by Beth Hoffman
The red neon sign flickered and buzzed from the window, and when I opened the door, the clang of silverware and the aroma of grilled onions filled the air. The café was crowded, and I was lucky to find a small table in the corner, luckier still that the waitress took my order right away.
It wasn’t until I’d finished my bowl of chili and stood to leave that I noticed Sam Poteet sitting on the opposite side of the room. When he waved hello, I smiled. After paying my bill, I plucked a peppermint candy from the basket on the counter and left.
While walking down the sidewalk, crunching my mint and thinking about my new home, I pulled keys from my handbag. I was about to get into my car when someone called, “Teddi?”
I turned to see Sam a half block behind me and waited as he approached. When he reached me, the look on his face was pensive.
“I’m . . . I’m not very good at this.”
I raised my eyebrows. “Not very good at what, Counselor?”
“At trying to talk to you.”
“But you haven’t said anything.”
I couldn’t tell if it was sincerity or mischief that sparked in his eyes when he shoved his hands into his pockets and tilted his head. “See—that’s precisely my point. So I was wondering . . . would you have dinner with me sometime?”
That question caught me totally off guard. “Umm, sure. Sometime. But I just moved into a new house. Well, an old house, but it’s new to me. I’m not quite settled, and business at the shop is—”
Realizing how ridiculous I sounded, I clamped my mouth shut.
“Help me out here, Teddi. Does that mean yes?”
Lord, I was uncomfortable. But I smiled, said yes, and climbed into my car. Just as I closed the door, Sam leaned forward and peered into the window. “I’ll call you.”
Down the street I drove, and when I came to the intersection and rolled to a stop, I glanced in the rearview mirror. Sam was still standing on the sidewalk watching me.
THIRTY-FOUR
Sam called me at the shop the following week, and we fumbled through a conversation that resulted in scheduling a date for Saturday evening. A casual dinner, he’d said, saying he’d pick me up at seven.
When Saturday came, I was in no mood to spend the evening with anyone, much less the son of the infamous Tula Jane Poteet. It was an effort to shower and dress. I would have preferred to stay home and unwind with a good book. Lord, how I despised first dates.
I stood back and examined myself in the mirror—a simple yellow-and-white-checked dress with a scooped neckline and a white cardigan draped over my shoulders. Was I too casual? What the heck did people who lived south of Broad deem casual dinner attire anyway? While I was slipping into a pair of sandals, the doorbell chimed and Eddie barked. After one more look in the mirror, I descended the stairs and opened the door.
There stood Sam in a pair of khakis and a blue shirt with the sleeves rolled back, looking as awkward as I’m sure I did.
“Hi, Teddi. I like your house. And who’s this?”
“Eddie, say hi to Sam.” Though a little shy with strangers, Eddie dutifully offered Sam his paw. Sam smiled as he shook it and then gave Eddie a gentle pat.
“See you later, be good,” I said, grabbing my handbag.
As we stepped to the sidewalk, an old woman was crossing the street at a slow, wobbly pace. I recognized her immediately and hoped she’d continue on her way, but Sam stopped and said, “Good evening, Miz Zelda.”
Oh, how she smiled when she saw him. “A fine evening it is, General.”
“Do the clouds have any news to share?”
Zelda looked into the sky. “Yes, yes they do. There’s a surprise coming your way, and it’s a big one. So keep your eyes open, General.” She waited as Sam pulled a ten-dollar bill from his pocket and pressed it into her hand.
Clearly done with her reading, Zelda grinned and continued on her way, her heavy tote bag bumping against her leg with each step she took.
“You know her?” I whispered as we walked in the opposite direction.
“I’ve known Miz Zelda for most of my life. She’s as much a part of Charleston’s culture as the bells of St. Michael’s.”
“Why does she call you ‘General’?”
Sam laughed and took a light hold of my arm. “Teddi, I have no idea.”
He guided me to a car parked at the curb, a very old car. With its dull black finish, wide wheel wells, and long vertical grille, it reminded me of the cars in the movie The Untouchables. When he started the engine, it made a tat-tat-tat sound before letting out a low growl.
“Sam, I love this car. What kind is it?”
“A 1932 Ford Roadster. Since you like antiques, I thought you might like to ride in one. It doesn’t look like much now, but it will when I’m done working on it. Just wait, you’ll see.”
Between Zelda and Sam’s car, the awkwardness of those first few minutes melted away, and we chatted about how much we both loved restoration as Sam maneuvered through the streets. In just a few minutes, he came to a stop in front of a house.
His house.
Before I could ask him what was going on, he was already out of the car and opening my door. “What are we doing, Sam?”
“Come see,” he said, ushering me along the sidewalk and around the side of the house. Opening a heavy iron gate, Sam gestured for me to enter ahead of him, and when I did, I was at a loss for words.
I had just stepped into a place of magic.
The walled garden was lush and cool. Giant ferns flanked a stone walkway that led to a patio where glazed pots overflowed with flowers. Sitting beneath a pergola was a wrought-iron table that had been set for two with china, crystal, and sterling.
“I wanted to cook for you, Teddi.”
“Sam, this garden is gorgeous.”
“Thank you. Next to working on old cars, it’s my favorite pastime.”
I whipped around to look at him. “This is your garden? I mean, of course it’s your garden, you live here—but you do all the work to maintain it?”
He seemed pleased by my stunned admiration. “I used to have a town house over on Beaufain, but I sold it and moved back here so I could help take care of my mother. She had let the gardens get out of hand, so one day I started digging and planting, and this is the end result,” he said, stepping to an iron tea cart. “So . . . what would you like to drink, Teddi?”
“Iced tea if you have it.”
“I do.”
With slightly tarnished sterling tongs, he dropped ice cubes into a glass and poured tea for me, then filled a goblet with wine for himself.
“Will you show me around?”
“I’d be happy to.”
Side by side we strolled through the garden as Sam told me about the many species of plantings—sago palms, daphne, spiderwort. Along the left side of the garden and nearly hidden by a row of tea olives was a set of sandstone steps. “Where do those go?” I asked.
“C’mon, I’ll show you.”
He led me up five steps to a small private oasis where slabs of stone formed the floor. In the center was a chipped marble pedestal, on top of which sat a small brass telescope.
“This is my poor man’s observatory. When I can’t sleep, I come out here and watch the stars.”
I looked from Sam to the telescope.
It couldn’t be.
My heart drummed as I stepped to the pedestal and slowly ran my fingers over the telescope’s cylinder, feeling for the indentation that I remembered so well. And sure enough, it was there. Leaning over, I tilted my head. The words J. VAN DER BILDT, FRANEKER were inscribed on the circular backplate.
From behind me Sam said, “My mother gave it to me for my fortieth birthday.”
It would have been cruel to tell him where the telescope had come from, so I gathered my composure and slowly straightene
d. “It’s a beauty. What a wonderful gift. So you’re an attorney, a gardener, a car mechanic, and a stargazer. And by the looks of things to come, you’re also a cook?”
“Well, I’m certainly no master chef, which I’m about to prove,” he said with a slight laugh.
As we walked down the steps, I glanced over my shoulder and gave the telescope one last look.
“Please have a seat,” he said, gesturing to a chair. “Talk to me while I cook.”
After lighting the grill and refilling my glass with iced tea, Sam opened a cooler and removed a bowl filled with prawns. “Is Teddi a nickname?”
“My given name is Theodora.”
“Theodora,” he said slowly, as if testing the way my name rolled off his tongue.
And there I was, watching a man prepare dinner in the most splendid garden I’d ever seen while my stolen telescope sat on a pedestal a short distance away. Everything felt so strange and unexpected that I could hardly think of anything to say. But Sam filled in the lulls with chatter about his plans for the next phase of his garden. Finally I tamed the butterflies in my belly, found my voice, and asked him questions about his work—business law—and then inquired about his fascination with old cars—something he claimed to have been born with.
Sam grilled the prawns and served them over a Caesar salad that came close to being divine. Though I tried to be discreet, I couldn’t stop myself from examining the sterling flatware, which had to be pre–Civil War. When I realized that Sam was watching me, my cheeks grew warm. But he just smiled and took a sip of wine.
After we’d finished dinner, Sam stood and slowly unfolded to his full height. “Shall we get more comfortable?” he asked, guiding me toward a pair of cushioned lounges. “Would you like coffee?”
“Yes, thank you.”
“And how do you take it, Miss Theodora?”
“Lots of cream and four sugars, please.”
Sam gave me the oddest look. “Any woman who admits that she takes four sugars in her coffee is definitely worth getting to know.” He turned and set off for the house with a slight grin on his face.
Within a few minutes, he appeared with a tray in his hands and set it down on the table between the lounges. His eyes held a glimmer of amusement when he said, “Heavy cream and four sugars, as the lady wishes.”
A light breeze moved through the palmettos, and a few wispy clouds hung low in the indigo sky. After lighting several candles, Sam moved his lounge closer to mine and sat. “You have the slightest accent, but I can’t quite place it.”
“I’m originally from Kentucky.”
“Really? I was born in Clarksville, Tennessee. It’s just over the border from Kentucky. Have you ever been there?”
“Yes. I drove through there years ago. But, Sam, I thought you came from a long line of Charlestonians.”
He took a sip of coffee and shook his head. “My birth mother packed me up when I was just a baby and moved us to Charleston. She worked as a seamstress during the week, and on weekends she cooked for Tula Jane and Everett in exchange for living quarters.”
He pointed to the two-story garage at the back of the property. “There’s a small apartment up there—that’s where we lived. I still remember waking up early in the morning to the sound of Everett starting his car. It was a 1950 Hudson—a dark green Super Six with big whitewall tires. Who knows? Maybe that’s one of the reasons I love old cars so much.”
Sam paused for a moment and looked at the apartment above the garage. “When I was six, my mother had a brain aneurysm while she was hemming a dress. She died before she hit the floor, or at least that’s what I was told. It was Tula Jane who came and got me at school. She took me to the park, sat me down on a bench, and told me that God needed my mother to repair a hole in the sky. Like most young kids, I had no concept of death, so I asked Tula when my mother would be back. She said I’d see her every night in my dreams. Anyway, it’s a long story, but Tula Jane and Everett ended up adopting me. It’s amazing when you think about it. They never had children and were practically old enough to be my grandparents.”
The moment I asked about his biological father, Sam’s face darkened. “I have no idea who he is—or was. And I’m not interested in finding out. He and my mother never married. The only thing she ever said about him was that he went away.”
I stirred my coffee, and the teaspoon made a light chime when I set it on the china saucer. “Do you mind if I ask—what was your mother’s name?”
“Madeline. Madeline Marshall.”
“So you began your life as Sam Marshall. When the Poteets adopted you, how did you feel about taking their last name?”
Sam smiled. “That was my idea. You know how kids get things in their heads that they believe to be absolutely true? Well, I wanted to make sure Everett and Tula Jane would never leave me. I thought if I had their last name, I’d always be safe. Everett was a terrific guy. You’d have liked him, and he would have been crazy about you. He passed away when I was in law school.” Sam took in a breath and let it out slowly. “So . . . this dissertation on family history brings me to Tula Jane.”
Resting his elbows on his knees, Sam clasped his hands beneath his chin. “She’s developed some serious problems over the past few years, not the least of which is Alzheimer’s.”
His eyes saddened as he glanced over his shoulder to a lighted window on the second floor of the house. “I was in denial for a long time, which I’m sure you probably figured out. But after the recent episode, I had to face the facts. I’ve hired round-the-clock care and will keep her here as long as I can.”
I reached out and smoothed my hand over Sam’s arm. “I’m so sorry.”
Visibly brightening at being touched, he scooted closer. “All right, now it’s your turn. Tell me about yourself, Teddi. Tell me everything.”
“Okay,” I said, resting back against the cushion. “I was born on a farm by Red River Gorge . . .”
And what began as an awkward dinner date with a man I had thought peculiar transitioned into a wonderful, relaxed evening of great food and conversation that lasted well past midnight, all within the walls of a magical garden. I even forgot about my stolen telescope.
Well, almost.
THIRTY-FIVE
On a Tuesday in early September, I arrived at the shop feeling lighter and happier than I had in years. Throwing on a smock, I began the day by sanding a Venetian footstool while Albert mixed wood filler to repair a chair leg that the owner’s puppy had chewed.
His radio was tuned to an oldies station, and when the Four Tops began to sing one of my favorite songs, I belted out the words right along with them, “Reach out for me!”
Lost in a moment of joy, I shimmied around the workroom, snapping a rag against my hip, the wall, and my bench. I wiggled and jiggled and had myself a gay old time. When I looked up and saw Albert watching me, I stopped and said, “What?”
“If you don’t stop singin’, I’ll be the one reachin’ out to turn off this here radio. Ain’t nobody ever told you?”
“Told me what?”
“That you can’t sing.” He shook his head and added, “And you sure can’t dance neither.”
I laughed. “C’mon, Albert. Lighten up.”
The bell above the front door rang, and I went right back to singing as I shimmied out of the workroom. Behind me I heard Albert chuckle. Straightening my shoulders and tossing the rag aside, I went to greet whoever had come in. I was surprised to see Olivia.
“Hey, I stopped at that junk shop over on Meeting Street this morning. Look what I found.” She handed me a bolt of fabric. “Something told me this was special.”
I pulled off the rubber band and turned down a corner so I could examine the face of the fabric. It was the most gorgeous watermelon-and-cream silk stripe I’d ever seen. “Oh, my gosh, this is outstanding.” I counted how many times the fabr
ic had been rolled around the tube. I think there’s enough to make draperies for my home office.”
“So that means you want it?” Olivia said with a knowing smile.
“Absolutely. What do I owe you?”
“Twenty-five bucks,” she said, admiring a silver rice spoon on the display table.
“That’s a steal. C’mon back so I can pay you. Do you have time for coffee?”
Happy for the invitation, she followed me to the kitchen. I poured a cup for both of us and was about to sit down when the bell above the door sounded again. Inez called out from her office, “Stay put—I’ll go. It’s probably the mailman.”
Not a minute later, she walked into the kitchen and sang out, “Flowers for Miss Theodora Overman!” She placed a lush bouquet on the table—white hydrangeas, pale pink roses, and fragrant purple stock, accented by seeded eucalyptus.
I didn’t need to look at the card to know who’d sent them. From a narrow white ribbon tied around the vase, I removed the small envelope. Trying to look nonchalant, I slipped it into the pocket of my smock.
“These are spectacular,” Olivia said, turning the vase in a slow circle. I adore hydrangeas.”
Inez folded her arms across her chest. “So who sent them?”
“Yeah, Teddi, what’s the card say?”
“I’m sure they’re from one of my clients.”
Inez arched one perfectly drawn-on eyebrow. “Baloney. I’m not leaving this kitchen till you open that envelope.”
“Me neither. Where is that card, anyway?”
“She tried to be sly and put it in her pocket,” Inez said.
I removed the envelope and opened it. The card simply read: “Sam.”
“I told you, it’s a client.”
Inez snatched it from my fingers. “I do all the billing around here. We don’t have a client named Sam.” She tapped the card with her finger and narrowed her eyes. “Except for one.”