Backyard
Page 29
Nan sat down on one of the new patio chairs she had bought on a separate shopping spree and cast her frowning disapproval upon the Miguel de Cervantes wood sculpture. Much to her dismay, George and Jerry had rescued Miguel from what she hoped would be a mortal wound, sanded out the dinks caused by the hailstorm, filled in the tomahawk groove with faux-wood putty, and repainted it to make it even more conspicuous than before.
George appeared, open wine bottle in hand, filled the four glasses placed on their new wrought-iron-and-tile-topped table, then gave the bottle that no-spill little wrist turn he could do as deftly as any maître d’ worth his salt in a four-star restaurant.
A couple of short beeps announced the return of Sis and Shirelle in Sis’s new 4x4. Spurred by the resurrection of the backyard, they had just been to Burdick’s to get a few more gardening supplies. Shirelle was eager to get to work as Nan’s new helper.
And what about that Sis! Look at how much she’d matured since the storm, thought George and Nan. No longer the pouty, oversensitive Sis, she had become Mary, their invaluable helper, throwing herself into their renewed gardening efforts with a verve that put them both to shame. Nothing like a little disaster to get the gears of maturity grinding, thought Nan; George could really benefit from Mary’s example. One thing was for sure: neither one of them would ever call her Sis again.
As for Cullen and Ellis, they kind of took after their dad, didn’t they? Nan reflected with affection. Winsome, heroic when they needed to be, and, like most men, no help at all when the situation allowed it.
After Mary and Shirelle dumped their last bags of potting and fertilizer next to the shed, Shirelle headed back to the truck.
“One more thing,” she said. “A surprise.”
Mary tittered. When she returned from the truck, Shirelle carried a small shrub about six inches high, its roots encased in a large black plastic container. As she got closer, Nan began laughing.
“What’s so funny?” said George. “A little too much Sagelands there already, Nan-bee. Don’t gag on it, please. What could be so funny about a plant, especially one that hasn’t learned to communicate yet?”
“This is our very special gift to you,” said Shirelle. She hoisted up the plant for George to get a good look at it. “A new angel’s trumpet. It’s what your wife and daughter said you wanted more than anything else. So, on behalf of Mary and Mrs. Fremont and myself, let this be a token of our wishes for many, many wonderful gardening years to come. Oh, and please use gloves and safety goggles when handling.”
Acknowledgments
Here are some of the folks who bear the burden of making Backyard possible. Should you find this book riddled with inaccuracies, misconceptions, and notions that defy the conventions of accepted gardening behavior, blame them!
Many thanks go out to my editor at Kensington, Martin Biro, whose suggestions have invariably made this book better, and whose meticulous attention to detail continues to amaze. My agent, Peter Rubie, at FinePrint Literary Management, salvaged Backyard from his agency’s scrap heap of orphaned manuscripts, then promptly made selling it seem effortless. It all began with my former agent, Marissa Walsh, who charged right in where so many others feared to tread and steered Backyard onto its proper course. Even though I never got to speak with her, thanks also to Kensington acquiring editor Audrey LaFehr, who, thank God, bought the book shortly before deciding to leave Kensington for the Rocky Mountains.
If it seems as if I’m an expert gardener, that’s because there are some true experts who helped me pull off this masquerade. Special thanks go to master gardener and former colleague Mary Jane Smetanka, who fact-checked the manuscript, one draft after another, and served as my horticultural sounding board on more occasions than I can count. My mother-in-law, Joyce Sandahl, endured many an early-morning flower question as I drained her coffeepot and perused her endless supply of gardening catalogs. Finally, the greatest tribute of all goes to my dear wife, Jennifer, who is also my favorite gardener and most accomplished teacher.
© 2013 Jennifer Draper
Norman Draper spent thirty-five years as a newspaper reporter before leaving journalism in 2011. Mr. Draper lives in Bloomington, Minnesota, with his wife, Jennifer, and has two grown sons, Sam and Ed. An avid gardener in thought, if not deed, he is always up to the task of uncorking a bottle of Sagelands merlot and checking in on his beloved Minnesota Twins once Jennifer’s hard day’s work in the garden is done. This is his first novel. Visit him on the Web at normandraper.com.
KENSINGTON BOOKS are published by
Kensington Publishing Corp.
119 West 40th Street
New York, NY 10018
Copyright © 2014 by Norman Draper
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.
Kensington and the K logo Reg. U.S. Pat. & TM Off.
eISBN-13: 978-1-61773-306-2
eISBN-10: 1-61773-306-7
First Kensington Electronic Edition: December 2014
ISBN: 978-1-6177-3305-5