The Stone Flower Garden

by Deborah Smith

  Eli.

  “So, it is him,” Swan said calmly. I nodded. I sat in a low chair beside her bed, my head bent, my shoulders hunched. We were alone. Matilda had been taken out of the room for an EKG. My grandmother smiled thinly. “A psychic told his sister they’d find evidence on the property.”

  I uttered a bleak laugh. “We’ve been caught by the spirit world.”

  Swan sank one slender hand onto my shoulder and dug in her fingernails. The line of her IV swung gently with the sudden movement. I lifted my head in warning and held her stern gaze. “What are you thinking?” she demanded.

  “I’m thinking I’ll tell him the truth. If he’s the man I believe he is, he won’t hurt you or Matilda.”

  Her fingernails pinched into my skin through my shirt. “Let’s discuss the man you think you know. A man who was willing to lie to you about his identity. To win your trust when he knew he’d be coming here to cause trouble. A man who could have contacted you at any time over the years, but didn’t. A man who left the country and became a criminal. You don’t even know how he managed to return.”

  I considered every argument, but realized they all came down to one irrational point: I slept with him. That has to mean something. The most pathetic excuse a woman could offer. “Whatever he’s done or whatever he intended,” I said, “he deserves to know the truth.”

  “Does he? Does he deserve to destroy your life without any consideration? My dear granddaughter, I know what I did to you. I know you have a right to hate me. But I also see that I’ve created a strong, proud woman who fights for good causes and does good in the world. You did not kill Clara. You did not kill Jasper Wade. If I could have saved you from seeing any of that—from knowing any of that—I would die happy at this moment. But the fact that you do know what happened shouldn’t condemn you. If you tell Eli Wade the truth, and he is not the merciful man you hope for, he will ruin you. He will ruin your legacy as a Hardigree, and he’ll ruin your own name. And your career—your ability to command respect and trust from your clients, from jurors, from judges, from the media. All ruined.”

  “If I were only worried about myself, I’d have told him already.”

  “All right, then, let me be more self-serving. If you tell, it will kill Matilda. No matter how Eli reacts. Merely knowing that the truth is out will kill her. And if you have any hopes of Karen ever coming back here, it will kill those, too. If she learns her grandmother was involved in Clara’s circumstance, could she understand? Could she cope with the knowledge? Would she feel nothing but pity and disgust for her grandmother? Does Karen’s public career deserve to be hurt? Does this entire town need to learn something that can only harm the decency and charm that makes life here special?”

  I felt strangled. Weighed down. Burdened. Hopeless. “Eli deserves to know,” I said quietly. “And nothing can change that fact.”

  “Then let him find out.” I stared at her. She nodded. “Do you seriously think it matters? Let him search. If he finds Clara’s grave, what will it prove?” She leaned closer to me. “Hmmm? Found on land he has bought, land where his family lived at the time she disappeared? People will simply believe that his father buried her there. And so will he.”

  I stared at her. “You want him to find her body.”

  “Now that the situation has taken this turn, yes. The gossip about Clara’s disappearance will end, once and for all. Eli and his family will gain a certain peace from simply answering the question they set out to answer, and we’ll all bow our heads in a moment of prayer.” She settled back, but her hand still clutched me. “Then I’ll re-bury Clara with more graciousness than she deserves.”

  I said very slowly, and very quietly, “You’ll ruin him if you can, but I won’t let you.”

  She said nothing for a moment. Then, “You’ll have to choose between him and your family. You decide.” She would have been a good lawyer, but a hanging judge. I said nothing but she knew she had me. “I have to think,” I said.

  Silence. Finally, her voice low, she said, “In your eyes, the whole world is innocent except me.”

  I looked at her quietly. “Once upon a time, you were my whole world.”

  She let go of my shoulder. I would have five tiny, crescent-shaped bruises there.

  Small marks. Branded.

  Tommy Rakelow had been one of the meanest little well-off bastards in school. He was always behind the group taunts, the jabs and jokes that led to fistfights. Eli had never punched the little bastard because he was little. Tommy, like Eli, was nearly forty years old now but still little—plus half-bald and paunchy, to boot. He and his wife ran the inn. He stopped Eli in the veranda where Eli was pacing with a cigar in his fist.

  “I’m afraid those ladies of yours will have to stay somewhere else,” Tommy said.

  “What’s the problem?”

  “My wife made a mistake on our calendar. We’d booked their suite upstairs for the rest of the week. The guests get here today.”

  “Then my mother and sister can move downstairs.”

  “Those rooms are all booked, too.”

  Eli saw the deceit in Tommy’s eyes. A chill ran through him. “You know who I am,” he said.

  Tommy took a step back. “Now look, Wade, I don’t want trouble.”

  “Did Swan Samples tell you to kick my family out?”

  “I said I don’t want any trouble. Let’s be honest. You and your family don’t look like you have the money to stay here.”

  Goddamn Swan. Trouble was already starting. “If you say anything to my mother or sister I’ll do what I should’ve done when we were kids. I’ll nail your little ass to one of these marble walls.”

  Tommy blanched.

  Eli left him standing there.

  It was time to play this game by the numbers.

  Burnt Stand Realty. Eli walked inside the marble storefront without pausing to slam the wooden door behind him. It swung shut with a clatter. A neatly dressed young man gawked up at him from a front desk. “You the receptionist?” Eli asked.

  The man blinked hard. “Uh, no sir. I’m an agent.”

  Eli studied him. “Did you grow up here?”

  “Uh, uh, no. I grew up in Asheville. My wife and I just moved here last year. But I assure you I am very knowledgeable about all the property listings in this wonderful, historic—”

  “Good.” Eli jerked a chair to the man’s desk and sat down. “Are any of the Esta Houses up for sale?”

  “Oh! I see you’re familiar with our charming traditions and our finest homes. Why, yes, several are on the market—all in splendid condition—and two of them are partially furnished. Antiques, fine rugs—” He paused, eyeing Eli’s faded jeans, the arm bandage, the specks of blood where he’d cut himself shaving, and lastly dropping his gaze to Eli’s large, callused hands. “Now you understand, these houses are quite expensive. But I have several very nice listings for much smaller homes outside town—”

  “I’ll take the Esta Houses.”

  The man blinked at him. “Sir?”

  “All the Esta Houses. Furnished, unfurnished, whatever. And once my mother picks out the one she likes best, I want you to get me a decorator, and I want that decorator to finish the decoratin’. And I want it done by tomorrow. I’ll put my mother and a sister and a baby niece in a motel for tonight, but by dinnertime tomorrow I want ’em sittin’ in their favorite Esta House. And then I want you to find me some tenants for the others. Yeah—get me some stonecutters and other folk who wouldn’t have the wherewithal ordinarily. I won’t charge any rent. Don’t you think that’d be nice? Givin’ regular folk a chance to raise their kids in an Esta House? I believe I’ll like being a landlord in this town.” He stared at the agent. “Can do?”

  The agent stared at him, openmouthed. “We’re talking about upwards of two million dollars for those hou
ses. This, this, this will take time and paperwork—”

  “No, bubba—” Eli jerked a cell phone from his shirt pocket—“all it takes is one call to my bank. I’m payin’ cash.”

  I swam laps in the pool at Marble Hall until my chest hurt and I could barely raise my arms, but I couldn’t stop the chant of hopeless choices in my brain. When Gloria ushered Leon onto the patio she sniffed at the sight of my slacks and shoes tossed at poolside. You’re not a lady like your grandmother. I was swimming in my underwear and shirt. But Leon noticed and halted awkwardly, giving my behavior a worried frown. I hung on the pool’s marble lip, trying to breathe, and shook my head. Don’t try to understand. He scowled harder. “I came to tell you I’m not taking sides against Eli Wade.” He said that quietly, just as a plain fact.

  I nodded, struggling for air, for perspective. “Won’t ask you to.”

  “Your grandma did. I told her no, and she fired me.”

  My lungs began to recover. “I’ll take care of it. You’re not fired. Keep doing your job.”

  “You’ve got to understand something. I know Swan makes decisions based on what’s best for her company and her reputation. I don’t fool myself thinkin’ she’d have put me in charge if she thought it’d hurt her business to let a black man run Hardigree Marble. Hell, some people told me I ought not to work for her. Said I could leave here and run my own business anywhere I wanted.”

  “Why did you stay?”

  “This is my town, too—my roots, my people.” He jabbed his hand down at the bedrock. “This is where I can make a difference. This is where people can see how things can change the most.” He paused, then smiled grimly. “And Eli’s part of that. He’s my people, too. A stonecutter. White as flour, but still.”

  “I don’t doubt he’s proud to be considered that way.”

  “Good. Just so you understand. I’ll give up my job rather than get in Eli’s way. If he thinks his daddy was innocent and maybe there’s some way to prove it by digging in the land behind this place, then by god I’ll help him look. There’s always been talk that Jasper Wade got a raw deal. Talk that your grandma was lookin’ for somebody to blame and he was convenient. I’m not sayin’ I believe it, but the talk was there, and still is. Eli’s got friends he doesn’t know about. Men who were stonecutters then. Men who respected his daddy.”

  “I want you to give Eli all the help you can.” Leon stared at me in surprise. I nodded. “I want you to put the word out. Invite him to the quarry. Make sure the men see him with you. I want people to help him.” I paused. “Because I can’t help him, myself.”

  “But you’ll keep your grandma calmed down?” I nodded. He pondered that a moment, as if stunned. “All right, then. Let me tell you what kind of job you got cut out for you. A little while ago Eli walked into the real estate office and bought five Esta Houses. Nearly two-million-dollars’ worth of property. His bank is sendin’ the money. All of it.”

  Why? I clung to the side of the pool and listened in disbelief as Leon explained. “Tommy Rakelow kicked his mama and sister out of the inn. I feel sure your grandma had something to do with that. So Eli’s moving his mama and his sister into one of the fine Esta Houses tomorrow. He says he’s goin’ to rent the others out cheap, to stonecutters. Word’s already all over the quarry. The men are excited. He’s staking his claim. Telling us all we better not mess with him—and sure better not mess with his family. The man’s here to make a point. Swan’s not goin’ to stop him.”

  The slow burn of despair and fury over Swan’s tactics kept me quiet. Grandmother, don’t push me. Leon shook his head in dismay when I said nothing. “Eli told me his real name last night. He asked me to keep it to myself. I said I would. I don’t think the man’s a cheat or a liar. He hasn’t seen me for twenty-five years, but he still trusted me. And so I’m goin’ to trust him. I hope you will, too.”

  “I intend to do all I can to give him the opportunity he deserves.”

  “You’re willin’ to hold the door open, but you won’t walk through it with him?”

  “That’s right.”

  I saw Leon’s respect for me erode a little. His face grim, he said, “Well, I guess that’s fair enough. You’re a Hardigree.” I felt scalded. He turned to go. “Eli says he wants to meet you in the stone garden before dark.” My heart twisted. So this was the message Leon had been asked to deliver. “If you really want to be fair to him,” Leon went on, “you’ll go and listen.” He nodded to me, then walked out through the front gate.

  I levered myself onto the lip of the pool and sat there staring into the back woods. Eli. His name, his identity, was the doomed song in me. Stranger, lover, mystery man, rich man, trustee of souls, seeker of truth, victim of Swan’s design.

  Standing over Clara’s bones.

  Eli sat on his heels among the briars and weeds that filled the front yard of the Stone Cottage. The small marble house was hemmed in by tall young maples that had grown up at the foundation’s edge over the years. Muscadine and honeysuckle vines covered the marble walls and slate roof. Here and there between the vines he glimpsed pink stone or the weathered boards that had been placed over the windows and doors.

  He reached down through the briars, scraped away the leafy loam of twenty-five seasons, and dug his fingers into the soil. This was where Pa had died. His blood had soaked the dirt. Right here. Eli studied the granules of fine, dark soil, rubbed them between his fingers, brought the earth to his face and smelled it. Then he bent his head and prayed. Lead us to the truth, even if it hurts like Hell.

  Goosebumps spread over his skin, and he stood quickly. Instinct alone made him swivel his gaze up the hill behind the house. In the steep afternoon shadows only a few rays of sunlight poured through the huge firs and hardwoods. Darl stood at the top of that knoll, watching him through the forest. She had been caught not quite in the light, haloed by shadows. A slip of breeze stirred her hair and moved the material of a white blouse she’d tucked into a long, flowing skirt the color of wood. She might have been there all his life, waiting, timeless and trapped in Swan’s hard world. She raised a hand slowly, as if swearing herself to give testimony, then turned and disappeared down the other side of the hill, along the overgrown path to the Stone Flower Garden.

  He followed.

  My nightmares about Clara were never surreal or vaguely symbolic, but instead played out in vivid detail, a small horror film I was forced to watch. Clara always clawed her way out of her grave. She lurched upright like a ghoul, spilling dirt and leaves and writhing worms from her decayed skin. Her sunken eyes gleamed bright, fierce blue. Her Hardigree pendant was twisted in the gore and the dirt of her ruined clothing. She wrapped one arm around the moss-speckled base of the stone flower statue beside her, caressed it, then looked up at the intricately carved flowers cascading from its wide vase. These stone flowers will talk for me someday.

  My mouth tasted sour and my legs went weak. I stood with my head up and my hands clenched in front of me, well outside the lost garden’s bowl-shaped cove and circle of mossy marble benches, keeping myself on the slope above that haunted place. I watched as Eli crested the low ridge facing me, but I never fully ignored the leaf-matted ground beside the statuary’s base. No rational part of my brain could make me turn my back on Clara.

  Eli Wade walked down the slope as a grown man—broad-shouldered, big, lean, with the large, dark eyes that made my heart race a little whenever I studied his face. At almost forty his face had taken on a seasoned character. His eyes were still compelling, but hard. He didn’t need any pretense. He simply took the place of his own ghost, that boy I’d loved so innocently. Solo merged with the image, too. Eli was now whole and real, and he’d come back. The slow twisting of joy, pain and frustration in my chest nearly choked me.

  He halted at the opposite side of the garden his own grandfather had built at my great-grandmother’s command. “I kne
w you’d come,” he said. “You can’t help rememberin’ how much we meant to each other, any more than I can.” He took a step toward me, then stopped again when I held up a warning hand. He obviously meant to close in on me by slow degrees, as if I were a deer who might turn and run. “I didn’t know Bell tricked your grandmother out of this property,” he went on. “I wouldn’t have let her do it. She’s got some crazy ideas about the land. But once she told me what she’d done I realized how much the past hangs over me, too. And over our mother. And over you. I saw in Florida how much you need to get out from under it.”

  “What else hangs over you? The gambling? Did you come back here with a price on your head and the Justice Department looking for you?”

  “Prosecuting sports bookies—even big-time ones—is low on the government’s list of things to do. I made things right. I’m clean, Darl.”

  “But you’ve made a lot of money.”

  “I invested my ill-gotten gains pretty well. High-tech companies, high-tech stocks. I was in on the start of a few prime Silicon Valley outfits.”

  I balanced on the balls of my feet, dazed. “Where did you meet William?”

  “We were partners in the islands. He handled security. He made money, too. He doesn’t need to work anymore.”

  “And he just happens to like the challenge of coordinating security for the Phoenix Group. Where I work.”

  “He believes in the group’s mission. He likes being part of that.”

  “I’m trying to understand your connections there.”

  “I’ll tell you everything. Just calm down and listen.”

  “You maneuvered to place your old friend where he could watch me. Is that it?”