The Gardens of Covington

by Joan A. Medlicott

  “Russell gave me hell.” He reached over and grasped her hand. “I got carried away. Truth is I hoped in time you’d come and live with me if I were right there. Forgive me?”

  “Nothing to forgive. But, it’s good with us like it is, isn’t it? Are you unhappy?” Reaching with her free hand she traced the curve of his cheek with her fingers.

  “No,” he replied. “Not unhappy. Selfish.”

  She smiled at him. “I adore you.”

  They spent several hours looking at bedroom sets and big bulky chairs. “I’ve always liked heavy dark furniture, and I always end up buying something light and with smaller proportions,” he said.

  “You get whatever it is you like, my dear,” Grace said.

  They walked about the store slowly and came to rocking chairs, overstuffed chairs with hassocks, and recliners. “I want us each to have a comfortable chair for when we watch TV. This is as good a time as any to select them.”

  They did just that. Bob chose a green leather recliner, wide and with a deep seat, and Grace settled into a smaller version of his, also green with a shorter seat. “They’ll be perfect together,” he said, and he gave the salesman the order. It was the fastest, easiest shopping Grace ever saw. But Bob did not select the dark walnut, but rather chose a French country bedroom set made of pine that Grace loved. “It’s wonderful,” she said. “I love the rounded corners.”

  She fell in love with a sized-down French country dinette set, which he bought. “We did good,” Bob said, squeezing her hand. “Never would have gotten so much done without you.”

  After a quick dinner in Asheville, they headed back to Covington. The traffic on the highway was heavy. Huge trucks bound for Tennessee and beyond hogged the road and tore past them. “They own the road,” Bob said, slowing. “I yield to them.”

  Finally, they reached the turnoff at Mars Hill, and soon turned the corner into Cove Road. The wind had risen, and the windmill at Maxwell’s farm turned steadily. In the near dark several recalcitrant cows, nagged by a blue heeler dog, trudged across a hillside toward the barn. Grace took a deep, satisfied breath, then felt a tingle in her nose. She gasped, her ribs contracted and expanded, and she covered her mouth and sneezed. It was a physical relief, just as it had been knowing that Bob had bought a condo.

  “Bless you,” Bob said.

  “We missed you at dinner,” Hannah said, waving her to join them in the kitchen.

  “I know. I’m sorry. Wait until I tell you where I’ve been and what I’ve been doing.” Grace strutted into the kitchen, where Hannah and Amelia sat at the table finishing chef salads. “You have two guesses, one each.” Grace stood near the stove waiting.

  “You and Bob were making out in the tearoom.” Amelia’s eyes twinkled.

  “Sure. On the tables.” Picturing this made Grace laugh.

  “A multitude of people arrived at five-thirty,” Hannah said.

  “No, they left at three-thirty,” Grace said.

  “Well, chéri, tell us,” Amelia said.

  The kettle whistled. Grace lifted it from the fire.” Anyone want more tea?”

  “Well, tell us,” Amelia said.

  No one wanted tea. She poured water into a cup and dunked a chamomile tea bag for herself. “Well, Bob figured that my silence said it all. He bought an apartment.” Carrying the cup and saucer, she joined them at the table.

  C’est loin? Is it far? Asheville? Fairview, where Mike lives? They have some lovely new places there.”

  “Loring Valley.”

  “Loring Valley, what?” Hannah’s startled look disconcerted Grace. Hannah hadn’t aged at all in the last few years, in fact, since coming to Covington, the lines in her face had softened, but now, tonight, there was a tension about her chin, and tiny lines puckered around her pursed lips.

  “Bob’s bought a condo in Loring Valley, up on the highest tier, with a stunning view.”

  The silence in the kitchen seemed enormous, and deep, and cool as the interior of a cavern. Grace’s hand shook slightly as she lifted the teacup to her lips. It was too hot, and it spilled when she lowered it abruptly to the saucer. She wiped the tabletop with her bandanna.

  “Loring Valley, well,” Hannah said.

  “He wants to be closer to the tearoom.”

  “Loring Valley,” Hannah repeated.

  Grace decided this was not the moment to tell them about the furniture-shopping expedition.

  18

  Hannah Surfs the Internet

  Hannah scrutinized each and every room in the house, seeking a place for her new computer. She considered the kitchen. Too warm, and too busy with Grace baking and cooking. The dining room? No. They enjoyed having people for dinner. The living room? She couldn’t usurp the living room; it was used by everyone. The spare bedroom? No. Bob stayed there some nights, or Tyler slept over, or her or Grace’s family might come to visit. Finally, she settled for her own room, the largest of the four bedrooms. It simply required a bit of rearranging. She would push her dresser closer to the window, the leather wing chair nearer the door. Soon, her new computer found a home on a table along a wall, with a window on the adjoining wall that afforded a pleasant view of trees and a wide pasture and cast a soft northern light.

  There had been horses in that pasture when they first arrived in Covington. She remembered standing at this very window and calling the others to see the mare and colt. The horses were gone now, and the tottering old barn tottered even further, one side nearly touching the ground.

  “You picked a good place for your computer,” Tyler said. He had come to the farmhouse on the bus directly from school. “Our teacher at school says you need to rest your eyes every two hours. Just turn your chair and look out of this window, remember.”

  Hannah sat forward in the swivel office chair she had purchased along with the computer. “Okay, let’s do it,” she said to the boy, who sat in a straight-backed chair she had pulled up to the keyboard. The machine confounded her, intimidated her. The white plastic rectangle with which you clicked here, clicked there, or pushed an arrow about, was called a mouse. Why? Because the arrow scurried? So, why was the arrow called a cursor and not a mouse?

  Deftly, Tyler started up the computer. How, Hannah wondered, did little kids learn this technical stuff so fast? “Got to learn how to use this thing.” Hannah leaned closer to the monitor.

  “It’s easy, Aunt Hannah.” Tyler touched something. The screen rolled. A tiny slim gray line blinked in a box called Search. “Dad taught me to use Google. It’s called a search engine. I click on Google over here in this list on the left. That brings up Google’s home page. See the blinking line?”

  “I see it.”

  “Now, you sit here and type in the name of whatever you want information about.”

  Hannah typed in N-a-t-u-r-e C-o-n-s-e-r-v-a-n-c-y. Immediately the screen changed, and a long index appeared. “Now what do you want?” Tyler asked.

  “I don’t know yet,” she replied. “Let me read this list.” Her finger ran down the listed items and settled on the word purpose. “Purpose. Let’s try that.”

  “Click on purpose then.”

  Hannah did, and in moments she was reading that the Nature Conservancy sought out natural habitats in danger of being destroyed, and, working closely with communities, individuals, corporations, bought the land. Endangered species, flora, or fauna, seemed to be emphasized. She read out loud, “Membership is only twenty-five dollars a year. The Nature Conservancy’s considered the number one conservation organization with regard to accountability and spending practices as listed in the American Institute of Philanthropy’s ratings. What do you think of that, Tyler?”

  But already, Tyler was busy with his Magic game cards. He shrugged.

  Hungry for details, and information, Hannah scanned the index, which listed such topics as purchasing power, ecological classification, and law of the land. She pointed to law of the land and clicked the mouse. An article appeared. Hannah scanned it.

&n
bsp; There is a thirty-five-year-old statute that few have ever heard of. In fact, the Land and Water Conservation Fund just might be the most visionary yet anonymous landscape protection measure ever passed.

  For a moment Hannah rejoiced, until she read that today the LWCF, whose funding came from offshore oil drilling royalties, found itself at a turning point. As she scanned the paragraph, hope spiraled down, down into the pit of her stomach. She spoke out loud, then, more to clarify the material for herself than to share it with Tyler. “Over the past few decades the LWCF has been woefully underappropriated, not because the money hasn’t existed, but because Congress has siphoned off its funds into other programs.”

  Tyler lifted his head from his cards for a moment. “It sounds so boring. I could teach you to play my Magic game or put a game on your computer.”

  “Maybe another time.” She could not take her eyes from the monitor. It was amazing. An encyclopedia at the touch of a mouse; no turning razor-thin pages or struggling with fine print in heavy volumes, and without having to leave the house for the library. Marvelous. The possibilities of the computer suddenly stretched before her like a field of wheat, ripe and nourishing. Hannah smiled at Tyler. “I could get to like this thing, after all.”

  “You will, Aunt Hannah. When you’re done looking up what you need to, I’ll teach you to play games, if you want.”

  “I’d like that, Tyler,” she replied, and went on reading. Royalties, she noted again, levied on offshore oil drilling had funded the LWCF. Good she thought, and continued. These royalties, as high as $900 million in one year, went to federal land acquisition for conservation and recreation, or monies could be turned over to the states in a matching fund program that allowed the states to decide which lands they wanted for new parks, which they wanted to enhance older parks, and which for open space.

  Usage. That word leaped at her. What usage could be assigned to Anson’s land that would interest the LWCF or the Nature Conservancy, or any other organization dedicated to preservation, or the state, or individuals? As a park? No. Masterson’s land was going to be developed as a park. Open land, unspoiled forests, hiking trails? Endangered species, of course. The Nature Conservancy was interested in preserving habitats of endangered flora or fauna. She liked their approach. Surely, there must be something endangered on Anson’s land. How could she find out?

  Below in the driveway, a horn blew and blew again. “Gotta go,” Tyler said. “Want to shut it off yourself when you’re done reading, or should we print out copies?”

  “Shut it off. Your dad’s waiting. You can show me how to print next time.” She hugged him, conscious that she was strong and bony, not soft and round like Grace.

  He dawdled. “I hope you can stop those builders from tearing up Mr. Anson’s land.” His eyes were dark and wide and very serious. “They sure cut a lot of trees down where Grandpa’s bought his apartment.” He lowered his head and she saw that his chin quivered. When he looked up at her, his eyes held tears. “Grandpa’s going to move, and I’m going to be all alone, with that Emily and my dad.”

  “That’s hardly being alone, Tyler.”

  “Oh, yes it is. You haven’t seen them, Aunt Hannah, always kissing and stupid stuff like that.” He was silent, and Hannah didn’t know what to say. She’d never been good at talking to children.

  “Here’s how you shut it off.” Tyler clicked the mouse, and the computer screen changed color, rolled, and finally went dark. Then the words It is safe to turn off your computer now appeared. Tyler slipped from his chair alongside Hannah, bent, and switched off the red light on the bar on the floor. Without looking at her, he mumbled, “Dad’s probably mad at me. We had a meeting with Mrs. Tate and my teacher this afternoon.”

  “This afternoon?”

  “I came here from school on the bus to help you.”

  “What was the meeting about that you decided to avoid, Tyler?”

  “I got an ‘F.’ Didn’t turn in a project.” He shrugged. A weak smile curled about his lips.

  Hannah gave him her full attention. Seated, she towered over him, but her eyes were gentle and her voice soft. The horn blew again. “What’s going on, Tyler? You’re very smart. You didn’t want to do the project?”

  “No.” He studied his shoes, and shuffled from one leg to the other.

  “Look at me,” Hannah said, then reached to draw him to her. “No inquisition, boy. I care about you.”

  Tears trickled down Tyler’s freckled cheeks. Hannah’s heart went out to him. She lifted him easily onto her lap, and thought about her two grandsons and how little patience she had had with them when they were Tyler’s age. She would try to do better, now, with this child. “Tell me,” she said gently and smoothed back his hair with her hand.

  “I want to live here with you, and Granny Grace, and Aunt Amelia, and Dad says absolutely not. He’s going to marry Emily. Grandpa’s going to move out. I’ll never see any of you, only Emily and Dad. I hate them both.” He stifled a sob.

  “Damn, where is he?” Russell started to open the door of the car, but Emily’s hand on his arm restrained him. “He knew we had a meeting with his teacher, so he gets on the bus and comes over here.”

  “Russell.” Emily’s voice was soft. “I’m going home to Ocala for a while.”

  “You’re what?” The nerves in his jaw twitched. “What about us?”

  “We can wait. Can’t you see it’s too soon for Tyler?”

  Russell turned to her, but she averted her eyes. The pain in him was palpable. “I love you, Emily. I want us to get married.”

  “I want that too,” she murmured. Leaning into his chest, she hid her trembling chin. “I love you, but how can we be happy if every moment of our lives together causes Tyler so much pain?”

  Russell’s free hand gripped the steering wheel. He lowered his head until his forehead touched the hard rim. “He’s a child, Emily. He’ll adjust. Kids adjust. He’ll get to know you. He’ll love you.”

  “Maybe in time, he will, but I can’t live with his hostility, Russell. I just can’t.”

  From outside the horn sounded again. Hannah sensed Tyler’s helplessness and anger. She ached for him, for his loss, and now this sweeping change. “Have you explained to your dad how you’re feeling?”

  “He knows. He doesn’t care.”

  “I don’t for a minute believe that.” She could feel Tyler stiffen. He stepped away from her. If only Grace and Bob were here. They could sit down, all of them, and talk to Tyler and to Russell. She would talk to Grace about this. But for now, an impatient Russell waited in the driveway, and Tyler was so upset she hated to let him go. “We’ll think of something, Granny Grace, and your grandpa, and I.”

  They walked downstairs slowly, hand in hand. Hannah opened the front door and waved at Russell. “Tyler’s been wonderful,” she called. “He’s so smart. We were shutting down the computer. He’s coming. My fault. Sorry.” Closing the door, she knelt beside Tyler.

  “You’re a gutsy kid. Listen to me. Your dad loved your mother very much, but he’s lonely. You have us all to love you. Who has he got?”

  “Me. Grandpa.” Tyler’s voice was small, and blue, and defeated.

  “Emily’s a nice woman. You don’t have to love her, only respect and be polite to her.”

  “Got to go,” Tyler said.

  Hannah nodded, certain that she had failed him. Grace would have said it all so much better. By speaking favorably of Emily, had she, in Tyler’s mind, joined the ranks of the enemy? She prayed not.

  He bounded down the porch steps, barely missing Emily, who had dashed from the car, up the steps, and across the porch to where Hannah stood in the doorway of the farmhouse. “May I come in, Miss Hannah?” she asked.

  The car door slammed behind Tyler, but the car did not start or drive away. Hannah and Emily stood for a long quivering moment in the foyer. Emily’s chin trembled. Then Hannah took the young woman’s arm, guided her to the kitchen, pulled out a chair at the table for her.
Stalling for time, Hannah set a plate of cookies in the center. “How can I help?” she asked, finally taking the chair across from Emily.

  “I’m not sure anyone can.” Emily’s voice was sad, plaintive, and lonely. “I can’t marry a man whose child hates me. I’m going home to Florida.”

  “Sure this is what you want to do?”

  “No,” she wailed softly, beginning to weep, then wiped her eyes with her sleeve. “I don’t know what else to do. This is a huge change for me. I have a successful practice, and I’m willing to give it up, but not this way. I’ve tried with Tyler. He won’t let me read to him, won’t talk to me. When he does say anything, it’s ‘yes, ma’am’ and ‘no, ma’am,’ and then he looks past me or right through me.” She shuddered. “He gives me the willies.” Shifting in her chair, Emily leaned toward Hannah and lowered her voice nearly to a whisper. Involuntarily, Hannah leaned closer. “I told Russell, right from the start, that I needed to meet Tyler, that we needed to plan things that included him.” Emily’s body quivered. Hannah reached over and placed a hand on her arm.

  “Time. It’s a matter of time, and it helps, I’ve learned, if you can talk about the things you’re feeling.”

  Emily shook her head. Her eyes, under their long lashes, were sorrowful. “For me and Russell, I think it’s too late.” She began to cry again, hunched over the table, her face buried in her hands.

  “Do you love Russell?” Hannah asked.

  She nodded and muttered something indiscernible.

  “I don’t believe in impossible,” Hannah said. Pushing back her chair she walked to the window. “Russell’s car’s sitting in the driveway.”

  Emily lifted her head. “Still there?”

  “Waiting for you, I imagine. Listen, Emily. Everyone’s hurting, you, Russell, Tyler. You must sit down and talk.”

  “We never do that,” she replied. “I don’t know why.”

  Hannah meshed her fingers tight. Interference was not her way. The light in the kitchen seemed suddenly to dim. When Hannah looked out of the window, she saw the low bank of gray clouds that hovered above Snowman’s Cap. Weather changed so fast in these mountains. Would it snow? No, it was in the forties, too warm for snow, except, of course on Snowman’s Cap. A cap of snow. She brought her mind back to Emily and Tyler.