Tending Roses

by Wingate, Lisa

  On days when she felt well enough, I took her to town and left her at the church office or the Senior Citizens’ Center across the street. When she didn’t, Oliver Mason came to our house to sit with her—an arrangement that irritated her to no end. She had always been certain that she would survive him by many years. Now he was bringing her cups of tea and pillows for her feet. It was not what she had planned, and she hated it when the world did not turn according to her say-so.

  Dell Jordan visited often in the afternoons, bringing little drawings or pretty rocks and pine cones and, finally, the first wild daffodils of an early spring. Grandma looked forward to her visits, and they sat for hours going over Dell’s schoolwork or looking at the old photo albums. Grandma told Dell about all the things she had done without while growing up, and I think Dell understood.

  As the weeks passed, I felt lousy and looked worse. I lost weight because I was too sick to eat, and changing Joshua’s diapers and taking care of Grandma didn’t help. I was worried about my leave of absence running out in May, and about the fact that I still hadn’t told my boss I was pregnant again. He was already irritated enough about all the leave I was taking. He didn’t have much sympathy, and in a way, I didn’t blame him. It was hard to understand about Grandma Rose’s situation unless you were living it. It would have been hard for me to understand, sitting at my desk in Chicago six months ago.

  Sometimes, I fell into feeling sorry for myself, burdened with the work of taking care of Grandma and Joshua while I was frequently sick from the pregnancy. Then I would look at Grandma, exhausted in her chair, and feel guilty. I reminded myself of her story about the roses, and of how I had felt when I read it—glad to be young, surrounded by activity and noise, not caged in the silent solitude of old age. I wished I could read the story again, but the wildflower book was nowhere to be found. I tried asking her about it, but she looked at me with confusion and told me where to find a pad of paper. I wondered if the stroke had taken away some of her memory and if the book was finished, or even lost, forever.

  Whether it was the pregnancy hormones or the stress, I don’t know, but I sat and cried daily. It was only a matter of time before Grandma Rose caught me at it.

  “What’s wrong, Katie?” she asked, coming into the kitchen with her walker just as I was closing the back door.

  “Ben forgot his lunch,” I said, keeping my back to Grandma. Ben forgetting his lunch was nothing to cry over, but I was disintegrating into tears once again.

  The floor groaned softly as she moved toward the table. I heard her labored breathing as she pulled out a chair and sat down. “Well, he can eat over to the cafe. It’s not worth worrying about.” Her voice was steady and understanding, as it used to be before she went to the hospital.

  Wiping my eyes impatiently, I turned around, not wanting to miss the chance for a lucid conversation with her. So much of the time she was either muddled in her thoughts or angry about being stuck in her recliner. We were as much her jailers as her caretakers.

  “Oh, I know,” I said. “It’s just that we don’t need to be spending any extra money.”

  She spat a puff of air. “One lunch won’t make any difference.” This from a woman who had forced me to gather and store enough discarded potatoes to feed an army.

  “You’re probably right,” I agreed, raising the shade so that the morning sunbeams danced into the kitchen like a troop of pixies. Pouring a cup of coffee, I sat in the chair across from her.

  She stared at the sunbeams and took a deep breath, her eyelids drifting downward, then rising again. “I feel very well today.”

  “I’m glad,” I said, harboring a hope that this might be a sign of recovery, though the doctors had told me not to expect it.

  She looked at me very directly, as if she knew what I was thinking. “There are some things I want to say while I can. I don’t want you finding out when I’m gone.”

  “Grandma,” I admonished, “you’re not . . .”

  She impatiently raised a hand to silence me. “I haven’t time to waste. I do not know how long my mind will stay with me. First of all, I spoke yesterday with Reverend Baker about Dell’s situation, and I’ve told him I would like to leave a small stipend in his charge so that he might help to look after Dell and get her the things she needs for school, so that the other children will not be cruel to her. Also, I have encouraged him to begin making regular visits to her home, and to consider organizing a church workday to clean up and repair that awful place. She is a good girl, and she deserves better.”

  “You’re right,” I agreed. “Ben would probably like to help plan the workday.”

  Grandma nodded, seeming pleased. Then her expression became serious again, and she looked at me very directly. “Second, I know what a struggle you and Ben are having with your money, and I want to do what I can to help you raise my babies. I am leaving the main farm to you and Ben. There is no debt attached to it, so you’ll always have a place to live, and you will receive a rental check every month for the farmland.”

  “But, Grandma, that isn’t fair to everyone else.” And we’re supposed to be going back to Chicago in six weeks. But in my heart, I knew I had turned that corner a long time ago. I didn’t want to go back, but I had no idea how Ben would feel about it.

  She raised her hand, again impatient with my interruption. “Let me finish, Katie. I have thought this through.” Her tone brooked no argument. “Your father, Aunt Jeane, and your sister will each receive one hundred acres of the land your grandfather and I purchased on Grayson Road after the war, and also a division of your grandfather’s railroad stock. It won’t be as much as your part, but I spoke about this to them on the phone already, and we’ve settled things.” Reaching across the table, she took my hands in hers, her pale blue eyes bright and determined. “This land has been in the family for a hundred-and-twenty years. It is to remain in the family. Your grandfather is buried on it. I will be buried on it. If it is gone, the family will be scattered to the wind. You and Ben must keep it alive so the family will have a place to come home to.”

  “I’ll talk to Ben,” I promised, feeling the importance of what she was asking. “Are you sure this is all right with Karen? I don’t want her to think I’m getting more because I’m the only one who . . . has children.”

  Grandma shook her head, silently admonishing me. “Kate, you must let go of the idea that the two of you are running against each other in a race. Your children are not your accomplishment to hold up to her, nor is her work and her money hers to lord over you. Both are gifts God has given, by His grace, not by your works. God has put you where you are, and He will show you where you should go from here. Be humble. Be gracious and grateful. Bring the family closer together. I wish I had not waited until the end of my life to begin this task. Now I have no choice but to leave it for you to finish.” She smiled, giving my fingers a squeeze. “When you feel burdened, listen to the laughter of your children. Take delight in them. They will make your load seem light.”

  “I will. But you stop talking like this. You’re going to be around for a good long time.”

  Patting my hands, she sat back in her chair. “Oh . . . long enough to watch my roses bloom. I’m certain about that,” she said quietly. “Could you help me back to my chair? I want to rest before that McCamey boy comes out with my legal papers.”

  Carefully, I helped her from the kitchen, and we moved along the dogtrot with painful slowness. One tiny step, then another, no larger than a baby’s and no more steady.

  As we passed the stairway, she turned her head to look at the images of old picture frames yellowed into the wall. “You need to paint that wall, Katie,” she said. “You can hang pictures of my babies there.”

  “It can wait,” I whispered, a lump rising in my throat. Those yellowed squares of paint were our history. In my mind, I could see which portrait went in each space—like puzzle pieces that fit together to create my grandmother’s life. I wondered if my children would someday take my
life off the stairway wall and replace it with their own.

  A great gasp of air rushed from her as I lowered her into the recliner in the living room. She groaned deep in her throat, closing her eyes but keeping her grip on my hand.

  “Do you need a drink of water?” I asked, wondering if she still had something to say to me, or if she just didn’t realize she was holding me there.

  “No.” Her voice was faint, little more than a breath exhaled. “You’ll remember your promise about the farm?”

  “I’ll talk to Ben this afternoon.” Sitting on the arm of her chair, I rested my cheek atop her head and listened as her breathing became long and deep. Slowly, her fingers loosened, and her hand fell away from mine.

  Standing up, I took an afghan from the couch and covered her, then watched her for a moment, the way I sometimes did with Joshua, just to make sure everything was all right. She looked peaceful, more so than usual, her lashes fluttering slightly and the pleated line of her lips curving into a smile. I pictured her dreaming the dream about yellow bonnets, her mind making her once again into that barefoot, tawny-haired girl with the sky-colored eyes.

  Joshua called me from his crib, and I went to get him, closing the living room door so he wouldn’t bother Grandma. It was impossible for him to comprehend the fact that she couldn’t play with him anymore. When they were in the same room, he tried with great determination to convince her to build block towers, play puppets, or roll his ball to him. She seldom felt well enough, and I knew that only made her situation harder to bear. It was difficult to know whether to let them be together or to try to keep them apart. His baby antics made her happy. The fact that she couldn’t participate made her sad. It was hard to say which outweighed the other.

  I woke her when the lawyer came. Oliver Mason arrived just after the lawyer. Bundling Joshua, I told Grandma good-bye and left her to her legal papers. I didn’t want to be there to hear about the dividing of her estate. It made me feel like a vulture waiting to gain from her life. I wondered if that was what the lawyer would think of me.

  Grandma seemed to be feeling well as she held Joshua in her lap and kissed him good-bye. “You keep those ears covered,” she said, opening the Velcro fastener on his hood and examining it with fascination. “I declare,” she said to the lawyer. “They have simplified everything these days. I suppose soon no one will know how to tie a bow or fasten a button.”

  The lawyer laughed at her. “You know, Mrs. Vongortler, you’re probably right. I’m not sure that’s such a good thing.”

  “I’m not either,” she agreed, handing Joshua to me. “You take your time and have supper in town with Ben this evening,” she suggested. “Oliver can stay with me. We’ll slice some of that ham and have sandwiches for supper.”

  Half asleep in the corner, Oliver nodded like a trained hound. “I don’t have any place to be. I’d be happy to stay until this evening.”

  “Don’t wear yourself out,” I told Grandma. “You can call me at Ben’s office if you decide you need me.”

  She waved me off as if I were a fly buzzing in her face. “Go on, now. I’ll be fine. Enjoy some time with your family.” So I gathered Joshua and left her there with Oliver and the lawyer. I knew why she wanted to give Ben and me time together. She wanted me to tell him about our inheriting the farm, and she wanted to know that he would accept the responsibility of keeping it for the family.

  On the way to town, I thought about how to tell him and wondered what he would say. Over the months, he had settled in to life in Hindsville and had made friends in town. He had even joked about someday retiring there and playing dominoes Tuesday nights with the old men at church. But we hadn’t talked seriously about staying.

  When I got to the church office, I closed the door and told him everything Grandma had said.

  It took him a moment to digest the news. He stopped making funny faces at Josh and started looking serious. “Well . . . but . . . wow,” he muttered, shifting Josh on his lap. “Is she sure she wants to do that? I mean, isn’t this going to cause some hard feelings with the rest of the family?”

  I wondered if that was his polite way of saying he didn’t want the responsibility of the farm. “She says she’s already talked to them about it. She’s leaving them some of the land she and Grandpa bought in later years and some railroad stock. She’s afraid if she wills the main farm to them, they might decide to sell it. She asked me to promise we would keep it for the family.” I took a deep breath and plunged headfirst into the private dream I had been building. “Ben, it could be a perfect solution for us. I don’t see how I’m going to work with two babies, and I don’t want to right now. I want to take the time to be with the children. They’ll only be babies for a little while, and I don’t want to miss it. I don’t want to wake up someday with regrets.”

  He fell silent for a moment, looking at the computer screen, as if the answer might be somewhere in his electronic blueprint. “What did you tell Grandma?”

  I swallowed hard, hoping he wouldn’t be angry. “I told her I would talk to you, but you know Grandma. She had her lawyer out there this afternoon so she could change her legal papers. She doesn’t want to take no for an answer, but we have to do what is right for us. If we take the farm, it means staying in Hindsville for good.”

  He gave me that devil-may-care grin and turned to put a disk into his computer as Joshua stretched out his hand to touch the flickering screen. “Well, Kate, you know I’m not the practical kind. I’ve been thinking about staying for a while now. It just seems to make sense.” A logo came up on the computer screen, and he pointed to it. “You know these plans I did for Williams and Bernhardt? Well, those are on ComCAD software, and ComCAD is a little company based out of Springfield, of all places. I was talking to a guy there the other day, and it just happens they need a tech support person for their structural design module. Steady work, salary negotiable, stock options, insurance—the whole works. I can do a lot of the work remote. No need to commute every day.”

  “You’re kidding!” I gasped, staring at the ComCAD logo on the screen, and feeling as if God had just answered all our prayers. “Ben Bowman, why didn’t you say something! You’ve been wanting to get into the software end of things. Why didn’t you tell me when I came in?”

  A wicked twinkle danced in the corner of his eye. “Well, you had all this important stuff you wanted to talk to me about . . .” He did a perfect imitation of Grandma’s wistful, martyred tone. “I just didn’t figure you’d have time to listen to my little bit of news.”

  Wadding up an extra sheet of paper, I threw it and hit him in the head.

  “Ow,” he complained, glancing over his shoulder at me.

  “You deserve it.” I laughed. “You should know better than to tease a pregnant woman.”

  Standing up, he grabbed me in his arms and kissed me, squeezing Josh between us. “You’re pregnant?” He pretended to be amazed. “We couldn’t tell.”

  “Benjamin,” I scolded, sounding like Grandma, “you’d better watch what you say. You’re skating on thin ice here.” It was the first time the two of us had talked about the baby since I told him the news, but suddenly everything seemed all right.

  Ben seemed to feel it too. The stress lines were gone from around his eyes. “How about if I take you to dinner to celebrate? Grandma called and said she’ll be dining with Dell and old Oliver. She suggested we go over to that German place on the way to Springfield. I can show you my new office while we’re over there. And she told me to tell you not to worry about her, and to leave Joshua at Wanda Cox’s, because she’d already called Wanda and made sure it was all right.”

  Shaking my head, I chuckled under my breath. “I think she’s decided we need a little time off.”

  Ben reached to turn off his computer, but I could tell from his profile that he was smiling. “She’s probably right. These past few months have been something else.”

  “Yes, they definitely have,” I agreed, hearing the bell ring on t
he church tower. Opening the door, I stood in the March sunlight, feeling the promise of spring in the warm afternoon air.

  Ben stood beside me, looking out at Town Square Park, bustling with kids headed home from school. “I wouldn’t trade it, though. Would you?”

  I didn’t have to think about the answer. This had been the hardest year of my life, when all the colors ran outside the lines I had drawn, but also the year when I finally discovered myself. “No,” I said. “This year has been worth it.”

  We had started the year adrift, lost on a river of conflicting desires and uncertain plans. Now we were anchored to this place, our family, the farm, our children, each other. The prayers of our hearts had been answered, even if we had not known what to pray for.

  We talked about the future that night with a wonderful sense of joy and anticipation. We talked about the children growing up, about Joshua starting school, about the new baby and what he or she would be like. We talked about names—Jared for a boy, and Rose for a girl, after Grandma. We imagined ourselves retired on the farm, waiting for the grandchildren to visit. We talked about ourselves, and how lucky we were to have each other, and how long it had taken us to find out what was really important in life.

  When we returned to the farm, the house was quiet. Grandma was asleep in the downstairs bedroom she had once shared with my grandfather. Stepping into her room, I watched her in the dim light of the reading lamp on the night table. Her face was as pale as milk, her breathing raspy and labored. Coming closer, I touched her forehead and listened. She felt warm, but not feverish, so I didn’t wake her, but decided to sit up for a while instead. Ben came by the door, and I whispered for him to go on to bed, then turned back to Grandma.