Antoinette bucked and kicked. Lily started counting, but she held on tight. No, no, no! Antoinette wanted MaryBeth. Let go of me!
“We don’t mind if she’s a little under the weather,” Eli said. “The last time y’all were in town, MaryBeth felt so much better after seeing Antoinette. She had a couple of real good days, but now she’s in a bad way again. Seeing Antoinette would help.”
He peered at Antoinette, and she reached for him. “Why don’t you let me take her? MaryBeth’s having trouble breathing. The doctors say she’ll need a ventilator soon. A visit from this little girl sure would cheer her up.”
Antoinette went still. She knew that healings never lasted, but this one had faded too fast. Something was wrong.
Lily took advantage of Antoinette’s momentary calm to head for the door.
“Next time,” her mother said. She followed Lily but stopped just in front of the door, letting Lily carry Antoinette outside while keeping Eli inside the shop. “I’m so sorry about MaryBeth,” her mother said.
And Antoinette realized it was the only true thing her mother had said since Eli entered the shop.
Chapter Sixteen
The garden show was in a little over a week. Music would be in the drying barn. Art would be in the house garden. Those two venues would be prepared later in the week. Tonight Lily and Will set up tables in the night garden for the food vendors. Rose directed them while Antoinette walked in circles.
As Lily worked, she thought of Eli. He was going to be a problem. Yesterday, at Knitwits, he had stared at Antoinette as if she were a science experiment. She might not be cut out to be Antoinette’s guardian, but she didn’t want harm to come to her.
She was surrounded by puzzles she couldn’t solve. How to patch things up with Rose? How to get out of being Antoinette’s guardian? How to keep Eli away from Antoinette? This was why she liked math—in math, there was always a set solution.
“How about here?” Will asked as he and Lily tugged a table away from the stone wall. He tapped the table twice. He should look out of place in his khakis and polo shirt, but he didn’t.
“Back a little,” Rose said. “Closer to the wall.” She rested on a bench beside the fountain, her portable oxygen tank at her side. That afternoon, she had lost her breath walking from the kitchen to her room. She started carrying the tank after that.
They tugged the table into place and looked to Rose for approval. When she nodded, they moved on to the next table.
To Lily, the night garden felt magical. In addition to the bountiful flowers, concrete benches were scattered throughout the garden, and water trickled from a fountain. Plumes of astilbe swayed in front of the fountain. The plant had airy white flowers that sprouted above the dark green glossy foliage. Astilbe meant . . . Lily couldn’t remember. How could she have forgotten?
Will grabbed one end of the table. “Ready?”
“Wait a minute,” Lily said. “I have to get the Victorian flower book. I’ll be right back.”
By the time she returned, Will had maneuvered the table into place. Still holding the book, Lily moved to help him.
“Go sit down,” Will said. He plucked the book from her hands and tossed it onto the nearest bench, one right next to Antoinette.
“I’ll help,” Lily said.
“And lose this chance to impress you with my manly prowess?” Will said. “No way.”
“You’re incorrigible. You know that?” Lily asked, but she sat down.
“God, I hope so. Where’s the fun otherwise?”
Lily ignored him. She had known what quality astilbe represented years ago when she and her father planted the flowers. She could picture him tamping down dirt around the astilbe, see him scattering mulch over the ground. The flowers were still there; everything else, though, was gone.
“What are you doing?” Rose asked.
They hadn’t had a chance to talk much since Will’s arrival, and Lily hated the tension that had grown between them. Even more, she hated knowing that she would make everything worse when she told Rose she couldn’t be Antoinette’s guardian. “I can’t remember what astilbe means,” she said.
Antoinette started walking in tight circles around the bench where Lily sat, so she turned away. If she didn’t see Antoinette, maybe she wouldn’t start counting.
“Do you think Seth will join us?” Lily tried to sound casual, as if she was just making conversation, but she really did wonder. He hadn’t been around much since Will showed up.
Rose glanced surreptitiously toward Will. “I don’t think so.”
Last night, after they had returned from town, Seth had turned to Will. “You’re staying here, I suppose?” His words were careful, his face expressionless.
“If the ladies will have me,” Will said with a half smile. “I’ll earn my keep. Free physicals for all.” His grin was infectious. Rose and Lily had laughed, but Seth left without saying a word.
A soft breeze ruffled the pages of the flower book. At the sound, Antoinette stopped pacing and moved closer. She seemed intrigued. The book was open to a picture of daisies, and she tapped it three times.
“She wants to know what they mean,” Rose said.
“Innocence,” Lily said, picking up the book but not looking at it.
Antoinette leaned forward and lost her balance. Lily automatically grabbed her before she hit the ground. “You okay?”
Antoinette growled and smacked Lily’s hands.
“Are you sure you weren’t a baby wrangler in a prior life?” Will asked as he pulled a table in place.
“No more than you were a priest,” Lily said.
Antoinette resumed walking in tight circles. When she noticed Lily watching, she growled.
“A priest isn’t out of the question.” Will raised his eyebrows. “A dark confessional booth has possibilities.”
“That’s over the top, even for you.”
Will grinned. “When will you learn, Lils? I’m a man of extremes.”
Lily turned another page. There it was. “Astilbe. I’ll be waiting,” she read. “Can’t believe I forgot it.”
LILY DIDN’T RETURN to the house with everyone else but sat alone in the darkening garden, listening to the sounds around her. Most people thought it was quiet in the country, but they were wrong. Horses called to each other over their stalls. Cicadas buzzed in the trees. Creek water gurgled over rocks.
And now a violin sang in the distance.
Now was as good a time as any to talk to Seth about being Antoinette’s guardian. She stood and followed the stone path to the drying barn. Pieces of a melody floated through the early-evening air, and she pictured Seth, eyes closed, violin under his chin, swaying as he skimmed the bow across the strings.
When she reached the barn, a faint beam of light shone beneath the door. Quietly, she eased it open.
He stood at the far end of the barn, his back to her, a single light shining down on him. Even if Lily had wanted to look elsewhere she couldn’t. She had missed hearing him play, missed watching him transform into someone carefree.
Their first kiss had happened here in the drying barn, and she flashed back to that day. It was autumn, and they were both sixteen. Sunlight filtered through cracks in the old wood slats, and the air was crisp with the scent of wood smoke. Seth took off his jacket and spread it over a straw bale.
“I thought we were going hiking,” Lily said as he pulled her down next to him.
He picked up a twig and scratched lines on the dirt floor. “I’ve been thinking,” he said.
“About what?” She leaned against his shoulder.
“Do you think God has a reason for all of this?”
She was used to his odd questions. Last week they had been sitting on the rock that rose out of the middle of the creek when he said, “What if this is all a dream?”
“If it is,” Lily had said, thinking of her need to number everything, “it’s not a very good one.”
Now she frowned at him. “All of what
?”
“This.” He waved the stick in the air, indicating her, the barn, everything. “I’ve been thinking that maybe my dad is . . . you know, the way he is, for a reason. Maybe something good will come from it.” He drew three parallel lines in the dirt.
Lily thought for a moment. If God had a purpose, she didn’t see it. “I don’t know,” she said, choosing her words carefully. “I think things are just the way they are—whether for bad or for good, there’s no reason—and you learn to live with it.”
Seth frowned and Lily could almost see him considering her words. He had always been serious, sometimes too much so. He tossed the stick aside and ran his foot across the dirt, smearing the lines.
“The whole town knows about my dad,” he finally said. “That’s what most people see when they look at me. At least the bad parts, anyway. No one talks about the person he is when he isn’t drinking.”
“That’s not true—”
He laughed. “Really? Haven’t you lived in Redbud long enough? When’s the last time you heard anyone talk about his skill with the violin?” He rested his elbows on his knees and clasped his hands together. He had grown taller in the past year, and his hair was longer. When he leaned forward, it brushed the skin beneath his eyes.
Lily didn’t want to admit that he was right. Cora and Teelia whispered about Seth in church, saying he was too serious for someone his age and that it was his father’s fault. The kids at school snickered when he walked down the hall. It wasn’t as bad as their treatment of her, but it was close.
“You’re the only one who sees me. Not my messed-up family. Just me. Do you know what a gift that is? To be able to be myself around someone?”
The air was electric. She felt hot and cold at the same time. If she leaned forward just a bit, their lips would touch. “Being with you is easy,” she said. It was true. She never needed to count when she was with him.
He wrapped his arm around her hip and pulled her close. He leaned his forehead against hers. “We fit together.”
Lily closed her eyes when he tangled his hands in her hair. He smelled like autumn leaves and fresh tobacco. When he kissed her, it felt like coming home, and Lily realized that love grew in familiar places.
Now, as she watched him play, she thought of how much she missed the freedom to be completely herself with someone. She was close to Will, would even say she loved him, but she kept part of herself from him in a way she never had with Seth.
“I know you’re there,” Seth said as he finished the piece he’d been playing.
She walked deeper into the barn. It was fully dark outside now, and the cicadas sang. “I didn’t mean to interrupt,” she said. “I was on the way back to the house when I heard you playing. Haydn. Right?”
“You remembered.” He took a well-worn chamois cloth from the case and wiped down the violin.
“Why didn’t you join us in the night garden?” she asked.
“I didn’t want to interfere with things between you and Will.” He kept his back to her, but his shoulders tightened at Will’s name.
Lily wanted to say there wasn’t anything going on between her and Will, but of course that wasn’t quite true. She watched as he put the violin in the case, then snapped it shut.
“I’ve been thinking,” Seth said. He was standing so close that she felt the heat from his body. “About what you said the other night. You were right. I should have told you about Antoinette—her special abilities.”
This was her chance. Seth loved Antoinette. He’d be a perfect guardian for her. “About Antoinette. I need to ask—”
But he wasn’t paying attention. He kept talking. “You have to know that you did mean something to me. You still do.”
Lily was too surprised to respond. All thoughts of asking him to be Antoinette’s guardian left her.
“I won’t interfere with your life,” Seth said as he picked up his violin, “because I don’t want to hurt you again. But I need you to know that breaking up with you is the biggest mistake I ever made. I do care about you, and if I thought that you would’ve believed what Antoinette can do, I’d have told you, no matter what Rose said.” Then he turned and walked out of the barn, leaving Lily staring at the door as it shut behind him.
ROSE’S JOURNAL
August 2009
I HOIST ANTOINETTE over the fence between our house and Seth’s. Since she healed me, everything is easier. I don’t run out of breath, and it’s been a year since I’ve had any chest pain. But I can’t escape the guilt of knowing that my health comes at a price.
Over the past year, Seth and I have watched Antoinette carefully. We still don’t know exactly how she works her miracles, but we do know that for the healing to work she must be touching the person or plant or animal.
I miss holding her hand, and I let my fingers linger against her shoulder for a moment before I slide the painting I’m carrying between the fence rails. I’m her mother; she’s my child. I want to hold her, to pull her against me—but I can’t. The cost is too great.
Once through the fence, I help her up the steps to Seth’s house. My hands shake as I knock on the door. I’m not good at thank-yous.
As soon as he opens the door, I thrust out the painting. “For you,” I say. It’s a rendering of the creek that runs through the back of our properties, the spot where a large flat rock sits in the middle of the water. I haven’t painted since leaving school and doing so felt good, but I’m unsure of myself in a way I never was when I was younger.
“Take it.” I stumble over my words. “Without you, I would have had to sell the farm.”
“The rock,” he says as he accepts the painting. His smile is bittersweet. “I spent a lot of time there.”
“We all did.”
“It’s still there.” He looks sheepish. “I checked. The first night I was back.”
This is a side of Seth I don’t often see: shy, soft.
He stands back to let us in. His house is old, like ours. The wood floors are scratched in places, and the French doors leading into the living room sag slightly in the middle. The gray stone fireplace is flanked by a set of bookcases filled with books and photographs.
“Did you build these?” I ask. The wood is solid. I imagine them standing long after the house has fallen down around them.
Seth nods. “I made them for my mother. She loved this room.”
It’s strange hearing him talk about his parents. I know he spoke to Lily about them, but he rarely did so with me.
Antoinette plops down on the soft beige couch. Her legs stick out from her cutoffs like twin toothpicks. She bounces on the couch, shrieking as she does. I touch her shoulder to calm her, but it doesn’t help.
“She’s happy,” he says. “Let her bounce.”
I love the way Seth takes Antoinette in stride.
He holds the painting over the fireplace. “I think it should go here.”
“It looks nice,” I say. I feel a flush of pride.
“I need a hammer,” Seth says. “Be right back.”
When he leaves, I examine the bookcase. The wood is beautiful. Oak stained a rich mahogany color. The streaks of red set off the wood grain. On the middle shelf, beside a stack of books about music therapy, is a picture of Seth and his mother. She has her arm looped around his waist.
When he returns, carrying a step ladder and tools, I nod at the photo. “Your mom was really pretty, especially when she smiled.”
He pops open the ladder and climbs up. “Hand me the painting.” I hand it to him and he says, “That was the problem. My dad liked to own things. Pretty things. She was just one more possession.”
He nods at the painting. “Is it centered?”
I step back and look. “A little high.”
He lowers it slightly. “Better?”
I nod and glance at Antoinette, who seems happy twisting her head from side to side and flicking her fingers.
Seth presses a nail into the wall to mark the spot where he’ll hang th
e painting. “He wasn’t all bad, my dad,” he says. It seems important to him that I know this. “After all, he’s the one who taught me to play the violin.”
I pick up the photo of his mother. I wonder how she felt about Seth’s father. “You don’t need to explain,” I say. I set the photo back on the shelf, causing some books to slide down. When they do, another picture falls out.
It’s of Lily. She’s sitting on the creek bank, her arms around her knees. Though the photo is black and white, the sun flashes in her dark hair.
I miss Lily as much as I miss holding Antoinette’s hand.
Seth taps a nail into the wall and motions for me to hand him the painting. He hangs it and then sits down on the top ladder step. “I think we’re programmed to love our families no matter how screwed up they are.”
I look down at the picture of Lily and nod.
Seth follows my gaze. “Have you talked to her?”
I shake my head.
“She’d come home if you asked.” He takes the picture from me, holding it gently, as if it’s something precious.
Unlike me, Lily forgives easily. But I’m afraid. What if by ignoring her, I pushed her away? “She won’t,” I say. “Not after the way I treated her.”
“Of course she will. She’s your sister.”
But I shake my head. “I can’t call her.” I’d rather live with the fantasy that one day Lily and I will reconcile than contact her and discover that I have succeeded in pushing her away forever.
Chapter Seventeen
Antoinette concentrated on following her mother. The market was busy on Saturdays and getting lost would be easy. The people clumped around the booths could shift, engulf her mother, and then poof—it would be like she never existed at all.
The largest crowd surrounded the Eden Farms’ booth; they had the biggest and brightest flowers at the market. People milled about under the green awning, examining black-eyed Susans and purple coneflowers that shouldn’t bloom for another two months.
The Peculiar Miracles of Antoinette Martin Page 17