Tending Roses

by Wingate, Lisa

  Dell ducked her head, and the room fell silent. Disappointed, I finished picking up the tea things and walked to the kitchen. Sometimes Grandma’s timing could be so bad. She always picked the most vulnerable moments to pull out her Mr. Hyde personality.

  The silence in the hall continued until I heard Joshua fuss. I moved close to the door, but he stopped grumbling and started jabbering, and I could tell someone had picked him up. Stepping into the hall, I saw Dell sitting on the rug at the bottom of the stairs with her legs folded and Joshua balanced in her lap. Grandma was poised behind her with hands suspended in the air, as if afraid Dell would suddenly drop him. Dell didn’t seem to notice. She was too enthralled with Joshua’s baby talk.

  I stood by the doorway watching them, and a sense of amazement filled me. It was as if the spirit of a real child had come to inhabit the body of the somber little rag doll. Her face was flushed and bright, her raven eyes alive with laughter and tenderness. There was the little girl I had wondered about, but never seen—the one who could smile and giggle, make silly sounds and funny faces.

  Grandma spoke, and that girl disappeared like a mirage.

  “Now, you must be sure to keep hold of him. He can wriggle out of your hands in a hurry.” The harsh tone was gone from her voice. “He surely seems to enjoy sitting there with you.”

  I guess Dell was pleased. It was hard to tell. She ducked her head, but didn’t offer to give Josh back. I had the distinct impression that she would have been just as happy for Grandma to leave and the baby to stay.

  “I know how to give him a bottle if he’s hungry,” she offered. “And change his diaper. I used to have a little brother.”

  “You did?” Grandma sounded surprised.

  I wondered what “used to” meant.

  “Um-hum,” Dell said, but she didn’t offer any more information. She brushed a few strands of grass off the rug as if it were of great concern.

  “What was his name?” Grandma pressed, sounding curious and slightly suspicious.

  “Angelo.” Dell played patty-cake with Josh’s feet, seeming uninterested in the conversation. “He didn’t look like me. He looked kinda like Joshua. He didn’t have a ugly no-good daddy.”

  A sickening lump rose in my throat and descended to my stomach like bile. She had said the words as if they were the most natural thing in the world, just a fact of life, something simple and of no consequence, barely worthy of conversation.

  Grandma was silent for a long time. She dropped her hands to her sides and her shoulders sagged. Finally, she said, “Where is your brother now?”

  “Mama took him and give him to his daddy,” Dell answered nonchalantly. “She was afraid he’d fall in the river and get drowned. Granny says she didn’t hear no more about him after Mama died. I had a dream about him one night. I think he lives in a big house.”

  . . . that others were greater and I was less. That others would live in wonderful places while we would not.

  Grandma’s words drummed in my mind. I wondered what she was thinking and what she would say.

  They sat silent for a while, Dell seemingly engrossed in playing with Josh and Grandma with her chin tilted back, looking toward the ceiling, dabbing her eyes with her hankie.

  Dell looked up finally, watching Grandma with an intense expression. “Do you think I have a ugly no-good daddy?”

  Grandma cleared her throat and looked at Dell. When she spoke, her voice was trembling. “I think that’s not a very nice thing to say,” she said quietly. “You are a child of God and a beautiful gift to this world.”

  Dell sighed and tilted her head to one side, frowning, obviously not satisfied with the answer. She watched Grandma Rose, her dark brows slightly lowered, the question still in her face. “God don’t know me. We didn’t ever go to church.”

  My eyes filled with tears as Grandma reached out, her aged hands trembling, and combed back the dark strands of Dell’s hair. Dell didn’t move away, and she met Grandma’s gaze. “God knows you, child. He is mindful of every bird in the air, and every fish in the sea, and every flower that blooms in the field. They are beautiful to Him, just as you are.” She cupped Dell’s chin in her hand lovingly, leaning forward so that their faces were close. “You must remember that when people are unkind to you and try to make you feel as if you are less than they are. Your Father in heaven made every strand of hair on your head and every ounce of flesh on your bones. You are perfect, and beautiful, and just the way you are intended to be.”

  The phone rang, and I jumped, then rushed into the kitchen to answer it. My voice shuddered as I said hello.

  “Kate?” I recognized the voice of Dianne, my assistant at work.

  “Hi, Dianne.” Clearing the lump from my throat, I tried to sound a little more businesslike.

  “Is everything all right? You sound upset.”

  “No. I’m fine. I’ve just got something in my throat.” The last thing I needed was for Dianne to think I was falling apart emotionally. She was good at her job, but also young and ambitious. She had a way of taking over things if I didn’t keep clear lines between her job and mine. Of course, with me being away so long, the lines were quickly disappearing. “Did you need something?”

  “Yes.” She sounded as if she were in a hurry and frustrated. “Paul wants a copy of the original packet on the MTBE oxygenates contamination study, and I can’t find it. He says it’s important, and he needs it yesterday.”

  “Is there a problem?” Alarm bells rang in my head. When my boss wanted something that quickly, it usually spelled trouble, and the study of gas additives in the drinking water supply was one of my favorite projects.

  “I don’t know. I think he’s just in a grouchy mood because you’re not here.”

  I chuckled. “He’s that way when I am there. That’s just Paul. It’s your day. Just give him the packet and try to stay out of his way. Tomorrow it’ll be someone else’s day.”

  “All right.” She sighed, sounding demoralized. “Where is it?”

  “In the basement files under the project code number. That’s why you couldn’t find it. I already sent it off to the morgue, because there shouldn’t have been a need for it anymore.”

  “O.K. Thanks.”

  “No problem. Don’t let him get to you.”

  “I won’t.” She sounded a little better. “Everything all right down there?” she asked, but I could tell she was in a hurry to get off the phone and didn’t really want to talk.

  “Fine, thanks.”

  “Oh . . . um . . . good,” she muttered, sounding distracted. “Well, have a good Christmas and I’ll try not to call you again.”

  “Call me if you need me. It’s not a problem.”

  We said good-bye and I hung up. I stood for a moment looking into the hallway at Dell and Grandma, now sitting silently together. Chicago and the trouble at work flew from my mind and I thought again about what Dell had said, and about Grandma Rose’s book and how little had changed in her long life. Poverty and ignorance still existed, and cruelty was the house they lived in. It still wasn’t fair that some children had many nickels for the carousel while others had few. It was still true that some were greater while others were less.

  For a long time, I stood watching them as Dell played with Joshua, and Joshua laughed, and Grandma sat watching the two of them with her hands in her lap, very still, as if she had slipped so far away that she was oblivious to the movement and noise of the children.

  Finally, I walked into the hallway and broke the spell. Dell looked at me as if she were afraid I would be upset with her for picking up the baby. She carefully put him back in his carrier, then stood up.

  “Lay your dress on the bed in the upstairs bedroom,” Grandma told her. “I’ll mend that button on the back and press it for you so that it will be ready for church.”

  Dell nodded at Grandma, then turned to me with a look alive with wonder. “Mrs. Vongortler says I can go to Christmas church with her on Sunday.” Then she turned aro
und in a flash and dashed up the stairs in a cloud of billowing green daisy-print.

  “Are you sure she wants to go to church?” I asked.

  “All children want to know the Lord,” Grandma replied flatly, busying herself with picking lint off her dress. “It is perfectly natural that she would want to learn. Just because her family are heathens does not mean she must be.”

  I watched her for a minute, trying to gauge her answer, but she was looking away from me toward the stairs.

  “All right,” I said. “As long as it’s her choice and it’s all right with her grandmother. I don’t want Dell to think she has to go.”

  Grandma gave me a long, steady look. “I don’t make you go. The Lord only wants those who come freely.”

  I didn’t have a reply for that, so I changed the subject. “It was really nice of you to get those things for Dell. The kids in town were teasing her about her clothes.”

  Grandma shrugged as if she didn’t have great interest in the matter. “She shouldn’t have a problem now. Those things are all washed and ironed, and if she needs them cleaned or mended, she can bring them to me and I will get them fixed for her.”

  “That’s nice of you,” but it didn’t sound like Grandma at all.

  “Lord knows, her Granny can’t be counted upon to keep her things cleaned. Too busy smoking cigarettes and watching television.” That sounded like Grandma.

  “Anyway, you did a really nice thing,” I repeated for the third time. I didn’t know why I wanted to force her to accept the compliment. Maybe just to prove she wasn’t the old Scrooge she pretended to be.

  She didn’t reply, just sat staring out the window. I was about to go help Dell get her belongings together when Grandma Rose spoke.

  “It occurred to me that I should do more for other people. I never once considered that there were people just down the road who cannot afford proper clothing, or care for their children. Dell tells me they won’t even have a Christmas dinner because her Granny can’t afford such.” She sighed, shaking her head, looking into the past. “I’ve been a pretty horrid woman most of my life. I mostly concerned myself with having life my own way and with gaining the things I never had as a youngster. I have been bitter with the world and ungrateful too often. In the meanwhile, I have raised two children who never come around and two grandchildren who moved to the far corners of the earth and send me cards at Christmas instead of coming here. It isn’t a right way to end up in life. Time gets by so fast. It seems like I was Dell’s age just yesterday, and I thought I’d never be old.” She paused, seeming to lose her train of thought, then let out a long sigh. “I should have done more good.”

  I wasn’t sure what to say, so I stood up, laid a hand on her shoulder and kissed her cheek. “You’ve done a lot for me,” I said quietly. There was so much more to say than I could put into words.

  She patted my hand, then slipped hers into the pocket of her apron and sat staring at the waning day outside the window. I left her there and went to say good-bye to Dell, who stood at the door with her packages.

  “Could you tell Grandma thank you before you leave?” I asked. “I think she’s feeling a little sad.”

  “O.K.” Dell set her sacks by the door and trotted across the room to Grandma’s chair.

  Glancing back as I went into the kitchen, I saw her lean down to give Grandma a hug. I knew then that they understood each other better than I’d realized.

  After Dell left, Grandma was melancholy. The phone rang, and she hurried to answer it, then shook her head and hung up. “Just a wrong number.” Her eyes glittered as she turned away from me. “I thought it might be Jackie.”

  “I’m sure he’ll call soon.” I didn’t know what else to say. The truth was, my father hadn’t called and I was beginning to wonder if he was going to. “He’s probably just out of town.”

  “I suppose.” She put on her coat and walked outside. Looking out the window, I saw her in the twilight, sitting on the porch of the little house, her pale blue eyes watching the driveway intently. Taking the hankie from her apron pocket, she raised it slowly to her face, dried her tears with a trembling hand, then clutched the hankie in her lap and continued to watch the driveway.

  Stroking my fingers absently over the phone receiver, I wondered why she kept watching when she knew no one was coming. Yet, she had done just that for as long as I could remember. Every summer vacation memory was framed by the image of her standing on the porch steps forlornly watching us drive away. We had always assumed the performance was for our benefit and that it ended as soon as we rounded the driveway. I could see now that we had had no inkling of what she was really feeling.

  I picked up the phone and dialed my father’s number. Either he hadn’t received my first message, or he just didn’t care. If I had to drag him personally, if I had to grovel, beg, or threaten, I was going to get him to the farm for Christmas.

  My heart was in my throat as the call connected. I wasn’t sure I’d be able to talk if he answered. Relief melted through me when, once again, his machine picked up.

  I swallowed hard, waiting for the tone, then rushed through the message. “Dad, this is Kate again. We were wondering when you were coming . . . umm . . . Grandma really has her heart set on everyone being here. It’s . . . umm . . . really important to all of us. Let me know when you’ll get here. ’Bye . . . Dad.”

  I love you. Hard to know. Even harder to say, so I just hung up the phone. Another missed connection between my father and me.

  I warmed up the tea and called for Grandma to come in.

  “You look cold,” I said, pouring two cups of tea as she came through the door.

  “I’m not cold.” She shook her head at the tea, waving off my concern as she sat down. “I’m eighty-nine years old. I might not be here three months from now. Nobody seems to understand that.”

  Setting my tea aside, I rubbed the growing ache between my eyebrows. I knew that martyred tone like I knew the back of my hand. It grated on my spine like a fingernail scratching on a blackboard. “Oh, Grandma, everything’s fine.”

  “You never know,” she insisted gravely. “I had a pain just this morning. I don’t know what it could be. I should probably see Dr. Schmidt.”

  Funny, you were practically dancing a jig at the church this morning. “It’s five o’clock. Dr. Schmidt is closed for the day. I’ll take you in the morning if you still feel you need to go.”

  She gave my suggestion a quiet humph, stood up, and shuffled toward the door to put on her coat. “I’m going to walk up and get the mail. Maybe there will be a letter.”

  I didn’t bother to remind her we had picked up the mail hours ago and there was no letter from my father. I just let her go. I figured the walk would clear her head, and she would come back in a better mood. Meanwhile, I started warming up some leftovers for supper. I was hoping Ben would wake up and we would have some time to talk.

  I wanted to tell him about everything that had happened while he was gone—about the propane and the midnight toilet paper inventory, about the Christmas festival and Grandma giving Dell clothes from the donated goods at church. I wanted to explain the changes in the way I was thinking about our lives.

  But I wasn’t sure what I wanted him to say. I didn’t know if I wanted him to understand, or to give me a reality check and talk me out of my Vongortler-induced insanity.

  Grandma appeared at the kitchen doorway as I was putting the last of the leftovers on the table. Her face was brighter, and she was carrying a potted plant with stems of delicate purple flowers.

  “Look what Mrs. Owens brought by,” she said. “She thought we would enjoy them for our table.”

  “They’re pretty,” I replied. “I thought you went to get the mail.”

  Stopping midstride, she looked at me as if my head had suddenly popped off my body and rolled across the floor. “Katie, the mail comes in the morning.”

  “You’re right.” Bested again. What else could I say? “Everything’s rea
dy. I guess Ben’s still sleeping. We might as well eat.”

  She set the plant in the middle of the table. “Doesn’t that look nice?”

  “It does,” I agreed, glad she was over her unhappy spell. “I wonder what it’s called.”

  Touching the leaves, Grandma studied them as if the answer might be written there. “I’m not sure. I don’t believe I’ve seen one before, but Mrs. Owens raises all sorts of plants in her greenhouse. The flowers look a little like lilacs. I’ll have to ask her what they are called. Maybe it can be planted outdoors in the spring.”

  “Sounds like a good idea.” But in the spring no one will be here . . .

  We ate supper in silence, me feeding Josh and Grandma studying the flowers.

  When we had finished, she pushed her plate aside and fingered the flowers thoughtfully. “These would be nice to plant in the cemetery,” she said, not looking at me.

  “That would be good.” I didn’t want to think about the cemetery. I still hadn’t been to my mother’s grave. After the farm was sold, I probably wouldn’t be back . . .

  Grandma, of course, had an agenda. “Aunt Jeane will want to take a visit there.”

  “Yes. I’m sure she will.” Standing up, I started clearing the dishes, hoping to put an end to the conversation.

  “Your mother would have wanted you to come.” I could feel her watching my back as I rinsed dishes at the sink. “She loved you girls very much.”

  Tears clouded my eyes, and a plate slipped from my fingers, clattering against the counter. Bracing my hands on the sides of the sink, I tried to gather myself before turning around to tell her I did not want to talk about the cemetery or my mother.

  Tears rushed from my eyes and spilled over my cheeks. I was overwhelmed with grief for my mother and guilt about selling the farm. It isn’t easy to sell the land for which your ancestors have given their hearts and their bodies. I supposed Dad and Aunt Jeane would retain ownership of the burial plot, but probably nothing else. . . .

  The last hours of my charade with Grandma were about to end. In the morning, Aunt Jeane would come and she would talk to Grandma about Oakhaven Village. And I hadn’t even warned Grandma. I’d let the weeks go by without saying anything. At the very least, I should do what I could to cushion the blow.