The First Gardener

by Denise Hildreth Jones

  “He already has,” Eugenia said. “I think he already has.”

  “Don’t touch me!” Sandra hollered from the backseat.

  Eugenia twisted the rearview mirror and watched as Berlyn wiggled even closer to Sandra. Sandra slapped her.

  “Could you two stop it? Seriously!” Eugenia scolded like a preschool teacher.

  Dimples sat on the other side of Sandra with her teeth in her hand. She had one eye on them, and Eugenia swore the other one was watching the trees fly by on the interstate. “Dimples, you too. Put your teeth back in your mouth.”

  Jeremiah shook his head and put it in his hands. “I gon’ call the police and tell ’em I done been kidnapped.”

  “We ain’t kidnapped you.” Dimples gummed the words out. “We’re just borrowing you.”

  “Don’t say ain’t.” Sandra grabbed Dimples’s hand, the one that held her teeth. “And put those back in now, or I swear I’m throwing them out the window. That is disgusting.”

  Dimples crammed them back in her mouth. “I had a piece of chicken in them,” she said, offering Sandra a mocking expression. “And ladies don’t swear, Sandra,” she added, sticking out her tongue for emphasis.

  “The maturity level here is killing me!” Eugenia announced. “Sandra, don’t touch her. And next time, Dimples, get a toothpick.” She adjusted the mirror back to its original position.

  Berlyn leaned forward as far as her seat belt would allow. “So where are we going?”

  “We’re going to remind my daughter that she is not the only one in the world who has problems.”

  Jeremiah turned sharply. “What you gon’ do, Miz Eugenia? Miz Mackenzie don’t need no foolishness right now.”

  “Well, you’re the one who gave my child an amaryllis in March,” she reminded. “Far as I know, that flower means ‘pride.’ So if that wasn’t what you were insinuating, then do tell me now.” Her hands tightened around the steering wheel. Berlyn’s head whipped to Jeremiah as if the tennis ball had just been hit into his court.

  “Well, I give it to ’er ’cause that what I be tol’ to give ’er.”

  “Who told you?” Berlyn asked.

  “Don’t ask,” Eugenia said.

  “The Lord tol’ me.”

  “The Lord?” Berlyn said. “As in . . . God?”

  Sandra punched her. “Don’t use the Lord’s name in vain.”

  Berlyn shook her fist in Sandra’s face. “Hit me again. I dare you . . .”

  “Y’all crazy,” Jeremiah hollered to the backseat. “Yep, God done tol’ me lotta things out there in my garden. He like to hang out there.”

  “And God told you to give her an amaryllis because he was saying something about pride, right?” Eugenia responded.

  His dark eyes looked at her as if they were studying whether answering yes could actually cut his life short. But he still responded truthfully. He knew no other way. It was one of the things about him that drove her crazy.

  “You right. Don’t know ’xactly what, though. I mean, I be a smart man and all, and I know what grief look like—done had my share. I know Miz Mackenzie be havin’ her some real grief. But grievin’ can go and get itself mixed all in with pride and self-pity, and them things can swallow you whole after a while. Maybe that be what God tryin’ to say. But Lord amercy, Miz Eugenia, I ain’t him. Don’t always un’erstand why he tellin’ me to do sump’n. Just know I gots to do it.”

  Eugenia jerked her head toward the street in front of her again. “Well, my baby is not going to be swallowed whole by anything as long as I’m alive to see about it. Those doctors may be going to take care of her head, but I’m going to go in after her heart.”

  Dimples slid up to the edge of the seat too and pulled on Jeremiah’s headrest. “So are we like Charlie’s angels or something?”

  “Or something,” Eugenia said.

  “If we are, I’m Farrah Fawcett,” Berlyn declared quickly.

  “She’s dead, you know,” Sandra informed her.

  Berlyn turned her head to Sandra. “It can happen to the best of us. Anytime—when we least expect it, when we’re not looking, even by someone we know.” She cast a significant look at Sandra, who hugged her black patent-leather purse a little tighter to her chest.

  “We’re going to the Nashville Rescue Mission,” Eugenia announced.

  “Do they have men there?” Berlyn asked.

  Eugenia saw Jeremiah’s brow furrow. He looked at her. She just shook her head. “Don’t ask.”

  “Don’t wanna know.”

  “It’s not about men, Berlyn,” Eugenia said. “Mackenzie used to bring home single mothers with little ones and let them spend the night in the guest rooms when the mission was short on beds. Rosa would fix them big dinners, and Mackenzie would teach Maddie what it meant to take care of other people. That life isn’t all about you and that you should share what you have and bear one another’s burdens. It was one of the things that brought her the greatest joy.”

  Eugenia’s voice softened. “But she hasn’t even been back to the mission since she had that miscarriage.” She steeled her shoulders once again. “Jessica told me yesterday that the head of the Family Life Center at the mission called, and they don’t have enough beds for a family coming in today. They wanted to know if we could have them at the mansion. Jessica didn’t know what to tell them. But I have decided we’re bringing the mission to Mackenzie tonight. She’s going to remember how to live by realizing everyone goes through difficult situations in life, not just her.”

  “Why the gov’nor’s car be followin’ us?” She heard fear in Jeremiah’s voice.

  “That isn’t the governor’s car. It’s my friend Burt. He’s going to bring the family to the mansion because we don’t have room in here with all of us.”

  She saw Jeremiah’s shoulders relax. Then his lips slowly curved into a smile.

  “What’re you smiling at?” she asked.

  He just let out a soft chuckle.

  She didn’t look at him again until they parked in front of the Family Life Center. When she did, she saw he was still smiling. A very irritating smile, if she had to say so herself.

  And she did.

  She always had to say so herself.

  Crazy got a face. I seen it. It look like four ol’ women runnin’ through a homeless shelter grabbin’ up some poor woman and her three chil’rens and tellin’ ’em they goin’ to the gov’nor’s mansion. Eugenia been barkin’ orders like she the gov’nor herself. Dimples been samplin’ the spaghetti dinner. And Sandra, she just tryin’ to keep Berlyn from goin’ in the men’s restroom.

  And me, I just hangin’ on. Ain’t much else you can do when you with crazy people. You just hang on and see where in the good Lord’s name they gon’ take you.

  They crammed that family into that car—kids’ hair be all dirty and the mama look so tired—then they put they clothes and stuff in the trunk a Eugenia’s car. Guess it’d been a while since they had a chance to wash them clothes ’cause they made that prissy Sandra’s nose wrinkle up good. She even whisper sump’n ’bout head lice, though thank God she ain’t said that too loud.

  I been prayin’ the whole way I ain’t gon’ get in no trouble for leavin’ my post. I know Eugenia’s the gov’nor’s mother-in-law and all, but I still gots me a job to do—a job I proud to hold and one she ain’t ax my boss if I could leave. I know he a good man and he trust me, but rules is rules. And Miz Eugenia, she don’t ever think rules apply to her.

  I ain’t figured out why she want me there anyways. If she wanna go and drag somebody ’long, should go after the Lord himself ’cause that amaryllis be his idea.

  But I gone and had me a thought while all that mayhem was goin’ on. Maybe this flower ain’t ’bout Miz Mackenzie after all. God knowed good ’nough that Miz Eugenia gon’ be stickin’ her nose in my flower business, so maybe that flower be for her. Maybe it s’posed to shake her up, make her good and mad. ’Cause sometime you gots to get mad ’nough at the devil to
make him stop stealin’. And Miz Eugenia sure ’nough tired of that ol’ devil stealin’ from her.

  So maybe God knowed just what would get up in her craw and get her to thinkin’ a sump’n that might work. Sump’n that ain’t just about coddlin’ hurt. ’Cause there do come a moment where hurt ain’t need to be coddled no more. Hurt need to be put in perspective.

  So I just prayin’ this whole day be worth sump’n. Please, Lord, let the fact that I had to spend two a the precious hours a my life with these here women be worth sump’n. And, Lord, if you be wantin’ to tell me sump’n, you just gots to help me have eyes to see and ears to hear.

  ’Cause at this point, I just ain’t seein’ it yet.

  Chapter 49

  This was what it came down to. More than three years of serving the people of Tennessee, and this one speech would mark the beginning of the end.

  Kurt had called Fletcher as soon as Gray left his house, and they’d begun drafting a statement. They had scheduled this evening’s meeting so he could look over it. He would read it tomorrow at a hastily scheduled press conference. That way he would have all this pressure off his shoulders and be able to be with Mack all day Monday.

  He had no idea what Monday would entail. But he wasn’t going to let her go through any of it alone.

  Fletcher stood at the edge of his desk in perpetual fidget.

  “Seriously, Fletch. Could you be still for one minute?” Gray laughed as he made a note on the current draft of his statement.

  Fletcher pushed at his wire-rimmed glasses. “Yeah, sure.” His leg still twitched.

  Gray slipped off his readers and set them on the leather top of his desk. He handed the papers to Fletcher, who had traded in his usual bow tie for a long-sleeved UT T-shirt. “The statement looks great. You did a wonderful job. Now, how are we doing at keeping this from leaking out before we leak it?”

  “Well, when I set up the press conference for tomorrow, that of course triggered a million questions. Everyone seems pretty confident that you’ll be launching your campaign. They knew you’d announce your decision when you finished your respite. But far as I can tell, no one knows for sure where you are going to land.”

  Kurt spoke. “We’re going to do a private announcement for leaders in the house and senate, who need to know prior to the news conference. I’ve set that up for ten in the morning. That way they will feel like they heard it from us first and they can get a step ahead of the media frenzy that will ensue after the press conference at noon.”

  Kurt studied Gray. “How are you?”

  Gray ran his hands through his hair. “A little tired. A little sad. All of those things.”

  “Any doubts?” Fletcher asked, his hand fiddling with change in his pocket.

  Gray shook his head. “No. No doubts. Mack was in bed when I left. Eugenia came over so I could meet with you guys.”

  Fletcher nodded. “Well, Marcus Newman’s new ad hit the airwaves today. He doesn’t mention you, but the insinuation is evident.”

  Gray leaned against his desk and crossed his arms. “What is this one about?”

  “This one reminds the public that a released prisoner killed a store clerk. The family of the victim is actually in the commercial.”

  Gray felt a tightening in his chest, a flash of anger. He had called them. He had talked to them. The tightening loosened. They had lost someone they loved. They were angry. “It’s okay,” he said. “I understand. I just hate that they are being taken advantage of in their grief.”

  “Well, it doesn’t matter now. At least it can’t be used against you,” Fletcher responded.

  “It’s out there now, though. People will either think I did the right thing or think I didn’t. But I will always know that I did the best I could with what I had. Budget still on schedule?”

  “Yep,” Kurt said. “Hope you have your red pen handy.”

  “I do. And I intend to use it.”

  “Well, the good news is that we should have enough votes to keep your vetoes from being overturned.”

  “We have our work cut out for us, then, as we leave our final mark around here, huh? Good job on the statement, fellas. You said it exactly like I would. How do you know me so well?” He smiled.

  Kurt and Fletcher both shook their heads and walked out the door.

  Gray moved to the floor-to-ceiling windows behind his desk. He peered out over the capitol lawn, thinking about Mack curled up in bed, covers pulled up to her chin, looking like a child herself.

  He wanted to rescue her. He wanted so desperately to pull her from her pain. Pain in his own gut struck with the thought.

  Then came a revelation. In all of this, in dealing with his own pain, in reclaiming his own heart, there was one thing he hadn’t really done for Mack.

  The realization hit him so hard he had to sit down. “I can’t believe I haven’t prayed for her.”

  He had thrown prayers up, sure. “God, help us. Lord, give me wisdom.” He had done those. But he hadn’t pressed in. Not the way he should have. Not the way that desperate times in people’s lives demanded.

  Jeremiah had told him a story one time about when his little boy was sick with spinal meningitis. Jeremiah said that he went into his bedroom, closed the door, and didn’t come out until the doctors said the boy was fine. Said that he’d prayed and fasted for three full days. That he’d felt like King David did when he did the same thing over his son.

  Gray walked to his personal study. Sophie studied him from her pillow as he passed her, closed the door, and locked it. He pulled his Bible from a side table, then knelt in front of the sofa. And there, in Tennessee’s state capitol, the governor of that state battled for the very life of his wife.

  Chapter 50

  Eugenia burst through the doors of the mansion, scaring the heebie-jeebies out of Joseph. She could tell by the way he grabbed his chest when the door swung open. “It’s okay, Joseph,” she told the steward. “It’s just me.”

  She hollered out the door to Berlyn. “Bring them in.”

  Berlyn turned her broad behind around, displaying the equally broad hot-pink rose that was splattered across it.

  “I’m buying her nothing but stripes for Christmas,” Eugenia muttered to herself.

  Dimples and Sandra climbed out of the car. Sandra was huffing and puffing and acting like she was dying.

  “Get the laundry,” Eugenia barked. “You’re doing it, Sandra.”

  Sandra’s top lip pressed hard against her bottom lip, but Eugenia knew her friend well enough to know that her Southern manners or Southern pride, however you wanted to define it, would never let her say, “There’s no way on God’s green earth I’m doing that stinky laundry” in front of the very people it belonged to. So Eugenia had handled that perfectly.

  Jeremiah got out of the car slowly. The man needed a piece of dynamite stuck to his rear end. Dimples came around the corner of the car and ran into the bumper. Eugenia popped the lid to her trunk with a little button in her hand, and it shot upward, about scaring poor Dimples’s left eye straight.

  Berlyn held the hand of one of three little girls as she led them in the front door. “It’s okay. Come right in. You get to stay here until beds open up at the shelter.”

  The mother of the three girls stood a head above Eugenia. She had to be at least six feet tall. But she was kind of scrawny and ostrichlike. And her poor hair must have been running from shampoo. If she even had any shampoo.

  Jeremiah brought up the rear and grabbed Eugenia’s arm right before she headed upstairs to get Mackenzie.

  “Where you goin’?”

  “I’m going to get Mackenzie. Now, let me go.”

  “What if she ain’t gon’ come?”

  “Then I’ll drag her out of the bed.”

  “What good that gon’ do? Same bed be there tomorrow.”

  She jerked her arm free from his grip. “Do you think I brought this woman and her children here for me?”

  “Nope. Be pretty clear on why
you brought ’em here. Just maybe you ain’t thought through what you need to do now that they here.”

  She shook her head in frustration and stomped her foot. “Speak English, Jeremiah. English. What are you trying to say?”

  “That flower do mean pride, Miz Eugenia. It do. I knowed that when I give it to Miz Mackenzie. And I knowed self-pity’s one a pride’s ugliest and meanest faces. But alls you can do for somebody when they all tangled up in hurt is give ’em a chance to heal. And if you think you can do more’n that for ’em, well then, maybe that flower wasn’t for Miz Mackenzie.”

  She could feel her brow furrow. “Are you saying me? I’ve got a problem with pride?”

  “’Bout as English as I can say it. Control be pride, Miz Eugenia. Lettin’ go . . . now, lettin’ go is healin’.”

  Eugenia was too flustered to think. She had just brought a homeless family to the governor’s mansion. Sandra had all but thrown up when she heard she had laundry duty. Dimples needed as much taking care of as the woman and her children. And Berlyn couldn’t be trusted in the governor’s mansion; she always left with a souvenir. And now Jeremiah had the nerve to suggest Eugenia had gone to all this trouble because she was too full of pride?

  Jeremiah must have read her mind. “Alls you can do is lead her to the water, Miz Eugenia. She the only one can decide to take a drink. You gots to leave all that in the Lord’s hands. He a big ol’ God.”

  Eugenia ran her hand across her face and then tugged both hands through her stiff-sprayed bob. “Go, Jeremiah,” she said. “Just go!” She marched up the stairs, right past a flustered-looking Jessica, still feeling his eyes on her. But she was Eugenia Quinn, and every day was Burger King for her. So she would have it her way.

  Mackenzie’s door was closed. Eugenia opened it slowly to find her daughter still in bed, the covers tucked around her. It was as if she were still seven, sleeping there all safe and sound, back when Eugenia and Lorenzo could keep her safe. Tell her what to do. Make her do it. Mackenzie had always been an obedient child—a little stubborn sometimes, but she would eventually do what she was told. Even if she did it her own way.