Leota's Garden (28 page)

Yet it seemed unlikely. From all she had read in the Bible over the past years, the world was winding down. Nothing was going to get better. It was going to get a whole lot worse. And then it would end in fire.

She supposed this young pastor was talking about the meantime. He wanted everyone to work hard to try to change things for the better while the world waited for Jesus to come back.

The thought exhausted her.

She was past the age of being involved, being active, making any difference in the world. The truth was, she didn’t care anymore. Let the fire come. She was closer to a time to die than anything else. She didn’t fault the young pastor for his zeal, for his great hope of seeing a cleaner, safer, more loving community. But hadn’t he read Revelation?

“‘There is a time . . . ,’” he quoted again. He used the words like a bell tolling. As indeed it was.

Leota’s mind wandered again.
“A time to plant and a time to harvest. . . .”
The trees were pruned now, for the first time in years. There would be fruit when summer came, fruit in abundance to be canned and given away. Would Annie want to learn how? Would Annie turn the soil in the victory garden and plant vegetables? And what about the flowering shrubs and perennials? Leota let her mind drift in memories of color—pink, blue, red, purple, yellow.
Oh, the yard around the house was lovely, Lord. Wasn’t it? You remember.
Leota could see it all again in her mind’s eye, the way it had been, the way it could be again. The garden had burned bright in a blaze of rainbow colors. Fiery bright colors . . . colors more beautiful than any stained-glass window.

Will Annie see it as I did, Lord? Will she feel Your presence there as I did? Or will it be boring work, as it was for Eleanor?

Hurtful words came flooding back in the echo of Eleanor’s angry voice, bringing a wash of pain with them.

“You’d rather garden than spend time with your own daughter!”

“Join me, Eleanor. Come outside with me and see through my eyes, if only for an hour. . . .”

“I hate gardening. I don’t want to have ugly hands like yours, with dirt under my nails and calluses. I want to have hands like Grandma Helene’s. . . . I hate being on my knees. Grandma said you can’t make me . . .”

Oh, God, why couldn’t Eleanor see? Why couldn’t she feel the joy I felt? Why did she hate everything I loved?

“‘A time to tear down and a time to rebuild. . . .’”

Leota’s family was torn down. Destroyed.
Can I rebuild what I had with my children when they were small, Lord? Is there any chance for me and Eleanor? And what about George? Would that I could tear down the walls around him with my bare hands! He’s so much like Bernard I want to shake him out of himself, but he won’t let me get close enough. He doesn’t even realize how much like his father he is.

Oh, God . . . was that it? George was like Bernard.
Father, why is my son hiding? What is he afraid to face?
Failure, perhaps?

“‘A time to cry and a time to laugh. . . .’”

Leota had cried enough tears for a lifetime. She wanted to laugh again. She wanted to stop grieving over the might-have-beens. . . .

I want to dance before I die, God. I want to embrace life the way I used to. What happened to all that strength I used to have? I was so sure of
You, so certain everything would turn out fine. “God will take care of me.” I always told myself that. Isn’t that what they always say in church? God will make it turn out right. I have felt forsaken.

There was a stirring within her, like a soft whispered kiss.

Yes, I know. Now, there’s Annie. Thank You, Jesus, for Annie. I don’t mean to be ungrateful. But I still yearn for my daughter and my son, Lord . . .

Images flooded her mind, pictures of the days when Eleanor and George were little and she could hold them close and kiss them and love them freely. It was so long ago, before surviving got in the way. Her children had never understood why she’d had to work, and she couldn’t explain without hurting others. She’d thought in time . . .

“‘There is a time . . .’”

Leota closed her eyes against the tears.
I thought when they grew up, they would see more clearly. They would finally comprehend the sacrifices. They would ask questions. . . . “Why?” “What happened?” “How?”

It hadn’t happened. They’d never cared enough to ask. Not to this day.
And still they don’t know.

When will they ever know the truth, Lord? When will they ask why things were the way they were? When will they see through my eyes? Or is it Your will that the truth die with me? Is that it, Jesus?
Surely that wasn’t God’s way.

“I am the truth. . . . Truth sets you free. . . .”

The truth would hurt. Eleanor was so wrapped up in herself, and George had closed himself off from Leota. Could it be . . . ? Was he doing the same thing to his wife and children? The same thing Bernard did so many years ago? Was George’s pain as great? Was his heart broken?

Over what, Father? Oh, Lord God, I ache for my children. I love them so much. I want them back. I know I ask too much. I’ve always asked too much, Lord. I wanted so much for them. I wanted them to receive all You have to offer. Why wouldn’t they accept anything? Was it because it was offered with my hands? Is that what I did wrong, Lord?

Her throat choked; tears burned her eyes. She’d failed them.

“‘A time to search and a time to lose. . . .’”

Leota closed her eyes.
Oh, Lord, my lambs are lost. Will they even recognize Your voice when You call to them? Will they cry out in relief and run to You? Or will they turn a deaf ear? Will they hear, but run away in fear? Will they go on slapping away the hand that reaches out to rescue them?

She had tried so hard, and yet it had all come to nothing. And here was this exuberant, young pastor saying, “Do . . . do . . . do . . .” Well, she’d done all she could do, and nothing good had come of it. She never had enough time. Days, weeks, years slipped away.

Annie took her hand. Startled, Leota looked at her. Her granddaughter smiled, a tender look of concern in her eyes. Blinking back tears, Leota smiled back, hoping none of the anguish she was feeling showed. Annie’s eyes filled with tears, too, and she took Leota’s hand in both of hers, holding it tenderly on her lap.

Leota closed her eyes again.
I have done nothing good, Lord, and yet, here I sit seeing what You have done. Maybe there is hope yet.
If she could let go. If she spoke truth. If they would listen . . .

“‘A time to keep and a time to throw away. . . .’”

The gentle words filled her.

Oh, Lord, I will hold tight to my love and not let go. I will throw away all the cruel words flung at me. I will cast away anger and hurt and despair. I won’t think on the false accusations, the slights, the long silences, and the rejection. I will think about You. I will think about Annie. I will think about the flowering fruit trees. I will think about the perennials and annuals that will come even without care. Flowers don’t grow if it doesn’t rain, and it’s been raining, Lord.
Oh, it had been raining such a long, long time.

“‘A time to tear and a time to mend. A time to be quiet and a time to speak up. A time to love and a time to hate. A time for war and a time for peace.’”

Leota pressed her lips together. She would tear down the walls and mend the fences. She would be silent no more.
Oh, Father, it is time, isn’t it? It’s time to speak of the past, to make the truth known. I have loved long and hard, but it’s time to hate the evil that has held my children away from me. I will go to war for Eleanor and George, whether they like it or not. The battle is not over until I draw my last breath. I have waited and waited, and I will wait no more. I will shake them with what I have to tell. I will shake them to their very souls. Maybe that will be enough to tear down their altars and smash their idols and turn them once and for all to the living God who made them to be His children.

“Glory be to the Father,” the congregation sang out suddenly, and the rafters seemed to ring with the sound. “And to the Son and to the Holy Ghost. As it was in the beginning, so let it be again . . .”

As Leota stood again with the rest of the congregation, she didn’t remember a word the pastor had said, but she felt refreshed. She made no attempt to join in the singing, but let the words rain down upon her.
Lord, cleanse me again. Wash me with Your living water and hyssop. By Your blood I am made white as snow. Heal my wounded heart and make me whole. And then, Lord, give me Your sword.

Four men went forward, and a prayer was said before the offering plates were taken up. A young black woman sang. Leota recognized the name of the hymn printed in the program, but what the girl was singing didn’t much resemble what Leota remembered. The melody was almost lost in the fancy scales up and down, the warbles and trills. She supposed this was what people called
soul
music, but it made her want to shout, “Just sing it plain like it was written! Sing it plain!”

Annie was smiling. She and everyone else in the pew seemed to be enjoying the music. That was plain enough to see. Leota could see for herself the young woman was putting her entire heart into that hymn. The girl reached a high note, and Leota felt goose bumps. It reminded her of the day she had watched the children next door bury that bird.
They’d all sung a hymn in the same style. Quieter, because they were burying a bird . . .

By heaven, it wasn’t the same woman, was it? She did look vaguely familiar.

Leota noticed the offering plate coming closer and felt acutely distressed. She dug in her purse, trying not to think about how many days it would be before another Social Security check arrived. All she could find was nine dollars. Nine dollars! What a pittance that was to offer the Lord of the universe, the Creator of all. Embarrassed, she folded the bills and kept them in the palm of her hand. When the plate was passed to her, she tucked the bills beneath the white offertory envelopes already filling it and passed it on.

The old familiar doxology was sung as the men carried the plates forward and placed them on the altar. The pastor said one last prayer, asking that the Lord would empower all present to go out and
do something
bold for Jesus. As he left the pulpit, everyone began singing again, one last rousing song with a Jewish-sounding melody accompanied by much hand clapping. Shocked, Leota stood limp and silent. This display of zeal was far from the solemnity of past services. And these people were nothing like the placid-faced parishioners who used to fill these pews.

When the song ended, everybody started talking and moving about. Some crowded into the center aisle and headed for the door, where the pastor was waiting to greet them, but the rest seemed in no hurry to depart. They clustered together in small groups, smiling and talking and laughing.

Things had certainly changed.

She and Annie hadn’t taken two steps when the young black woman in the row in front of them turned around to greet them. Her name went right in Leota’s right ear and out the left.

“This is my grandmother,” Annie said, “Mrs. Leota Reinhardt.”

“Well, I’m pleased to meet you, Mrs. Reinhardt,” the young woman said. “Are you and Anne from out of town?”

“No. I attended this church for over twenty years.”

The woman looked confused. “Now,
I’m
embarrassed. I thought I’d met everyone who attends here.”

“I haven’t come for a few years. Too hard to get here from where
I live. I used to ride the bus.” She slipped her hand beneath Annie’s, needing support. So many people milling around made her nervous. She moved stiffly. She didn’t want to get bumped and fall on her face and make a fool of herself. Annie put her hand over Leota’s.

“Where do you live, Mrs. Reinhardt?”

“In the Dimond District.”

“I’m familiar with the area. What street?”

Annie told her.

“Well, you don’t say. Arba Wilson lives on the same street. You must know her.”

“I don’t know anyone on my street anymore.” Leota wished they could leave and save her further embarrassment. Arba Wilson. Well, she finally had a name to put to the face of her next-door neighbor.

Annie looked at her, perplexed. Her granddaughter must have felt the discomfort radiating from her because she started to move. Besides that, it was clear the lady greeting them didn’t know what to say. Extending her hand, Annie shook the lady’s hand and said they were very pleased to meet her, but they had better be going.

Others said hello as they made their way to the door. The pastor shook Leota’s hand as Annie made swift introductions. His grip was strong enough to make Leota wince. “I hope you put a visitor’s card in the offering plate,” he said.

“No, I didn’t.” She had noticed it upon sitting down but hadn’t thought to fill it out.

“Oh, well, I hope you enjoyed the service, Mrs. Reinhardt.”

“It was different from what I’m used to.” In fact, everything had been different. And refreshing.

“You liked it, though, didn’t you, Grandma?” Annie said with a smile.

“I didn’t say I didn’t,” Leota told them both.

“Well, that’s good,” the pastor said.

“I thought that young woman was going to sing the roof right off.”

The pastor smiled, eyes shining this time. “She surely does sing in the Spirit, ma’am.”

“You look much better when you do that,” she said without thinking.

“Do what, ma’am?”

“Smile.”

“Grandma!” Annie said with a laugh. “I think we’d better go.”

The pastor laughed. “Just be sure you bring her back, Miss Gardner.” He turned to greet another behind them.

Annie was chuckling all the way to the car. “What?” Leota said, faintly annoyed.

“You are really something, Grandma.” Annie laughed as she tucked her into the front seat and strapped the seat belt on her. She kissed her cheek and then shut the door, making sure it was locked.