Leota's Garden (66 page)

Nora stopped trying to defend herself and listened. Annie stopped lashing out and accusing and began to relate everything Leota had told her about those early years. For the first time in her life, Nora began to see things through her mother’s eyes, and it hurt.

Oh, how it hurt.

She kept seeing that dream image of her mother on her knees in the garden looking toward the house with such longing in her eyes. Had it been a dream? Or had she seen her mother like that time and again while she was in the kitchen doing her grandmother’s bidding, soaking up the bitter words and letting them take root in her soul?

“She loves you, Mom.”

“She never said so.”

“She showed you by working.”

“I would’ve liked to have heard the words.”

“Maybe you did, but you weren’t listening.”

Nora started to cry. How many tears had she shed in her lifetime? Gallons for herself. And now she was weeping for her mother, feeling the pain as though it were her own. And wasn’t it? “I don’t know what to do!”

Annie was crying, too. “Help me, Mom. I want to bring her home.”

“The doctor said she needs to be in the hospital. She’s so sick.”

“The doctor said she needs extensive care,” Annie said, determined.

“But you’re giving up your whole life!”

Annie leaned forward, her hands open, pleading. “Mom, she doesn’t have a lot of time, and I want to spend every day I can with her. Don’t you want that now? Don’t you want the chance to get to know her? You never did before. You never saw her or who she really was.”

Nora was afraid, so afraid, of making the wrong decision. How many times in her life had she been wrong? So many times she couldn’t count. And this time it mattered. It mattered so much. “I could spend time with her in a hospital. There are excellent ones, you know. There’s one not far from us, isn’t that so, Fred? You could come home, Anne-Lynn. We could go together and visit her.”

“It wouldn’t be the same and you know it, Mom. If Grandma had a choice, when the Lord calls her home, she’d want to be on a chaise longue in her garden.”

Nora felt torn. Fred put his hand over hers and squeezed gently. He was looking at her, the tenderness of his expression encouraging her.
You know what’s right, Nora. You know in your heart what your mother would want. Wouldn’t you want the same thing? To have your family around you . . . to be in your own home?

“All right, Annie,” she said in a broken voice. “I don’t fully agree that this is best, but I’ll help you.”

“We’ll bring her home tomorrow.” Relief filled Annie’s eyes, eyes so warm and thankful. Nora had never seen that look in her daughter’s eyes before—at least, not for her.

“Tomorrow might be too soon, Annie,” Fred said. “The doctor said she’s very weak. Maybe it’d be better to wait a few days.”

“Mom, please.”

Nora let her breath out slowly. All the wasted years of bitterness. Maybe this one act might pave the way to a new relationship with her mother, however brief it might turn out to be. “I’ll help you bring her home tomorrow morning.”

Leota dozed. It was difficult to sleep with all the noise and activities of the hospital—nurses coming and going, a patient in the next bed
moaning until she was given another shot that eased her pain and made her sleep so soundly she snored like a man. Then there was that medical technician who seemed to hang around. He’d just a minute ago stood in the doorway, then moved on when a nurse had said something to him.

Her mind drifted back to the years just before the war, when Bernard had been whole. She could see him in that dance hall, watching her. She could remember the wind in her face as they sat in the rumble seat riding home.

The tune of “Don’t Sit under the Apple Tree with Anyone Else but Me” ran in her head. She could see Mama Reinhardt knitting socks for Bernard. She remembered the air-raid sirens going off and the block warden in her hard hat knocking on the door and telling them they had to black out the windows better because light still showed through. They’d saved everything for the war effort. Bacon grease for making ammunition, toothpaste tubes, tin cans, glass jars, newspapers and magazines when she’d finished reading and rereading them a dozen times. Nothing was wasted.

How her victory garden had flourished! She’d grown enough rhubarb, lettuce, cabbage, tomatoes, peas, corn, beets, carrots, and potatoes to keep the neighborhood fed. Mama Reinhardt had canned hundreds of jars of cherries, plums, apricots, and applesauce.

She could still see that Jewel Tea truck come around the corner, selling everything from hairpins to crackers. And the Borden’s milk truck and the Swedish bakery truck. She used to sell some of her vegetables to old Toby, who came around with his pickup. He always ran out of produce long before he ran out of customers.

She thought of Cosma, her dear friend. She’d never forget the permanent Cosma gave her.
She said I looked like Rita Hayworth with all my red-blonde hair in wild curls. We went shopping in San Francisco, and the sailors whistled, and all I could do was cry because I kept wishing Bernard were home to see how nice I looked. Cosma took a picture of me in that one-piece sunsuit I wore all summer long in the garden. I struck a Betty Grable pose. Bernard wrote back and said the guys in his unit told him he’d married a “dish.” I wonder what I did with that sequined beret? I used to have a straw hat with giant roses and a chapeau with a barnyard of feathers. How funny I must have looked!

She let her mind fill with memories of Eleanor and George when they were little. She loved the tiny curls on the back of George’s neck, the smell of soft skin in the curve of Eleanor’s baby neck. And those chubby legs.

“Mama.”

Let me dream about those far-off days as though they were near again. Lord, let me remember what it was like to have a whole man looking forward to a bright future and two babies, healthy and happy. Don’t let my mind drift to the dark years.

And yet, they too were sweet in their own way.

Yea, though I walked through the valley of the shadow of death and I dwelt in darkness, You were light to me. My Lord and my Redeemer. All those years, when Bernard sank into his depression and used to call out for help, I looked up to You. How many times did I go out into the sunlight and walk with You in the garden and talk with You in my heart? How many times did I go out there at night and look up at the moon and stars? And You were there with me. You, the lover of my soul.

The medical technician was back at the door again. What did he want? Why was he back again? He was behaving oddly, looking down the hall one way and then the other. Was he back to take more blood? Surely the two test tubes he took this afternoon had been enough! He’d had a carrier with tubes in it when he came into her room before. His hands were empty now.

He came into the room, pausing to watch Leota’s roommate sleeping. His presence distressed Leota. Something about his manner filled her with dread.

Lord, what’s going on here? Why is he behaving so oddly? I’m afraid. What am I afraid of? I’m in a hospital! They help people get well here, don’t they? Why this feeling of danger?

Eleanor is coming back tomorrow. Fred said he was bringing her. I could feel her heart softening. Oh, God, the years I’ve prayed for this to happen. Maybe tomorrow morning will be a new beginning. Maybe tomorrow morning, I can touch her hand without her pulling away. Maybe tomorrow morning, I can tell her I love her and have her finally believe me.

The man moved away from the other bed and approached hers. He didn’t look her in the eyes but glanced toward the door one more time.
How odd. “Just a little something to help you sleep, Leota.” Why would he carry a syringe in the pocket of his coat? Any half-wit would know it could become contaminated.

For just a second, he looked into her eyes.

That was all the time Leota needed to know what the man had come to do.

Troubled, Nora stared out the front window of the car. It was raining, and the windshield wipers swished back and forth. She had no cause to worry. Fred was an excellent driver and the traffic was light this time of night. So why this strange sensation of restlessness?

“What’s wrong, honey?” Fred said, flicking the headlights to bright again after a car passed by them.

“I don’t know. Just a funny feeling.” She felt the strong urge to go to her mother. Now. Not tomorrow morning.
Now—turn around. Go back to the hospital.
It was foolishness.

“About what?”

“I was just thinking about seeing my mother tomorrow morning and wishing I didn’t have to wait that long.”

“Do you want to go back to the hospital?”

Nora looked at him. “It’s after midnight, Fred. She’ll have gone to sleep long ago.”

“And if she were awake? What would you want to say to her?”

Her throat felt so hot and tight. She looked out the windshield again.

I’d say I’m sorry. I’d say I do love you, Mother, even though it’s never seemed as though I did. It was because I loved you so much that I’ve been so angry. I’d say please forgive me for all the cruel things I’ve said and done. I’d say so many things I’ve kept bottled up for decades.
She sobbed. “Mama, I’ve missed you. That’s what I’d say.”

Fred reached over and brushed his knuckles lightly against her cheek. “We can go back if you want. Say the word and I’ll take the next off-ramp.”

She almost said yes, then mentally shook herself. What was she thinking? It was well past midnight. She was letting her emotions run away with her again. She had spent a lifetime letting her emotions control her. Besides, she could imagine what the nurses would have to say if
she showed up at this time of night and insisted on seeing her mother. What was she supposed to say?
I want to make amends? I want to wake up my mother so I can say I’m sorry?

“It’s all right, Fred,” she said, putting her hand on his thigh. “I can wait a few more hours.”

What did one more night matter?

Oh, God, don’t let him do this. Oh, please, Lord. Annie said to hang on. Fred said to keep the faith. Eleanor is so close to becoming herself again. Lord, help me!