Leota's Garden (25 page)

His expression altered. “Is your mother sick?”

“She looks worse than I’ve ever seen her.” It was true. She had been shocked at how her mother had aged since the last time she saw her.

“Did she call you?”

“No. I just . . . I just had a feeling something was wrong.” Thinking about Anne’s betrayal, she put her hands over her face and started to cry. “I had to see her. Everything else just went out of my head. I’ve just had the worst day of my life. And now, to top it off, you’re angry with me.”

In the past, Fred had always been quick to comfort her. Tonight he stayed where he was. With a sigh, he dropped his raincoat over the back of the sofa and set his briefcase down. “I need a drink.” He went behind the wet bar, took a bottle of scotch from the lower cabinet, and poured himself half a glass.

Sniffling and dabbing her nose with a lace hankie, Nora couldn’t stop the twinge of resentment that Fred hadn’t even thought to offer her one.

“It’s going to take some doing for me to save face.” Fred’s tone was grim. He took a swallow of scotch and put the glass down on the bar. He looked across at her enigmatically. “Face matters with the Japanese. Since Mr. Yamamoto’s wife was there and anxious to meet you, the fact that my wife didn’t show up said more to them than the hundred pages of documents I’ve been working on for six months.”

It wasn’t just anger in his eyes. It was hurt and disappointment. She had let him down badly. Fear curled in the pit of her stomach. Would he leave her like all the rest? She tried so hard and nothing ever worked out the way she planned. “I’m sorry, Fred.”

“It’s a little late to be sorry.” He took up the glass again, swallowed the rest of the scotch, then put the glass on the counter. He looked at her again and shook his head slowly as though trying to make sense of everything. “Nora, sometimes I wonder . . .”

“Wonder what?” she said softly when he didn’t continue.

He looked weary and older than his fifty-seven years. “It’s better if I don’t say anything more right now. I’m tired. I’m going to bed.”

What was
that
supposed to mean? That it was all her fault? Why
couldn’t he try to understand how horrible her day had been? He would understand then how the dinner this evening had slipped her mind. Despite all her efforts, all her sacrifices for those she loved, no one seemed to care what she suffered.

Fred took up his raincoat from the back of the sofa and bent for his briefcase. “We’ll talk more in the morning.”

Somehow, those few words held an ominous sound.

When he walked out of the room, Nora wept, this time in fear of what the morrow would bring.

Chapter 9

Corban pulled into Leota Reinhardt’s driveway, noticing there was a car with a Christian fish symbol on it parked in front of her house. He noticed other things as well. The lawn was freshly mowed, and the bushes in front of the house were pruned neatly and low enough now that the front porch was visible. The hanging pots had been removed.

As he went up the front steps, he saw that the rocking chair had been washed. The seat was still wet, as was the entire front porch. No spiderwebs, no dust, just the smell of dampness and fresh-cut grass.

Had another volunteer come over? He felt a twinge of irritation that someone was intruding. Ringing the bell, he waited. On the third ring, he became worried that something might have happened to Mrs. Reinhardt. Why wasn’t she answering her door? Hearing no sounds from inside, he moved to peer through the window beside her front door, but remembered her remarks upon their first meeting. If she didn’t want to answer, she didn’t have to answer.

Resigned, he went down the steps, wondering what to do next. Just as he was opening his car door, he heard voices at the back of the house. Squeezing past the hood, he strode up the narrow driveway.

“Mrs. Reinhardt?” he called out as he came around the back corner.
She was standing in the garden above the small patio area outside the back door; she was wearing a flowered, polyester dress and a white sweater. A girl was with her.

A very pretty girl.

“Corban, what are you doing here? It’s Saturday.”

“Just thought I’d drop by,” he said, trying not to stare at the old woman’s companion.

“This is my granddaughter, Anne-Lynn Gardner. Annie, this is Corban Solsek. He’s from a charity that sends volunteers to help old people.”

The girl had a trim, athletic figure and long, strawberry-blonde hair pulled back in a ponytail. She was wearing a soiled, white T-shirt, faded blue jeans, and dirty tennis shoes. She removed a gardening glove and stepped forward, hand extended. “I’m pleased to meet you, Corban.” Sweat dampened her forehead and dirt smudged her cheek. Despite her disheveled appearance, she glowed with innocence and an open friendliness that made him smile back.

“Likewise,” he said.

“You’ve arrived just in time,” Leota said, a gleam in her eyes.

That remark was enough to snap him back to full attention. Raising a brow, he looked at her. “Dare I ask?”

She chuckled. “We were about to prune the trees in back. It’s not the best time of year for it, but they’re in dire need. And you’re just the man for the job.”

“I seem to be the
only
man around.”

“Don’t spoil the compliment.”

He laughed. She looked better than he had ever seen her. Being outdoors seemed to agree with her.

“We’re going to bring the garden back,” Anne said, smiling.

What was he getting himself into? “I don’t know the first thing about gardening.”

“I don’t either.” Anne sounded positively delighted. She pulled the glove back on. “We’re about to learn. Grandma supplies the brains. We supply the brawn.”

“Corban will take exception to that, Annie.” Leota smiled straight at him. “He’s a senior at the university, and you know how smart they all think they are.”

While Anne laughed, Corban glowered at the old lady, feigning annoyance with her. “I don’t suppose it would hurt me to get my hands dirty just this once.”

“Good boy. Rise to the challenge. Tools are in the shed to the right of the gate.”

He could care less about gardening, but he could see that today Leota Reinhardt was in the mood to talk. Maybe it was the presence of the little dish walking along the cobblestone pathway ahead of him. Whatever it was, he intended to hang around and take mental notes.

“There’s a ladder on the back wall,” Leota called, following at a much slower pace. She had her hands out slightly as though to balance herself better. “And a saw. It should be hanging on the wall to the right of the door. And a can of latex paint and a brush.”

Corban wondered why she was talking about paint. They were going to prune trees, not touch up the stucco.

“Watch for black widows in there,” Leota called, standing at the open gate beneath the sagging arbor. “They like dark places.”

“We will, Grandma.”

Groaning inwardly, Corban hung back, hoping the girl wouldn’t expect him to brave the arachnids. She didn’t even bat an eye in his direction. Without the least hesitation, she picked up a broken branch and opened the door. She attacked the webs like a warrior with a sword—upward, downward, forward, moving fearlessly into the dim, dusty environs. She banged around briefly and handed the saw out to him, then came out carrying a ladder.

“Don’t just stand there, Corban,” the old lady said. “There’s an extension pruner mounted on the wall. And we’ll need the can of latex paint and a brush. Should be on the shelf.”

“What’s an extension pruner look like?” He looked around cautiously before going inside the dusty, shadow-filled shed.

“Two poles that fit together after you get them outside. On the end of one are clippers.”

He found the pieces and became entangled in the rope attached to the lower part of the clippers. Winding the rope quickly around his hand, he picked up the two poles and brought them outside, thankful to be in the sunlight again. He didn’t feel anything crawling on him.

Anne had already set up the ladder near the biggest tree in the center of the walled-off garden in back. “What kind of tree is it, Grandma?”

“Apricot. The one over there is a cherry tree. The other one is a plum.” She shook her head. “What a tangled mess . . .”

Corban couldn’t have agreed with her more. The trees had branches pointing in all directions; the ground was covered with weeds, some knee-high, though those toward the back were higher than that. Worst of all was the layer of shriveled and rotted fruit beneath the tree—several years’ worth by the looks of it. Small trees had sprouted here and there.

“Okay, Grandma. We’ve got all the tools. Now where do we start?” Anne stood there, saw in hand, looking ready for almost anything.

Leota Reinhardt made her way carefully toward them. She reached up to one of the branches sagging down and snapped off a portion. She looked at it and then around and up through the tree. “First thing you have to do is remove all the dead, broken, and diseased branches. That one and that one—” She pointed. “Start up there and work your way down and out. Find a growth bud and cut just above it.” She glanced at him. “Corban, put that pruner together and use it. Annie can’t do it all by her lonesome.”

“Watch out below,” Annie said as the first branch swung down.

“Easy,” Mrs. Reinhardt said. “You don’t want the branches banging into each other. Hand the can up to her, Corban. Annie, you need to paint over the cut so no germs can get in and the sap won’t bleed too long. Use the pocketknife I gave you.”

Annie took the knife from her back pocket, pried open the small can, and tucked the knife away again. Corban watched her dab paint onto the cut branch. Setting the can into a joining of branches, she leaned down for the saw she had put on the ladder tray.

“The pruner, Corban. The pruner!”

The old woman was like a general mustering her troops! She stood on guard at the gate, watching the battle. “Leave that one, Annie. Cut the one to the right. We want to thin the tree so that air will circulate and there’ll be more light to all the branches.”

“This one, Grandma?”

“Yes, that’s it. That’s the one. Corban, see if you can get the one over there. Pull. Don’t be afraid of it. See how that limb is rubbing on the bigger branch? It’s doing damage. There’s probably a wound there. Annie,
you’ll need to paint over it so there won’t be any decay. There’s a branch right there that needs cutting. The wind must have snapped it. See it? The one with the brown leaves. Can you climb, honey?”

Annie laughed. “You betcha.” Stepping off the ladder into the tree, the saw dangling from a hook on her belt, she moved through the tree with grace and ease. She paused briefly to get the can of paint and hook it to her waist along with the saw. She didn’t seem to care that some paint was getting on her Levi’s. Corban worked below, glancing up at her. She was like a kid at a picnic.

“Heads up!” Annie called as another branch took flight.

As the old woman tutored her minions, the tree took shape. It began to open from within, light filtering through the green leaves and making the edges shine gold. The branches no longer spread in all directions, unwieldy and out of control, but were contained, rounded upward, flat on top like a wineglass.

“Now,” Mrs. Reinhardt said with a sigh of satisfaction, “there she is. That looks just right.”

Annie came down from the ladder. She stepped back almost to the gate, where her grandmother stood, and looked up. The smile the old woman wore was childlike in its pleasure.

“The tree will bear fruit this year,” Mrs. Reinhardt said. “Lots of it.”

Corban frowned. “I’d think with fewer branches, you’d get less fruit.”

“A good pruning stimulates the right kind of growth. Same holds true with people.”

He was about to ask her what she meant by that when Annie said, “What should we do with the prunings, Grandma? Too bad we don’t have a chipper. I’ve seen crews working on the trees that line the streets. They feed the branches in, and they’re chewed up into a fine mulch that they spread under the tree, all in a matter of minutes.”

“We have something better than a chipper.” Leota Reinhardt’s grin was pure mischief. “We have Corban.” She looked at him and waved her hand in command. “Just cut the bigger branches into two-foot lengths. I’ll get some string and you can make small bundles and stack them by the back door. I’ll burn the branches a few at a time during the cold spots ahead.”

“While Corban’s doing that, Grandma, I’ll start on the cherry tree,” Annie said, folding the ladder.

Corban stifled his irritation. Little Miss Eager Beaver and the Slave Driver. What did these two women think he was? Part of the Conservation Corps? Breaking a dead branch over his knee, he tossed it aside, then picked up another branch. It would be easier to do the work as quickly as possible than to try to get out of it.

Pretty little Anne-Lynn Gardner was already perched on the ladder beneath the cherry tree. Corban broke another branch over his knee and tossed it aside. If he could get some information out of her, the whole day wouldn’t be shot. “I take it you and your grandmother are close?”