The Ghost with the Green Thumb

by Maggie M. Larche

  “Beth,” he asked tiredly, “why did you bring me here?”

  “What do you mean?” I asked, confused. “I thought you would like to see it.” I gestured to the beautiful flowers around me with outstretched arms. I looked at him in surprise. “Don’t you think it looks wonderful?”

  “Wonderful?” asked Grandpa. “Beth, are you playing a joke on me? If so, it’s not a very nice one.”

  “What?” I asked, more confused than ever.

  “I’m going to go back to the house, ok?” He turned to go.

  “Wait!” I ran to him and clutched his arm. “Please, Grandpa. I don’t understand! I thought you’d like it! I thought you’d want to see it the way it was!”

  “The way it was!” he exclaimed. “This place looks like a graveyard! I’ve never seen it look worse.”

  I started to cry. “But, Grandpa –”

  “Oh, sweetie.” He pulled me into a hug. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to yell at you. But don’t you understand how sad this makes me feel? Look at these empty flowerbeds. And the leafless ivy. And the weeds! Weeds everywhere!” He pulled me out from the hug so that he could look into my face. “Do you know how many hours of love your grandma put into them? And now, to see them dead.” He put his hand to his eyes. “It’s like I’ve lost her again.”

  I turned and looked where he had pointed. My eyes were a little blurry with tears, but all I could see was a bed of gorgeous orange daylilies. Why did he say they were dead? They were so bright and vibrant it almost hurt my eyes to look at them! I turned to face Grandpa. He had such a sad expression on his face that I cursed myself for bringing him here, even if I didn’t understand what was going on.

  “Honey, I really think we should go back to the house now.”

  “No, Grandpa.” My head ached. “You go without me. I want to stay here.”

  He gave me a concerned look. “Ok, but don’t stay too long.” He gazed at the garden briefly with a defeated expression on his face. “I’ll see you back at the house,” he said quietly and closed the door gently behind him.

  More tears came then, and it was all I could do to make it to the bench before I broke down into a really good cry. After what felt like hours, but was probably only ten minutes, I started to calm down. I took several deep breaths and tried to clear my head.

  “He couldn’t see it. He couldn’t see it.” I kept repeating the phrase to myself, trying to understand whatever it was that had just happened.

  Grandpa couldn’t see the garden as it truly was. He thought it was dead. Why? It didn’t make any sense!

  Maybe he didn’t look close enough, I thought.

  But no, that made no sense. You’d have to be blind not to see the beauty and life of the Lovers' Garden. It was gorgeous. There was simply no way around it.

  Have I been imagining it? I looked around myself suspiciously. Was any of this really here? Or was it all in my head? Those blooming azaleas – were they real? Was this tree actually standing here?

  I shook my head. I was so disoriented. Maybe I should talk to Billy about it.

  Billy! Of course! I brightened up immediately. I couldn’t be imagining the garden’s condition. Billy had seen it too!

  I breathed a sigh of relief. At least I wasn’t going crazy.

  I sat quietly, turning over the past half hour in my mind. It had been like me and Grandpa had been standing in two different places. I must be missing something. But for the life of me, I couldn’t think of what it might be.

  “And now Grandpa’s mad at me. Great.”

  I didn’t know what to do. I’d been so sure that I could just fix Grandpa, like he was a broken-down car. Give him a project, or something to look forward to, and he’d be fine.

  But after I saw his reaction to the garden… I shook my head. Clearly, his hurt lay even deeper than I’d known.

  “I don’t know how to help him,” I said aloud. I stood up in frustration. “I don’t know what to do! Help me.”

  I couldn’t have told you to whom I was speaking at the time. All I knew was that I was answered.

  A light breeze started up and gently lifted some of the hair from my tearstained face. The aroma of the flowers grew stronger. And, suddenly, I knew I wasn’t alone.

  I couldn’t see anyone. But I could feel them, almost like when someone walks up behind you while you’re watching TV. Your eyes are still on the screen, but you know that someone is right there with you.

  I wasn’t scared, but it wasn’t exactly a comfortable feeling either.

  “Hello?” I said. My voice shook, so I cleared my throat and tried again. “Hello?” I asked again, more strongly. I gulped, hardly believing what I was about to say.

  “Grandma?”

  The wind picked up suddenly and rustled the leaves of the trees around me. In a way, I felt the wind flow down to my very soul, soothing my heart and calming the worry I felt only moments before.

  Just as quickly, the wind died back down. Everything settled around me. My heart felt light, almost as if I could have burst out laughing at the joy of life.

  “Um, thanks?” I let out a small giggle at the ludicrousness of my situation. “But I still don’t know what to do!”

  I circled the garden, picking my way among the spongy grass and cobblestone. I knew it was all superstition in my head, but I actually felt better. I marveled at what a little wind and imagination could do for my mood.

  Still, there was a part of me that really wished there were someone to help me. To help Grandpa.

  I completed my circuit and relaxed on the bench by the old hickory tree. Feeling happy again, I thought over my dream from the night before. I squinted my eyes and visualized Grandma in the same spot and tried to remember the song she sang as she gardened.

  How I remembered Grandma’s voice! She could take the most boring church hymn and turn it into a work of art. Give her a jazzy song, and she could raise the hair on your arms. Many an afternoon had been spent in their front room when I was younger, me sprawled on the floor, while Grandpa played the piano, and Grandma sang.

  I frowned, remembering Grandpa at his instrument. Come to think of it, I hadn’t heard Grandpa play the piano in ages. Certainly not since Grandma got sick. I wondered if that was just another part of him that had died along with Grandma.

  I leaned back against the tree. The hard bark pressed into my back, but there was another sensation as well. I felt a sharp poke, like the corner of something, digging into me.

  I leaned forward and twisted to face the hole. I could just spy the corner of a white envelope poking out.

  The story of Grandma and Grandpa using this tree hollow as a mailbox ran through my mind as I tentatively pulled out the envelope. How long had this been here? Didn’t Billy feel inside the hollow when we came to the garden the day before? How did he miss it?

  I carefully slit a flap open and pulled out the papers inside. It was sheet music.

  “Moon River,” I read.

  My eyes widened. I’d just been thinking of Grandpa and his piano, and almost immediately I find sheet music. What were the chances it was an accident? And who placed it in the tree?

  I stood up, unnerved again. I clutched the music and quickly checked all corners of the garden. No one was there. No one I could see, that is.

  My lightheartedness was gone. I told myself that this was just an ordinary tree in an ordinary garden, but my heart beat wildly in my chest all the same.

  I glanced at the papers again. Swallowing down the nerves in my throat, I tried to focus on what to do next.

  After all, however the papers got to me, there was really only one thing to do with the music.

  Somebody had to play it.

  Chapter 8

  That evening, I cornered Grandpa after dinner. He scraped leftover spaghetti sauce into a bowl, while I threw noodles into some Tupperware.

  We had an uncharacteristically quiet meal. By some unspoken agreement, neither one of us mentioned the Lovers' Garden. It was only after
dinner that I finally felt the courage to bring up another possibly sensitive issue.

  “Grandpa,” I started. “I’ve been thinking about something.”

  “Oh, yes?” he asked absently, placing the Parmesan cheese back into the fridge.

  I wished I had a more subtle way to ease into the topic, but I couldn’t think of anything. I decided to jump right in. “Yeah. I realized today that I haven’t heard you play the piano in a while.”

  “No, that’s true. I got busy when your grandma got sick, and I never really picked it up again.”

  “How about you play again? Tonight?”

  He looked surprised. “What brings this on?”

  I shrugged. “I just think it would be fun. I miss your music.”

  “Ok, I guess I could play a little. Let me finish cleaning up in here, and we’ll see what we can do.”

  “Great!” I said. I ran from the room, yelling over my shoulder, “I’ll get the piano set up.”

  I could hear the rattle of dishes and the rush of the running faucet as I pulled out the music I discovered that afternoon. I placed it carefully on the music stand.

  I opened the heavy wooden lid that protected the keys and pushed it back into position. I pulled out the piano bench just so and waited nervously.

  Five minutes later, Grandpa came in. He saw the piano open and waiting for him and laughed. “You’re eager tonight.”

  “Yep,” I said. “I even picked out some music.”

  “I see that.” He walked to the piano and leaned over the pages. He pulled his glasses out of his shirt pocket. “What have we got here?” He slipped the glasses onto his nose.

  “Oh, my,” he said. “Why did you pick this one, Beth?”

  “No reason,” I said. “Why? Can’t you play it?”

  “Oh, I can play it,” said Grandpa with a little laugh. “I must have done so hundreds of times. It was one of your grandma’s favorites.”

  He sat down at the piano. “You know my fingers might be a little rusty.” He rubbed his hands together. “Be prepared for some mistakes.”

  “I don’t care about that,” I said.

  “Ok, then.” He sat still for a second before he carefully placed his hands on the keys. He started to play. The music sounded choppy and forced even to my inexperienced ears, and he stopped after a moment.

  “Let’s pick a different song,” he said. “Too many memories with this one.”

  “No, Grandpa, please. I want to hear Grandma’s favorite.”

  He sighed. “I’ll try again.” This time he began very slowly. The music was soft, but it seemed to flow from his hands into the air around us. Gradually, it built, until the whole room was nothing but Moon River, and music, and moonlight.

  He reached the end of the song and sat motionless.

  I began to clap. “Grandpa, that was wonderful. Just great.” I stopped abruptly when I saw him reach up to his face. Did he just wipe away a tear? I had to do something.

  “I tell you what,” I said, standing up. “This time, I’ll try to sing it with you. The words are on there, right?”

  Grandpa nodded without speaking.

  “I’m no Grandma,” I said, “but I can carry a tune. Sometimes.”

  Grandpa smiled at me. “You’ve got a beautiful voice, sweet pea. Let’s do it.”

  He played again, and I sang along as best I could. A couple high notes didn’t sound so good, but otherwise I wasn’t bad.

  This time, at the end of the song, Grandpa clapped for me.

  “Bravo,” he said.

  I took a silly bow. “Want to do some more?”

  “Sure,” he said, rising so that he could open the piano bench under him. “I know I’ve got some fun duets in here.”

  We spent the rest of the night at the piano, Grandpa happily banging out a tune while I belted out the lyrics. Sometimes the results were pretty good; sometimes they were hilarious. Either way, we kept going until bedtime.

  Finally Grandpa folded up the last music book.

  “That was a blast, Beth, darling. Thanks for getting me to play again.” He grinned. “It’s been too long since I played with a partner.”

  “Anytime, Grandpa.” And I meant it. This was the happiest I’d seen him since I arrived. It was a great change from that afternoon in the garden, and I intended to keep it going.

  ***

  The next day, I surfaced from the deep end of the pool and pushed my hair back.

  “Cannonball!” yelled Billy as he splashed into the water beside me.

  “Ah!” I cried. I tried to duck but was too late to avoid the splash of water. I wiped the spray from my eyes and spit out a mouthful of water. “Give me more warning next time!”

  Billy laughed. “No way.” He swam over to the side of the pool and motioned for me to follow.

  Billy and I had met that morning to go swimming at the community pool. The weather had kicked up from warm and humid to absolutely sweltering. The water was about the only comfortable place in town.

  I swam over to Billy’s perch.

  “Ok,” he said, as we both held on to the ladder, “your grandpa thought the garden was run down.” He whistled. “He must have high standards.”

  “It was like we saw two different gardens, Billy. It was so strange. I saw flowers. He saw weeds. I saw beautiful ivy. He saw dead branches.”

  “You saw steak. He saw rotted meat.”

  “You are disgusting. But, yeah, that’s the general idea.”

  “Beats me, Beth. I’ve never heard anything like it before.” He looked at me seriously. “Do you think your grandpa could be going senile?”

  “Don’t say that. That would be terrible.”

  “Then maybe we’re senile.” Billy pushed off into the water and floated on his back. “In fact, that’s probably it, because I really don’t think there was anything in that tree hollow when I looked in it, and then you go and pull music out. We could be losing our minds.” He spoke up to the sky with water covering his ears, so I knew he wouldn’t hear my response.

  “And I’m seeing ghosts.” I groaned. “I am crazy.”

  Billy flipped over and treaded water. “What’s that?”

  “Nothing.”

  “What’d your grandpa say when you told him where the music came from?”

  I hesitated. “I didn’t exactly tell him.”

  “Why not?”

  “Billy, he was so upset when I took him to the garden. I couldn’t bear to bring up something else that might set him off.”

  “I get it,” he said.

  “So, how was your family dinner?”

  “Great,” he said. “I really like it when Dad’s home. And he had a great idea.”

  “What’s that?”

  “You know how I’m into construction and stuff.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Well, Dad said he was thinking about building a workshop for us in the backyard, just to kind of goof around in and try to build things. Together.”

  “That’s great,” I said. “What a good idea.”

  “I know.” Billy swam back to the side. “And, best of all, none of my other brothers are into it, so it’ll be just me and my dad for once.”

  “Cool,” I said.

  “Yeah, we’ve just got to find the space. Our yard is a little crammed already. But we’ll fit it in. I hope we can start when he gets back from his next trip.”

  “Next trip? He’s going again already?”

  “Yeah, but it should be a short one. Hopefully we can get building soon!”

  “I hope so,” I said.

  Billy looked up at the sky. “What do you want to do now? Looks like it’s about lunch time.”

  “I don’t know,” I said and then got a wicked idea. I grinned. “Lunch does sound good. But first, I’ve got something I need to do.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Dunk you in the water!” I yelled. I jumped up and pushed down on Billy’s head.

  He went under and came up sputt
ering as I escaped.

  “No fair!” he shouted. I swam away as quickly as I could, laughing as he splashed behind me and tried unsuccessfully to catch up.

  After that, my visit settled into a pattern. Grandpa and I usually had breakfast together each morning before he headed off to the church. I’d call Laura first thing so we could have our daily catch-up. Then I met up with Billy sometime during the day, unless he was off doing yard work for some neighbor. Usually we swam, but sometimes we’d catch a movie at the town’s four-screen theater. His father still hadn’t returned, but Billy kept talking to me about the workshop plan. He was clearly excited.

  We occasionally picnicked in the Lovers' Garden. I had firmly ruled out the supernatural in the events of the past week. I hadn’t found anything else in the tree hollow, so I assumed that the sheet music must have been sitting in the tree for some time. And I knew that my sighting of Grandma was completely in my imagination. Though I kept looking for her anyways, in spite of myself, I had yet to catch even a glimpse of my grandmother. It had to be in my head.

  Though things were going better, I still worried about leaving Grandpa alone after my visit. My month was more than half over, and the empty house that I’d leave behind felt like a sad substitute for the retirement that Grandpa had originally envisioned for himself – the vineyard on some Italian hill. An empty house in Galton was no Italian escape, but I didn’t see what I could do about it.

  Besides, there was still one real mystery that nagged me, one that must have a solution based in reality. I’d sit in the garden, surrounded by a picnic lunch, the sun beating down on me and Billy, and wonder who was the garden’s mysterious caretaker. I hadn’t seen another soul visit the place, but someone must be responsible for the garden’s upkeep. And I intended to find out who it was.

  Most evenings I spent back with Grandpa, and Billy even joined us once or twice for dinner. I never mentioned the Lovers' Garden to Grandpa, but I didn’t hide that Billy and I sometimes went there. I figured he’d ask about it if and when he was ready for the topic. In a very short period of time, I felt like I’d learned a great deal about giving someone the space they need. I never wanted to see the crestfallen look in Grandpa’s eyes again like I had the first time I forced him to visit the garden with me.