The Gardener

by Michelle DePaepe

  There was one other thing that she gathered from their two brief meetings. As an art gallery owner, she’d learned to size up prospective clients in a heartbeat. She knew if they were serious buyers or just posers, basking in the feeling of the art world’s mystique. She could tell that this man definitely did not come from money. But, there was a drive...an unspoken passion burning in him. Was it obsession...or did he need the money so badly that he took on work around the clock? And how many other clients in this conservative little town allowed him to keep such hours? She wondered if her grandmother had indulged this peculiarity. Maybe, that was how she kept his presence a secret, taking credit herself for the work that he did.

  With her hand on the back door knob, she told herself that she shouldn’t go out there and pester him. But, curiosity won. She had to know how he worked at night.

  Scolding herself, she slipped out into the cool gunmetal darkness of the starry sky.

  Chapter 43

  “Come on, Grace. It’s me...”

  Opal banged on the door again, then walked over to the window and peered inside. She could see the glow from a candle in the living room, but no movement inside. She rapped on the windowpane with a fist.

  “Go away,” a voice yelled. “I’m not buyin’ anything.”

  “It’s your niece...Opal. Please open the door.”

  She waited as she heard footsteps. A minute later, the tattered moth-eaten flour sack curtains parted, and she saw her aunt’s face peering out.

  Muttered curses filled the night air. Opal endured the barrage of four-letter words, wincing from each one as it stung her like a wasp.

  A few moments later, the latch popped open.

  “What do you want?” the old woman asked as she cracked the door.

  “Grace...please...I need your help. It’s an emergency.”

  “Who’s dyin’? I probably don’t care and can’t help anyway...”

  Opal put her hand on the frame next to the creaky wooden door, determined to keep her aunt from closing it. “Let me in...and I’ll tell you. I’ve come a long way to see you.”

  “I didn’t ask you to come.”

  “I’ve brought you some homemade biscuits and jam.”

  There was a pause...and then, “What kind of jam?”

  “Blackberry—your favorite.”

  The door inched open.

  Opal stepped inside, taking in the shifting shapes of the shadows cast by the lone beeswax candle in the dark room. She smiled to herself as she realized that the detour to the grocery store on the way out of Calathia had paid off.

  She offered the biscuits and the jar of jam to the hunched woman who hesitated as if they might be poisoned.

  “Why did you come so far to bother me...and bring a bribe?”

  Opal sighed and covered her face with her hands. “I’ve done an awful thing, Grace. I need your help to undo it.”

  “No one ever knocks on my door without wanting something,” Grace said as nibbled on a hunk of biscuit and smacked with pleasure.

  Opal hadn’t seen her aunt in a couple of years, but it was obvious that little had changed. She still wore the same threadbare dresses with a crocheted shawl over her shoulders. Her feet were bare, because she could no longer cut her thick and yellowed toenails with a knife, and it hurt to put on shoes. That was reason enough to declare that she never wanted to leave her house again. And, at ninety-six...she no longer drove a car. Neighbors brought her groceries, and she lived her life in blissful solitude.

  Grace hobbled off to the kitchen and came back with a butter knife. Then, she eased herself into her rocking chair next to her knitting basket and sat the plate on her lap. She dug into the biscuits as voraciously as a wolf.

  Opal sat down on a wooden stool next to her and began as simply as she could. “Grace...I held a séance for a dear old lady to bring back her husband, and there was a mistake. I brought back the wrong spirit. He’s taken up residence in the house, and I’m afraid he’s murdered once and might do it again.”

  Grace kept nibbling, unaware of her lips turning purple. “A mistake, eh? There’s lots of remedies in the kitchen.” She gestured toward the wall just beyond the kitchen table. It was lined from floor to ceiling with wood shelves that contained hundreds of small green and brown glass jars of every herb, spice, and botanical folk remedy imaginable.

  “Your potions won’t help me this time. I need spiritual assistance...not something in a bottle. Somebody might die if I don’t figure this out. Virginia may have been killed because of my mistake.”

  Grace looked at her as if noticing her for the first time. Her eyes squinted into tiny cat-like slits as she seemed to be trying to squeeze enough light into her pupils. With a little sugar and flour in her belly, her words seemed more focused. “A spirit, eh? One of those mean nasty fellas? You didn’t close the circle to protect yourself when you did your spell, did ya?”

  Opal bowed her head as her guilt increased a thousand fold. She told Grace every detail she could remember in the hope of finding a solution. “I’m not even sure what I’m dealing with. He was dressed in a Victorian style suit with a tall hat. A young man ...thirties...forties, maybe. Probably from around 1900 or so. He said his name was AlphonsoGiovanni, but I have yet to find out who he is. He tried to kill me. Look…”

  Opal unbuttoned her blouse and displayed the bruises around her ribs. The striped olive green and raisin purple blotches from the coils of the spirit were clearly visible, even in the dim candlelight. But, when the old woman continued to stare down towards her plate without acknowledging the damage to her bare torso, she remembered her aunt’s failing eyesight.

  “I’m sorry, Grace,” she said as she fumbled with her buttons. “I forgot.”

  With her eyes still cast downward, the old woman’s hand shot out and grabbed Opal’s wrist. Her long nails, like an eagle’s talons, dug trenches into her flesh. Opal winced from the pain and the frightening strength of her grip. She saw Grace’s eyes close and a violent fluttering begin underneath the lids.

  A second later, she released her hold and sunk back into the rocking chair like a deflated balloon.

  “I could feel what happened to you. It was a black snake that attacked you. He was like a serpent from the devil’s den coiled around you. You’re lucky to have gotten away with your life.”

  “I know. This is very serious. Won’t you help me? There’s a woman in that house now...and I’m afraid that her life is in danger as well.”

  Grace opened her eyes, gobbled down the last bite of a biscuit, then licked her fingers. “It’s a lot easier to bring a spirit into this world than it is to send him back.”

  “Come back with me to Calathia. Maybe if we do it together...”

  Grace shook her head. “No...no...I can’t do that. I’m not leaving here. They’ll have to bring my coffin in through the door and bring me out in it. I don’t like this world anymore. Don’t want any part of it.”

  “Even to save a life?”

  She looked towards Opal with the bottomless sea of her ancient blue eyes. “Are you sure the spirit is still there and this woman is in danger?”

  “Yes. I drove four hours to see you, Grace. I don’t know where else to turn.”

  “This doesn’t sound like any common ornery spirit. But, I’m too old to deal with such tricksters. And...even if I could make the trip...I’m afraid I might not last to make it back. I’m not strong enough anymore.”

  “What can I do then?”

  “I may be able to help you, but whatever we come up with...you’re going to have to do it on your own.”

  Opal leaned over and grasped her aunt’s frail hand. “I’m scared to death, but I owe it to Virginia and her granddaughter to undo what I’ve done.”

  “My ideas might scare you even more. Sometimes, big mistakes call for big solutions. Hopefully we can come up with something that will work.”

  Opal tensed. She had no idea what the old woman might tell her to do. If it was something str
ange or petrifying, she had no choice. Part of her wanted to do anything...anything...to banish the spirit, even if she had to swallow a jar of enchanted swamp muck or fight him with a red-hot sword. But, inside her core, she was still that little girl peeking in the carnival tent at the mysterious gypsy. She wanted to run far away and hide her head under the blankets, quivering and crying until the bad man went away.

  “It’s getting late, dear. Maybe you should go, and I’ll tell you tomorrow. You won’t sleep a wink if we start now.”

  “No...I won’t sleep at all if you don’t help me now. Besides, I have nowhere else to stay. You’ve got a house guest for the night.”

  Grace wrinkled her nose. “I’m not prepared for company. I probably haven’t got an extra set of sheets that don’t have moths in them.”

  “Don’t worry about me. I can take the couch.”

  The frail woman sighed as if accepting the fact that a trap had been laid for her. “Well...in that case, I’ll put on a pot of tea or maybe a bottle of brandy...whichever I touch first. It’s going to be a long night…”

  Chapter 44

  Georgia didn’t need much light to find her way. She knew exactly how many steps there were to the vegetable garden. But, she hesitated before she stepped off the patio. Was it rude of her to intrude? If she silently watched him work from the path, would he think that she was spying and be offended?

  Before continuing, she thought of a ruse that would give her an excuse for her appearance.

  She counted the paces to the vegetable garden, taking care to make a little noise as she went, so it wouldn’t seem like she was trying to sneak up on him.

  When she reached the picket gate, she was startled to see that the entire plot had been cleared. Impossible! How could one man have done so much so fast? It had only been a little over than an hour since he’d arrived.

  DanielMoreno was nowhere to be seen. She guessed that he was back at his truck as she continued towards the rose garden.

  When she reached the black iron arbor, she paused. Her heart pounded as she saw a tall shadow circling the fountain. She watched as it paced around counter-clockwise. She hadn’t expected to find him there so absorbed in what appeared to be another strange mental ritual.

  He saw her and stopped, leaning against the rim of the lower tier. “Signora. You startled me! I was just pondering my next task. Have you seen the vegetable garden? I was about to start on the roses…”

  “I...I just wondered if you could use something to drink.”

  “Lovely. A glass of Chianti...Absinthe...or another libation?”

  She laughed. “I was thinking more along the line of a glass of water or a cup of tea.”

  He walked towards her then stood just a foot away. She smelled earth and sweat on him mixed with the scent of the decaying roses on the arbor above. The sweat on his pale skin glistened in contrast against the cavernous blackness of the circular garden behind him. His eyes were a brilliant verdant green even in the dim light. They mesmerized her.

  A moth fluttered in front of her face. As she shooed it away and broke away from his gaze, she suddenly became aware of his closeness. They were alone in the garden in the dark. The lights next door at Annie’s and Fred’s were out, and she felt...well...not really uncomfortable...but a little strange as she realized how little she knew about this man. An exhilarating sensation of danger mixed with lust rippled through her.

  “Really, McKenna. I am fine. You are much too early. I would prefer that you wait and see my finished work tomorrow morning.”

  “That Ms. or Ma’am business just makes me feel so old.”

  “Old?” he chuckled. “Do you see that rose bush just beyond the arbor?”

  He made a grand gesture toward a sprawling tangle of thorns six feet tall to her left. In the daylight, she would have been able to see its leaves, reddened by frost and the few remaining drooping blossoms that were somewhere between the color of freshly churned butter and day old champagne.

  “It is called Honeydew. It was bred over a century ago and won many awards in its day. If you could see it in the sunshine next to yourself, one would say that you are much younger and no less beautiful than it.”

  Georgia felt a flush of heat come to her cheeks.

  “You are a bambina compared to the cottonwood trees down by the river. Some of them have been here, I’m sure, for two hundred years or more.”

  “How long have you been a gardener, Daniel?”

  He smiled, a flash of white teeth a mile wide. “A very long time...since before I was born, I think.”

  She laughed.

  “Now...you must go. I have much work to do. Please don’t make me pick you up and carry you back inside.” He winked again and held his arms out to show her that he was prepared to haul her off like another load of vegetation. “Ciao,” he said as waved her off.

  She rolled her eyes and did a fake curtsy before panning around to head back the way she came. As she followed the stones back to the house, she felt giddy. Was he flirting with her?

  Back inside, she found it difficult to keep herself busy and away from the windows. She paced about, tidied up a few things, and watched the evening news before preparing for bed.

  A few minutes later, she caught herself in the mirror in the middle of a ridiculous grin as she brushed her teeth. The gardener certainly was charming...and knowledgeable about the roses. No wonder her grandmother had hired him. But, why had he been absent for so long? Had her grandmother lapsed into dementia in the latter part of the summer and cancelled his service? She’d certainly sounded lucid during their weekly phone conversations, but what other reason could there be for the abandoned chaos?

  A little voice in the back of her head told her that she would drive herself crazy if she kept dwelling on all the mysterious details surrounding her grandmother’s death and last days. There were too many things that would probably remain unknown.

  Before settling in to read a few more pages of the romance novel in bed, Georgia couldn’t help creeping downstairs and taking one last look out the kitchen window to see if Daniel was still working. But, this time, she saw nothing but the oily blackness of the night sky...as there was no moon at all. Its sparse light had been muffled by a passing cloud.

  She slid the window up and listened. But, there was only the symphony of crickets and the far off rush of water from the river that was swollen with rains in the west.

  Hmmm...

  She wondered if he was done already. Though, she hadn’t heard the truck engine start up from the driveway.

  Telling herself that she was behaving with the impatience of her six-year-old niece, she shut the window and made sure that the doors were locked for the night.

  She was so anxious for dawn to arrive so she could check out the transformation in the garden—she imagined that she would lay awake for hours watching the numbers tick off on the clock beside her...minute by minute.

  Chapter 45

  The spirit paced around the fountain again after Georgia went back into the house. After so much time, he could still imagine Margaret’s loveliness standing next to it in one of her white cotton dresses with the lace around the collar and the embroidery at the hem.

  On the day of her death, the roses had been blooming in their full candy-colored splendor...and the fluff from the cottonwoods drifted in the air. He remembered the surreal feeling of their last moments together...just him and her...like dolls dancing a slow minuet in a giant snow globe.

  Such a dove... una bellezza. Another hundred years could pass, and he still would not let her go from his heart. He kept her there still as if her image were a photograph in a locket inside his chest.

  But that locket had been blown open, hadn’t it? He felt the flesh up under his shirt and the scar from his wound.

  To this day, he was not completely sure what had happened in the last moments of his previous life. The blast had come from behind him, knocking him to the ground before he could turn and look at his killer. M
argaret’s lifeless body was slumped beside him, with her legs entwined with his and one eye open in an accusing glassy death stare. Seconds after that, his blood flowed out upon the cool green grass, staining it as red as the roses a few feet away.

  He traced the cool rim of the fountain with his fingertips and knew that he must take leave of his memories and get back to work.

  He was weary of the charade of playing gardener again. But, his ploy to introduce himself to Georgia seemed to be working. She had taken the bait like a scaly river pesce.

  The fact that she was a beautiful woman made his task all that easier. But, there was something about her that made him cautious. Despite her friendliness, he sensed an invisible wall wrapped around her. Perhaps it came from a broken heart, or from being guarded and careful from living in a large city.

  Countrywomen had a relaxed softness, a measure of comfort with their environment. He supposed the wide-open sky and the surety of the seasons made them more at ease. But the city women he’d known in his youth were more like battle-scarred Athenas as he had learned from a young age picking rags amongst the bins behind the tenements of the immigrant quarters. The poor in that Italian section of the city distrusted the surety of tomorrow and their next meal. There was a sharp edge to their voice and a searching in their eyes that naturally sized up each new encounter for its intention.

  He’d learned his charms by trial and error in those days. A misstep might have gotten a chamber pot emptied over his head instead of a treat from the kitchen. As his verbal skill grew, so did his success. No one suspected the young boy with the cockscomb of dark hair and sparkling green eyes of thievery when his words basted them with icing sweeter than the baker’s finest confection. No, Ma’am...I was just trying to catch a mouse in the alley. I didn’t want it to get into your home and chew a hole in one of your lovely dresses.