marked ten cents.

Annie wondered what the collection meant. None of the items were worth anything, but they must have stirred memories for Grandma. She wished she knew what sentiment they held for her grandmother. She couldn’t help feeling she had lost an entire library of knowledge and wisdom when Grandma Leota had died. There was so much Annie hadn’t had the opportunity to learn.

Sam Carter called several times and came over every few days. One day he smiled at her tenderly. “You’re not going to let me get too close, are you, Annie? Still think I’m a rogue.”

“It’s not that, Sam.”

“I think I understand. Except for one thing, Annie.”

“What’s that?”

“You’re not Catholic. You can’t be a nun.”

She smiled at that. “You don’t think an evangelical Protestant can dedicate her life to God?”

“I suppose so, but what a waste.”

She laughed. “I should hope not.” Perhaps one day she would marry, but for now it didn’t seem to be God’s plan for her. She was content.

With the boundaries clearly drawn, Sam stayed the rest of the afternoon. They talked about Grandma Leota, life, the garden, what Annie planned to do about the house.

When she saw him to the door, he gave her a rueful smile. “I should’ve snapped you up when you were fifteen and madly in love with me. I lost my chance.” Leaning down, he kissed her cheek.

Corban came by and helped her take the boxes down from the attic again. She asked him if there was any chance he would get back together with Ruth, and he’d said not a chance in hades. Then he broke down and cried. Alarmed, she sat with him on the sofa and listened as he poured out his misery about his child being aborted. She’d cried with him then. She talked to him about the Lord and forgiveness, but he withdrew from that. He wanted to consign Ruth Coldwell to the pit and leave her there to burn for all eternity. The hotter the fire, the better, as far as he was concerned.

“We all sin, Corban.”

“Yeah, right, but not the way she did. What sort of woman kills her own child?”

“There’s no difference in God’s eyes between Ruth having that abortion and you wishing her dead and in hell for it.” She saw his eyes flicker. She didn’t want him to misunderstand her. “And I’m no better than either of you with the bitterness I allowed to take root in me. Sin is sin, Corban. There’s no big or small about it. It’s all the same in God’s eyes, and unless you confess it and lay it at the cross, it separates you from God. That’s why we need Jesus, so we can be reconciled.”

She got no further than that. He said he’d taken philosophy courses. She could see his anger. He said he knew all about Christianity. He said he was sorry to offend her, but he thought all that stuff about Jesus dying for the sins of the world was hogwash. It was too easy. And it was a crutch for people who’d messed up so badly nothing could be fixed. When they did things that bad, they ought to suffer for it. And then he was on his feet, apologizing for crying like a fool. He was out the door before she could say anything else. Annie had felt sick at heart, watching him drive away. She’d known the instant she mentioned the word
sin
, he wasn’t ready to hear the Good News. She’d seen the change in his eyes. The walls went up. He couldn’t get away fast enough.

Annie didn’t expect to hear from Corban again after that. Then he showed up on a Wednesday morning three weeks later. She was up on the extension ladder holding an electric sander to the paint-chipped eaves. He had to shout to get her attention.

She shut off the machine, lifted her goggles, and pulled the mask down from her mouth. “Well, hi, stranger!” She grinned down at him. “Come to help?”

“Sure. I’ve got some spare time.”

She took him at his word and put him to work.

Chapter 25

Nora dreaded the approach of Easter.

Ever since Anne-Lynn had telephoned and said she was “opening Leota’s garden for a party to celebrate the Resurrection,” Nora had felt sick with apprehension. She didn’t know if she could stand to go back into that house and be surrounded by memories of her mother. Yet, there was no way to decline Anne-Lynn’s invitation without hurting her daughter deeply and risking estrangement. She couldn’t risk losing Anne-Lynn again. They were just beginning to talk, really talk, as mother and daughter.

Since her mother had passed away, Nora had felt her life crumbling from the inside. Besides the heavy burden of guilt over how she had treated her mother for so many years was the added shame of finding out she was related to those who had taken part in exterminating Jews and Christians during World War II. The more she thought about it, the more she shrank inwardly . . . and the more empathy she felt with her father and mother.

What would people think of me if they knew?
She couldn’t even talk about it with Fred. When he suggested grief counseling, Nora said absolutely not. She would never be able to call Pastor Burnie and ask for
his help. She had said terrible things to him that day she had sought his counsel. Perhaps if she apologized . . . but why would he listen? It seemed every way she turned, she saw people she had hurt. She needed to make amends, but she was so afraid no one would give her the chance. Or, even if they did, they wouldn’t believe she was sincere.

How many loved ones have I lost over the years because I thought I had all the answers? Bryan Taggart, Dean Gardner, Michael. It’s a miracle I haven’t lost Fred. I don’t want to risk losing Anne-Lynn. Oh, Lord, seal my lips. Keep me still. I’m so afraid of ending up alone the way my mother was. I did abandon her. I wanted to hurt her the way I was hurt. And I did hurt her. I hurt her over and over again, year after year, right up to the very last day of her life.

How many Mother’s Days had passed without Nora so much as calling her mother and asking her how she was? She remembered the times her mother had called and Nora hadn’t even tried to hide that she couldn’t wait to get off the line. So many times Nora could have included her mother in family dinners and at the children’s birthday parties.

I remember things Mother said to me that filled me with anger and resentment. And now I realize she was trying to tell me something important, and I wouldn’t listen. I had no idea of the burdens she carried, nor was I willing to find out. I was too busy living life my way.