The Ladies of Garrison Gardens

by Louise Shaffer

  Beth broke in again. “I do hope Li'l Bit isn't boring you to death, Miss Myrtis. You're so sweet to let her go on.”

  “I can't remember the last time I've had such an interesting conversation,” Iva Claire said honestly. “You must be proud to have such an intelligent daughter.”

  The woman really couldn't leave well enough alone. “You mustn't encourage her to show off,” she simpered. “I keep warning her that boys don't like a girl who's too smart. They'll always prefer a pretty face.”

  “A boy might. But a man knows that a good mind will last long after a pretty face has” . . . Iva Claire paused to let it sink in . . . “faded,” she finished coolly. Once again silence descended on the table. Beth Banning shot her a look of pure venom, but before she could attack, Dalton Garrison intervened.

  “Now, Miss Beth,” he said, “you must tell me what that scent is you're wearing. I've been enjoying it all evening.” He hadn't really distracted the woman—she was still seething—but the difficulties of waging war at a dinner party with a gentleman sitting between her and her opponent, seemed to dawn on her. She opted to let the young man flirt with her.

  Across the table, Li'l Bit was smiling as she polished off her dinner. And at the other end of the table, Bonnie Taylor Talbot was staring at Iva Claire with a mixture of curiosity and disbelief.

  Iva Claire kept quiet for the rest of dinner and moved with everyone else to the big reception in the large dining room. The place was pleasantly crowded, but not jammed—clearly the Garrisons knew how to entertain—and the terrace was deserted. Knowing it was only a question of time before she was accosted by Bonnie, who would be panting for an explanation of her bizarre behavior, Iva Claire ducked outside.

  Myrtis would never have interfered between mother and daughter. She never would have talked politics at a dinner party either.

  I was careless. I forgot.

  But the truth was, she hadn't forgotten anything. For one glorious moment she'd been herself. But that was dangerous.

  “I don't believe I've ever seen anyone draw out Li'l Bit Banning the way you did tonight,” said a voice behind her. She whirled around to see Dalton Garrison. He was standing in the half-light coming from the party inside and holding two glasses of champagne.

  She realized he was much more attractive than she'd thought at first. His sandy hair was thick and curled over his forehead. His eyes were a hazy golden brown, and not only did he wear his white dinner jacket well, he filled it out nicely too. But there was something else about him, something even more attractive than his good looks. She saw it as he stood there smiling at her. Dalton was one of those very rare men who are totally masculine but love being around women.

  This is the last thing you need.

  “Doesn't anyone ever stop that woman when she's picking on her daughter?” she asked.

  He had the grace to blush—at least, that's what it looked like in the half-light. “Beth Banning can be . . . difficult. Most of the town is afraid to stand up to her. But you did a fine job. Won't you have a glass of champagne with me?” He had such a sweet smile.

  She'd been planning to have a headache so she could leave the party before she got herself into any more trouble. But there was a rebel in her tonight. She took the champagne.

  They sat on a stone wall to drink after he brushed it off for her. “Did you mean all those things you said to Li'l Bit?” he asked. “About unions and workers' rights and all of that?”

  “Every word,” she said recklessly. “Shocked?”

  He shook his head. “I like it when a girl who's beautiful is also kind—like you were with Li'l Bit tonight. But when a girl is beautiful and kind and smart, she's a girl I have to know.”

  He was a dangerous young man.

  “I think . . . I mean, shouldn't you go inside?” she said. “Everyone will be wondering where you are.”

  He stood up. “Dance with me first.”

  He was very dangerous. But he looked so good, standing there in front of her with his happy, sweet smile as he held out his hands to her, so she moved into his arms and danced with him to the music that was playing for his daddy's big party. And when the band stopped playing, they kept on moving without saying a word. Somewhere nearby, there were early roses blooming and sending out their scent into the dark, silent night.

  She didn't sleep well, and the next morning she got up before everyone else. She left a note for Bonnie, saying she'd decided to go exploring and wouldn't be back until dinnertime. That way she only ran the risk of running into Dalton at one meal, which was a lot better than two, plus cocktails.

  He was sitting in the reception area with a blanket and a picnic basket, waiting, as if he'd known she'd be there.

  “I couldn't sleep either,” he said, when she walked in. “Come on, I want to show you our gardens. I have some coffee and ham biscuits for us.”

  She could have said no. It would have been the smart, safe thing to do. But he made her want to forget about being smart and safe. He made her want to forget everything. Just for one day, she told herself. She was going back to Atlanta tomorrow, and she'd never see him again.

  He took her to a trail that had been cut through a forest of pines, oaks, and maples, where dogwood bloomed in bursts of pink and white against the green and brown of the big trees, and he pointed out the pools of dappled sunlight under the trees where hostas, caladiums, and coleus grew around lacy ferns. He showed her the sweeps of purple, pink, red, and orange azaleas that had been planted at the edge of the woods.

  They left the hiking trail and he took her to see the formal gardens, where beds of tulips, irises, hyacinths, poppies, snapdragons, pansies, and sweet william bloomed behind hedges of boxwood and holly, ringed by crepe myrtle, tea olive, and magnolias. They walked past the gardens through open fields where small orchards of pecan, pear, and peach trees were flowering. There were still the remnants of cotton fields and vegetable gardens with sunflower borders, and the occasional rosebush or gardenia growing next to an old shed or fence. They climbed to the top of a hill, where he spread the blanket and unpacked their breakfast. Beneath her, patches of daffodils and crocuses dotted tall grass that sloped down to a flat meadow.

  “This has to be the most beautiful place in the world,” she said.

  “Daddy wants to put in a golf course down there,” he said, indicating a place where the land leveled off. “And he's going to build a lake too. The engineers say it can be done.”

  “What a pity,” she said, and then realized that sounded insulting. Being with him wasn't doing much for her manners. But he didn't take offense. Something was bothering him, she could tell. She sat still and waited for him to say what was on his mind. It wasn't easy for him. He liked things to be light and happy. She wasn't sure how she knew that about him, but she did.

  Looking down at the ground, he said quietly, “My father wouldn't agree with you about Roosevelt. Daddy thinks he's destroying the wage hands. The federal government pays them seventy-five percent more than we do. Who's going to work for us?”

  “Maybe you'll have to start paying better.”

  “And with all this talk about unions and health care and now this Social Security, Daddy says it'll cut into our profit.”

  “Your family's wealthy. How much money do you need to make?”

  “Daddy would say as much as we can.”

  “What do you say?”

  He drew in a deep breath and looked out over the field. “All this used to be farmland—little farms with one family working it usually. Times have been hard around here for a long time, even before the Depression.” He looked at her and looked away quickly. He was embarrassed by what he was about to say. “Daddy started picking up the land for cheap way back. Whenever some farmer was going broke, we'd buy him out. We never paid what the land was worth. When cotton went down to five cents a pound, that was when we really closed in. Daddy didn't do the buying himself since the farmers would have held out for a higher price; he had agents working
for him. I was in charge. We'd go in and scare the hell out of the man—” He stopped, but he still couldn't look at her. “Sorry about my language.”

  “Don't be.”

  “A couple of times it was a woman,” he went on. “A widow, sometimes with kids. I forced them out of their homes too. This hill where we're sitting? There used to be a house on it; it wasn't more than a shack really. An old man lived in it. His vegetable garden was right over there; that's his peach tree. When I came to give him his money, he cried. He had these big old hands, all knotty and scraped up—” He stopped again. His eyes were bright as he looked down at the ground. She wanted to put her arms around him. Instead, she reached out and took his hand.

  “I think . . . I believe that if you've done something you wish you hadn't, you can always find a way to make up for it,” she said.

  He finally turned and looked at her. “Daddy wants to retire, and he's going to put me in charge of running the gardens and the resort. He says it's time for me to show what I'm made of.” He was still looking at her; she had a feeling he was testing her in some way. “I'm sorry to be so serious on a pretty morning, but after the way you took up for Li'l Bit last night, and then when you were talking about the New Deal and all—well, I just wanted to tell you this.”

  He had been testing her, and even though she'd never be seeing him again she wanted desperately to pass the test. She tried to think of some answer that would be wise and clever, but in the end she just told him what she felt. “I'm flattered that you told me,” she said. “Thank you.”

  His smile seemed to burst over his whole face. “See there? No other girl I know would have said that.”

  She'd passed.

  He had asked for her address in Atlanta, but she wouldn't give it to him. However, one week after she left Charles Valley, he showed up at her door with a big bunch of flowers he'd picked at Garrison Gardens.

  “Drove them up to Atlanta in a bucket of water in the front seat of my roadster,” he said, as he held them out to her.

  When someone had gone to all that trouble to bring you the most beautiful bouquet you've ever seen, you couldn't tell him to take it back. And you couldn't accept flowers from a man and leave him standing on your doorstep. She let him come in. Just this once.

  “How did you know where to find me?” she asked.

  “Your friend Bonnie. She didn't want to tell me.”

  “Really. I wonder why?”

  “I think you shocked her at the dinner table with your views on our president.”

  “Why would that keep her from telling you where I live?”

  “She was protecting me, of course. Bonnie is a dear family friend. Fortunately, I'm very persuasive.”

  Iva Claire didn't like the way he said dear. She thought Bonnie was a jealous little cat who probably wanted him for herself.

  “The thing is,” he went on, “when you and Li'l Bit were talking about FDR, that's when I knew you were the right one for me.”

  She hadn't heard him properly. “What did you say?”

  “I said, I know Myrtis Benedict is the girl for me.”

  “Dalton, I'm not good at flirting—”

  “I am. Very good. But that's not what I'm doing now. I've finally met a girl I want to talk to for the rest of my life.” Dalton's smile faded. “I don't want to be like my daddy, Myrtis. I don't want to take people's homes when they're down on their luck, bully my friends, and never even bother to hide my girlfriends because I know my wife won't stand up to me.”

  “If you don't want to, then you won't.”

  He didn't laugh, or even smile. “Don't be so sure. When I take over the business I'm going to need someone special with me. The moment you opened your mouth I knew you were different.”

  She had to stop him. “Dalton, I like you. And I'm sure we'll always be friends—”

  “But, I want to kiss you too—more than I've wanted to kiss any other girl I've known.”

  “Oh.”

  “The only way out is for you to marry me.”

  “You . . . just met me,” she stammered.

  “But I'll never do better, so what's the use of waiting? I can court you for months or years if you want, but it won't change anything.” He was smiling, but his brown eyes were anxious.

  “Dalton—”

  “If you don't think you could love me, maybe you could think of it as saving me?”

  He was so serious. And so sweet. And so handsome. “Saving you from what?”

  “Myself. I want to do right at the gardens and the resort. I want to make it a good place for people to work. But Daddy'll start going at me about keeping costs down, and”—he paused—“I'm not a strong person, Myrtis. I'm not like you.”

  “You don't know what I'm like. You don't know me.”

  That made him smile. “Yes, I do. I may not be good in business like Daddy, and the Lord knows I wasn't much for studying in school, but I know about people. I know what kind of person you are.”

  I hope not.

  “There's nothing you and I couldn't do together, Myrtis,” he said, his eyes shining. “We'll be a great team.”

  The sad part was, he was right. With his heart and her backbone they would be unbeatable.

  “If you come with me, we can do so much good. And I'll make you love me one day, I promise.”

  But she couldn't say yes.

  He came back the next week. This time he didn't have flowers, and he kissed her before she had a chance to protest. She'd never been kissed before, and she wanted it to go on and on. She wanted him to keep kissing her so she'd never think again. But he broke away.

  “I should have done that ages ago,” he said, his voice ragged.

  It took her awhile to catch her breath. “There are things about me you don't know,” she said, which was stupid, and risky, but she didn't care.

  “That's okay,” he said softly.

  “I'm not going to tell you what they are. But I can't marry you. And you have to go now.”

  But instead of leaving he brushed a wisp of hair away from her cheek and said, “You lived away from home for a lot of years, without your parents or any family around. You were on your own, and things can happen. I understand. I wasn't exactly an angel when I was on my own at college.”

  He was so gentle. She had to make him leave, but he was still smoothing her hair.

  “I don't care what you did before I met you,” he said. “I know the girl I see in front of me right now, and that's all I need.” He took her face in his hands and forced her to look up at him. “I promise you I'll never ask you anything you don't want to talk about.” She believed him. Partly because he was kind and thoughtful, and partly because she knew he would never want to hear anything unpleasant or difficult.

  “If you don't marry him, I'll never forgive you,” Tassie said over the telephone. Her voice sounded weary and hard. “One of us should be happy, for Christ's sake.”

  “Tassie, are you okay?”

  “I'll be fine as soon as I hear you're going to marry Dalton Garrison.”

  “It's not that simple.”

  “If you won't, what did we do it all for? What was the point, if you're going to be alone and miserable until you die?”

  “Tassie, I can't.”

  “Why not? You love him. I can tell that all the way out here in California.”

  “You know why.”

  “Are you afraid you'll slip up? You've been Myrtis Benedict for three years. You know what you're doing.”

  “It's not that. I can't lie to him.”

  “It's not a lie anymore. You're the only Myrtis there is.” She paused. Iva Claire could feel her gathering her thoughts. “When you told me you wanted to pull this switch, I didn't think you could do it. Well, you have. But you've been . . . trapped. You had all those ideas about making a difference, but you haven't done anything. Because you can't, on your own. You need him.”

  She did. In so many ways. “If I did marry him—and I'm saying if—do you have
any idea of the kind of wedding I'd have to have? The Benedicts and the Garrisons are important down here. There'll be hundreds of people.”

  “You can get away with it for one day.”

  “There'll be relatives I'd have to invite. There are a couple of Benedict great-aunts, and an uncle who lives somewhere in the West, and cousins. And God only knows about Myrtis's mother's family.”

  “Have any of them ever come to see you or written to you?”

  “Someone named Great-aunt Weedie invited me to tea in Charleston. I never went and she never asked again.”

  “So they don't care about you.”

  “My father didn't like his family or his wife's family, and none of them liked him.”

  “Then you're safe. If there's that much bad blood, they won't show up.”

  “But what if they do? This is going to be the wedding of the year. What about my father's old friends? He had a lot of them, and they'll be sure to come. All it will take is one person who knows something I don't—something that happened years ago.”

  “You're going to be the bride at the wedding of the year. No one will expect you to remember your own name.”

  “You make it sound like nothing can go wrong.”

  “Something can always go wrong. But you can't play it safe, Myrtis. The time for that is over.”

  “Myrtis?” It sounded strange coming from Tassie, and she wasn't sure she liked it. “You don't call me Myrtis.”

  “I'm starting now.”

  “I need someone in my life who remembers Iva Claire.”

  “No, you don't. Not anymore. Because you're going to be Myrtis Garrison.”

  “I didn't say—”

  “Good night, Myrtis.”

  It took her three more weeks to say yes. And when she told Dalton and saw the look on his face, she knew what it meant to be happy.

  For a wedding present, Grady Garrison gave the engaged couple a piece of land at the tip of a pie-shaped wedge in the middle of Highway 22, and Dalton told her to build the home of her dreams there. She designed a mansion made of logs with four big beautiful skylights and called it Garrison Cottage, although she had much grander plans for it than the name implied. She saw it as a place where she and Dalton would invite the powerful and the thoughtful writers or professors—maybe even a senator or a governor. Maybe even the president. Important people would talk about important ideas in her new home. Great things would happen at Garrison Cottage.