The First Gardener

by Denise Hildreth Jones

  “There’s no way to survive it, honey. A heart can’t survive this kind of pain. Only thing that heals this kind of pain is heaven itself,” Berlyn said, her meaty arms on top of Eugenia’s legs. “So we’re gonna pray for you. Right now, girls.”

  Berlyn’s eyes looked past Eugenia to the two women behind her, and then she started praying. Her prayer was as loud as her Pentecostal roots. It was as fiery as a preacher during a tent revival, and it was as needed as water for an empty well. Eugenia rested her head on Berlyn’s thick bosom and let the words wash over her.

  When she was finished, Berlyn raised Eugenia’s chin so she could look her in the eye. “Remember when our husbands died and we wondered how we were going to make it through the day? And somehow we did? We’d wake up, and it would be a new day, and we had survived? And then, day by day, the pain got a little easier and easier? Well, that is how we’ll get through. It’s like there is something pulling us to the next day.”

  Eugenia looked at Berlyn and wiped her eyes. “I can’t get through this one, Berlyn.”

  Berlyn stood and pulled Eugenia into a tight hug that stuffed her face back into that hefty bosom. “You can and you will.”

  And Eugenia rested in the safety of her friend, knowing there was a huge probability of suffocation if she stayed there very long. But there was an aching piece that wouldn’t really care.

  Ten days later

  Ain’t nothin’ green ’bout this here valley today. Valley gone dark.

  Miz Eugenia pretty near moved in by now. Miz Mackenzie’s best friend Anna been here for a week too, helpin’ out. And you should see all the flowers and notes and such. But most people, they stayin’ away.

  I seen that before. Folks don’t know what to do with this kind a grief. I think they ’fraid, like it sump’n you can catch. Like admittin’ it mean it can happen to you. So a lotta folks clutchin’ they own and grievin’ at a distance.

  Gov’nor been tryin’ to get back to work. Guess he don’t know what else to do. All the rest a us just movin’ slow ’neath this dark cloud that gone and settled over us. We just tryin’ to get by. Rosa cookin’ and cryin’. The gov’nor’s friends ain’t even raised they voices at one ’nother since that sad day. And Miss Jessica ain’t had her a twitch, neither.

  We all just deep in the griefs. We down so deep, don’t know if we ever comin’ out. Like God done took the one bulb outta the lamp been keepin’ all a us lit up. Like he forgot that be the one thing we needin’ the most.

  I ain’t never understood that ’bout God. He always doin’ things that in the natural don’t make a lick a sense. And in middle a all that craziness, he go and ax us to trust him.

  Trust him? Today I ain’t even sure I like him. I been arguin’ with him, givin’ him all my meanness and madness. And he takin’ it—ain’t striked me or nothin’. Just sittin’ up there, listenin’ to an ol’ man question his ’bility to manage this here world. ’Cause it feel like he done took his eye offa us. Way offa us.

  I ain’t gon’ stay mad long. Never do. Me and God got a deal. He make me mad, I tell him. I make him mad, he tell me. He winnin’ on the scorecard I been keepin’.

  I been thinkin’ a lot these days ’bout my ol’ daddy. He the one taught me ’bout talkin’ to God. Taught me a lot ’bout flowers too. He always say, “God can handle my yellin’, and flowers can win a heart.”

  This white woman he work for, ol’ Miz Moss, she be mean and gruff and ugly. And I don’t mean just heart ugly. She just plain beat-by-the-ugly-stick ugly. And Daddy, he her yardman. Anyway, he tol’ me, after he had all a her he could stand, God started layin’ flowers on his heart to give her. Flowers that got meanin’.

  He learned ’bout the meanin’s of flowers when he worked for a flower shop, way back ’fore I come along. So he’d write the meanin’ down on a note and stick the flower and the note by her door.

  She ain’t ever spoke one nice word to him ’bout them flowers, but he knowed she liked ’em. Said he saw it in her eyes. And sure ’nough, when my daddy died, ol’ Miz Moss gone and paid for ever’ part a his funeral. Took care a my mama, too, ’til the day Miz Moss died. Then Miz Moss’s son took care a Mama the rest a her life.

  God been speakin’ to me ’bout flowers too. Couple a months ago, I ain’t knowed why but felt like growin’ me some white hyacinths from bulbs. Today, it like God be whisperin’, “Today the day.” So I take her one a them hyacinths. That mean I be prayin’ for her. Ain’t gon’ tell her arguin’ been more like it.

  But she wadn’t out there to take that hyacinth from me, ’cause she don’t come outside to pray that prayer no more. Guess she don’t see the point, since there ain’t no little hand gon’ be holdin’ hers.

  God, we gots to help her back to her point.

  Gov’nor took that flower and put it in water and took it up to her, I s’pose. And I did see her sad face starin’ out that there window one day. But she ain’t seen me. She seen through me, but she ain’t seen me. Don’t know when she gon’ see nothin’ again.

  I prayin’ that one day, one day, Lord, our Miz Mackenzie be able to see sump’n other than her grief.

  Though alls I seein’ right now be mine.

  Chapter 18

  Mackenzie hugged the pillow against her body, and it seemed to press against every ache in her being. Her mother had come in that morning and opened the draperies, even though she wanted them closed. If she had the strength to get up, she would close them herself. But she didn’t. All she had the strength for was tears, and fresh ones were falling down familiar paths they had all but carved on her face. They fell into her hair and then onto the pillow.

  She hadn’t been out of their room since the funeral. She had gone through that service with some strength she couldn’t define, but as soon as she got home, she crawled into bed and had only come out to go to the bathroom. She still wore the pajamas she had put on after the funeral.

  Everyone had tried to get her to take a shower—Anna, Gray, her mother. But she refused. She hadn’t washed her hair, either. And she wouldn’t have eaten had her mother not force-fed her.

  She was supposed to go to the doctor to get the stitches out of her face and her head, but she’d told Gray that the only way they were coming out was if the doctor came to her.

  The doctor had come—almost a week ago. According to Gray, he was coming again today.

  Anna did her best to love and support her, but Mackenzie could barely raise her head when she entered the room and didn’t have much to say when she was there. So her friend simply sat in the chair at the bay window and read. Mackenzie knew Anna was praying too; she could hear her whispering under her breath. In those moments she wanted to scream at her friend to just get out of the room, but she didn’t even have the energy to scream.

  Most of the time, though, Mackenzie was grateful Anna was there. Not to talk to. Just to be. There. And yet she was also relieved when Anna left because that removed her from having to think of anything else but her own pain. Though Anna’s absence only made her mother’s presence increase. So Mackenzie wasn’t sure what was worse.

  And Gray? He had been sweet, supportive. But she knew—she knew way down deep—that he blamed her. She could see it in his eyes. It was all her fault. She was why their baby was dead. She was the one who wasn’t paying attention. She was the one who modeled the bad habit about seat belts. She was the one whose last words to her baby girl had been scolding, threatening to take away her Friday treat.

  The tears fell faster now, stinging the half-healed cuts on her face. She never raised a hand to wipe them away. Gray might say he loved her, try to coax her from bed, kiss her at night, and wrap her in his arms. But there was no way he could truly love the woman who had taken the life of his little girl. And more than that—the woman who was incapable of giving him another child. How could he love that?

  She heard the door open. “You’re getting a bath today, Mackenzie,” her mother announced as she made her way to the bathroom. Macken
zie heard her mother’s shoes on the tile floor and then the sound of water as it began to fill the tub. Then her mother’s presence was at the side of her bed and standing between her and the window, her substantial shadow blocking the sun. Mackenzie closed her eyes.

  “You’re not asleep, and you’re not letting a doctor see you like this. I love you. I know you’re hurting, but you stink. And your sheets stink. So you’re taking a bath, and we’re getting these sheets washed.”

  Eugenia pulled at Mackenzie’s good arm. It dropped limply to the bed. She simply pulled harder. “Come on. I’m telling you, you’re not going to meet the doctor looking or smelling this way. You’re getting a bath if I have to get in there with you and wash you like I did when you were a kid. And I’m pretty confident you don’t want that happening.”

  She pulled at the arm again and finally got Mackenzie out of bed. But it hurt. Even rolling over hurt. Getting up could be excruciating. Mackenzie held her ribs and winced as Eugenia put one arm underneath her and struggled to get her to the bathroom. “You could help me by picking up your feet.”

  Mackenzie offered her very little. Eugenia deposited her on the ottoman in the center of the bathroom and checked the water temperature. It must have felt adequate because she walked over to Mackenzie and picked her up, stripped the white cotton shorts from her, and gingerly pulled the red tank top from her body. Her ribs were still wrapped tightly, and Eugenia removed the bandages with the utmost care. She pulled a white trash bag over Mackenzie’s cast and put a rubber band at the top of it so the cast wouldn’t get wet. Then she put her forty-year-old daughter in the bathtub. Eugenia sat on the ottoman across from the tub, while Mackenzie leaned her head back against the bath pillow and let the hot water settle over her.

  The sensation was instantly familiar, and it felt surprisingly good. But the warmth of the water also seemed to push the pain from the inside up to the surface. Overwhelming grief roared to life and brought with it piercing wails that were deep and loud and painful.

  Mackenzie heard something hit the water and then felt her mother’s strong arms wrap around her, the fabric of her white linen jacket resting against Mackenzie’s heaving body.

  She heard Gray’s voice in the bedroom.

  “I’ve got her, Gray. Her mama’s got her. Let me get her cleaned up, and I’ll tell you when we’re done. She’ll be ready for the doctor.”

  Fully clothed and fully soaked, her mother held her until the wave subsided. “Breathe, baby. Breathe.”

  “I can’t, Mama. It hurts. It all hurts.”

  “I know, baby. I know.”

  “I can’t live through this.”

  “Now you listen to me.” She felt her mother’s grip tighten around her. “You did live. And you will live. We’re going to make it through this together somehow. All you need is today’s grace. And when you get to tomorrow, God will have all the grace you need to get through that day too.”

  She shook her head. “There’s not enough grace for that.”

  “We’ll get you through. Your mama will get you through. I promise you.”

  Mackenzie reached her hand up and grabbed hold of her mother as hard as she could. She felt in that moment that if she didn’t hold on, she might slip beneath the water and let it swallow her, washing away the ache in her soul.

  “I’m going to wash your hair now. Lean your head back here.”

  Mackenzie moved her head the best she could, grateful for a moment that this was a mighty big tub.

  Eugenia carefully sprayed water from the nozzle across Mackenzie’s head. “Remember how I used to do this when you were little?”

  Mackenzie nodded slowly.

  “Even back then, if there was a day when your dad or I were in the pits, you’d find the pearl in it. You’d dig it out if you had to, but you always found something we should be happy about.” Eugenia’s thick fingers dug into her scalp. “I remember one time your father was out there mowing my lawn, not paying a lick of attention, and he ran right over the new heads of my tulips. I walked into the house ranting and raving. But you walked outside, surveyed the damage, and came right back in. You didn’t miss a beat. You just said, ‘Well, Mama, at least Daddy’s still healthy enough to cut something.’”

  Mackenzie felt her mother’s stomach move slightly as a soft laugh washed through her. “I remember standing right there in the kitchen and laughing. And forgetting all about how angry I was at your daddy.”

  Mackenzie closed her eyes. Maddie had possessed that same magic, but she couldn’t see it anymore. All she could see was the empty backseat, the flash of white. She couldn’t get rid of those images in her mind. “Make it go away, Mama. Please make it go away.” She clinched her eyes tighter.

  Her mother wrapped her broken body in another embrace. “It’s okay, Mackenzie. It’s okay. Let’s just get through this moment. And then we’ll get through the next moment.”

  When her body relaxed, her mother rinsed the shampoo, and she felt warmth as the water ran over her scalp.

  Eugenia climbed out of the tub, grabbed a towel, and wrapped it around Mackenzie’s clean hair. Then reached for the shaving gel and began to shave her grown daughter’s legs.

  Mackenzie opened her eyes and took in her own mother’s pain. There were no tears. If there were, Eugenia would never let her see them. But her pain was real and thick and present in the paleness of her face, the lines around her mouth, the way she breathed. Mackenzie leaned her head back on the pillow, grateful for her mother’s presence—in this moment, at least.

  “Time to get out.” Eugenia helped Mackenzie stand, wrapped a warm towel around her body, and sat her down on the ottoman to dry her off. She bundled her in a fresh, dry towel while she tended to herself for a moment—stripping down to her wet bra and granny panties, wrapping towels around her own head and body. Then she turned her attention back to Mackenzie.

  She combed her daughter’s hair and blew it dry, then dressed her in a pair of black cotton lounge pants and a white T-shirt. She’d leave rewrapping the ribs to the doctor, in order to allow Mackenzie a moment of freedom from yet one more reminder of the tragedy. After washing her face carefully, she applied vitamin E to the scars, then added a touch of mascara and lip gloss before leading her to a chair by the window.

  Mackenzie turned her face and looked through the window to the gardens below. “Thank you, Mama,” she whispered so quietly that she knew her mother would never hear her.

  “You’re welcome, baby girl.”

  She felt her mother’s lips come down on top of her head and her mother’s hand rest on her shoulder. She reached up and grabbed the hand. She didn’t want to ever let go. Not ever.

  Chapter 19

  Gray sat in the hallway outside the bedroom, his head against the doorframe, his eyes closed, his insides screaming. The last two weeks had been a nightmare—first the funeral, then shutting that box on his baby girl, then each day having to watch the vastness of Mack’s grief and the way she seemed to move farther away from him.

  He was grateful for Eugenia. Without her, he wasn’t sure he would have ever gotten Mack to eat anything. Eugenia had forced her, threatened an IV drip if she didn’t open her mouth. Now she was in the bathroom with Mack, forcing her to clean up. He had heard the blow-dryer going, though now everything was quiet.

  But he knew how much Eugenia was hurting too. She would put on some kind of supernatural strength to take care of her daughter, never shedding a tear, but he could hear her pain as soon as she came out of that room. He had found her in Maddie’s bed the other night, clinging to her granddaughter’s pillow, sobbing. But that woman was a fighter, and she was clearly determined not to let her daughter slip away without a battle.

  Sophie stretched in his lap, and he looked down at the sleeping ball of fur. He had hated the thought of the dog when Maddie and Mack brought her home. But he couldn’t describe what she had done for him. She had forced him up in the mornings because she had to be taken outside and then fed. She de
manded his attention. And she was the only one desiring it or requiring it right now, so she was getting it. He’d gotten in the habit of taking her everywhere he went.

  Which hadn’t been far this week. The little bit of work he had accomplished had been done from here at the house. Mack’s condition was too frail for him to leave her and go to the office. His team was handling as much of the state’s business as they could without him, and what they needed him for, he took the time to oversee. But the preliminary hearing on the VRA lawsuit next week would require him back in the office.

  The entire state had stopped and grieved with him and Mack until the funeral was over. But they had already begun to move on, and they would expect him to move on soon as well. For now, he and Sophie were taking lots of walks around the grounds while he prayed that somehow God would either stop the world or stop the pain.

  Eugenia came out the bedroom door and almost tripped over him. She wore one of his bathrobes and had a towel wrapped around her head. The sheets from his bed were wadded up in her arms. “My word, boy, could you give me a little room to get through the door next time? Mama’s a big girl.”

  Gray pushed his body up the wall until he was standing in front of her. Sophie shifted in his arms. He took his other arm and wrapped it around Eugenia. He pulled her close and held her tight. “I love you, Mom.”

  She patted his back. “I love you too, Gray.”

  He leaned back. “How is she?”

  “Clean.”

  “That’s huge progress.”

  “I don’t know how you slept with her like that.”

  “I didn’t realize it was that bad.”

  “Well, I knew love was blind, but I never knew it was incapable of smelling too.”

  He and Sophie followed her down the hall toward the laundry room. Ever since she moved in, Eugenia had refused to let the house caretakers touch the laundry. She said she had never had a person in her life touch her underwear except her, and while she was here, it was going to stay that way.