The First Gardener

by Denise Hildreth Jones

  She froze, unsure how to take his words. Did he mean them, or was he mocking her? She just couldn’t tell.

  “Well, I got my eyes on you,” she finally said. “And I mean it. Not another flower to my daughter.” She pivoted on her heels to march back to the house.

  “She all but dead, y’know.”

  His words came around and arrested her. She turned toward him, and her eyes narrowed, causing everything in her line of sight to converge on Jeremiah. “What did you say?”

  “I said, she all but dead.”

  “‘She all but dead.’” She danced her head as she repeated his phrase back to him. Her hands flew up in the air. “Don’t you think I know that? Don’t you think every day I’m fighting for her to come back? I’ve done everything I know to do for her, Jeremiah.” Eugenia felt her voice quivering. She worked desperately to control it. “She’s all I have. I have nothing else in this world but her.”

  “I ain’t tryin’ to hurt her,” he said softly. “I ain’t never want to see Miz Mackenzie hurt. I be tryin’ to encourage her. Show her she got sump’n worth livin’ for.”

  She stepped closer. “And you don’t think I’m trying to do the same thing? I’ve lost my husband. I just put one grandbaby in the ground and lost another one in less than a year. And now I can hardly find my daughter inside this shell of a human being she’s become. But I sure in God’s name am not going to let her think that children are going to bring her back to life—not when she may never have another one. What were you thinking, Jeremiah?”

  “It weren’t me that thought it.”

  “Well, that much is true. You didn’t think at all—”

  “I done it ’cause he gone and tol’ me to.” He shifted his eyes to the sky.

  She moved her eyes upward too. “Who? God? I don’t care if God himself came down and wrote it on the branches of one of your pitiful holly trees.” She grabbed a limb and shook it wildly. “If you want to know my opinion, the Almighty’s got a lot of explaining to do for all he has allowed my family to go through.”

  Her voice broke for good this time, and she shook her fist upward. “A lot of . . . explaining . . .”

  Her hands flew to her face. She didn’t want to break down. Not now. And certainly not here. But she couldn’t help it. It was all too much. Just . . . too much. Her shoulders shook with heaves.

  She felt Jeremiah’s thin but strong arms curl around her. His hand patted her back in unrhythmic poundings. It felt strange, foreign. She never let Burt hold her. In fact, it had been a long time since she had let a man other than Gray touch her. And if she was going to get back in the letting-men-touch-her business, this was not the man she wanted to be doing it.

  Yet she needed him. In this moment, she needed him badly. The tears shook her hard, but his arms never gave way.

  When a final wave washed over her, she collected herself. Pushed herself from his arms and patted her face as if a few Southern flitters could wipe away the residue of grief.

  “We on the same side, Miz Eugenia.” Jeremiah’s voice was quiet. “I know what you think a me, and maybe you right. Maybe I don’t deserve to be here, but I here anyway. Been here these last twenty-five years and grateful for ever’ day. Ain’t done nothin’ but love the families come through here. And Lord amercy, I sure ’nough love this one.”

  She wasn’t used to not knowing what to say. She just stood there looking at the ground, willing her tears to dry. Finally she shook her head. “Well, no more flowers, and I mean it.”

  She turned and this time wouldn’t stop even if he did call out to her. She could never let anyone know she had just cried on the shoulder of a man who had no business being gardener at the governor’s mansion.

  In all these years, ain’t nobody called my hollies pitiful. I swear, Lord, if that woman ain’t collapsed in my arms, I mighta just gone and punched her.

  I knowed she was gon’ come out here too. I done tol’ you that already. Soon as she heard ’bout that orchid, I knowed she be comin’ out here all riled up with bees in her bonnet and hornets in her britches.

  I know she hurtin’ though. Guess I ain’t realized just how much. She tryin’ so hard to pull Miz Mackenzie outta her pit, she just ’bout fell right down in it with her.

  But that don’t give her the right to say all them mean things to me, do it?

  Do it?

  Guess I need to pray for her, huh? Don’t want to. Want to shake her. Slap her. Sure don’t feel like prayin’ for a woman who’d go and say all that to me.

  But she need you too, Lord. Y’hear me? I say she need you. And she ain’t none too happy with you, neither. You really gone and stirred up some waters ’round here. And maybe Miz Eugenia be right ’bout me not belongin’ here. I know the likes a me ain’t deserve no place like this. But for some reason this where you planted me a long time ago, and I’m thinkin’ you got me right where you want me. Ain’t sure why—but I purty sure this whole thing bigger’n me.

  Maybe this what the last thirty years been for. Maybe this why I gone through ever’thing I gone through, see ever’thing I see, hear ever’thing I hear. ’Cause this family need me. ’Cause there be some way I can make a difference, even if it’s only prayin’ for an ornery ol’ woman.

  So okay. But, Lord, please don’t ax me to go give Miz Mackenzie no more flowers. ’Cause I have me a feelin’ if I do, that Dimples ain’t gon’ be the only one walkin’ ’round with one good eye. Purty sure Miz Eugenia gon’ try to slap me cross-eyed too.

  Chapter 37

  Mackenzie stood at her bedroom window, her anger as thick and choking as the black necklace around her throat. Gray had never spoken to her the way he had yesterday, the way she still heard him in her head. His words bounced around inside, feeding the fury. And yesterday she hadn’t needed anything else to make her angry because Jeremiah had already successfully unearthed the simmering rage she hadn’t even known was there.

  But Gray’s stupid words had done one thing for her. They had given her something to rage against. Something to do. If Gray wanted a dutiful wife, that was what he would get. She exited the family quarters and headed to the top of the stairwell. And caught sight of her mother coming like a force.

  Eugenia jerked off her coat and flung it across the curve at the bottom of the banister. Her size nines thudded against the stair runner.

  “I handled it, Mackenzie.” She held on to the brass railing, pulling her body weight as she plodded upward. “There will be no more flowers from Jeremiah.”

  Eugenia was breathing hard by the time she reached the top of the stairs. She stopped in front of Mackenzie, still puffing, and her eyes widened. “You’re up . . . and dressed. Is Jesus coming back today?”

  Mackenzie let out a slight puff of her own. “I’m going to work. Apparently we have a campaign to win.” She moved past her mother and started down the stairs, black high-heeled boots silent on the carpet.

  “Who picked out your clothes?” Eugenia’s voice came behind her.

  Mackenzie fiddled with the belt of her fitted plaid jacket. “I did. I’m not an invalid.”

  “May as well have been for the last month or so.”

  Mackenzie whipped around. “Well, I’m not, okay? And you know what? I can take care of myself. I’m a grown woman, and I can very well feed myself and dress myself.” She tugged at the sleeves of her jacket.

  Eugenia gripped her arm, and Mackenzie winced. Her mother might be aging, but she still had some power in her. “Now, let’s get one thing straight, missy. I have taken care of your behind, even washed it when necessary, over these past six months. And I don’t know what little switch has flipped in your head, but the ‘sass your mama’ switch better get turned off quickly. Now, you can either tell me what happened, or I can beat it out of you. I’m still not afraid to turn you over my knee.”

  “Mother.” Mackenzie pulled free and continued down the stairs.

  Eugenia was hot on her heels. “I’m serious. Tell me what happened.”
>
  Mackenzie’s heels connected with the marble foyer, and she spun around. “Gray made it very clear that he has one objective right now, and that is to win reelection. So that’s what we’re going to do.”

  “Mackenzie, darling—” Eugenia’s voice softened—“you’re in no state to be campaigning. And honestly, Gray isn’t either.”

  “You obviously haven’t talked to Gray lately.”

  “Gray’s not himself. He’s grieving just like you are.”

  “Well, he can grieve by himself. I’ve got work to do. Then I’m going out for lunch with Anna. And then—who knows?—we might go to the mall.” She placed her hands on her mother’s shoulders. “Now, you go back to your life. Thank you for taking care of me. Thank you for all you’ve done. But there will be no more counselors. There will be no more medication. There will be no more mothers feeding me soup. I’m a big girl, and I can take care of myself.”

  “Big girl, my backside. Big girls know what they need and are brave enough to admit it. You’ve just apparently found another way to run and hide. And if you want to know my opinion, the way you’ve been hiding, all holed up in your room and despondent, might actually be better than this. Because broken has all kinds of faces, darling. And some are far more dangerous than others.”

  Mackenzie’s face hardened into a smile. “Go home, Mother. I’m fine.”

  Eugenia studied her with narrowed eyes. “I am going home. Truth be told, I miss my bed and my bathtub. But you’d better know, this is not healing. Not as long as you’re still running away.”

  “Okay. Sounds good. I’ll call you later.”

  Eugenia stood with hands on hips, her exasperation obvious. She reached for Mackenzie and pulled her into an embrace. Tight. Then tighter. Her mouth rubbed past Mackenzie’s ear. “Pain has to be faced eventually. It has to be talked about. It has to be gone through. It can’t be avoided or masked or denied.”

  Mackenzie patted her mother’s back until she released her. As Eugenia walked out the door, Mackenzie dug her phone out from the pocket of her crisp black jeans.

  “Jessica, it’s time to get to work.”

  Chapter 38

  “You cried on his shoulder?” The straw in Dimples’s sweet tea slid across the side of her face. She grabbed it and stuck it in her mouth.

  Eugenia stiffened. She hadn’t planned on telling them, but they had hounded it out of her. When they retired from meddling, they should all become spies for the CIA. “Only after I gave him a piece of my mind.”

  Berlyn brought her elbows to the edge of their table in the Franklin Mercantile Deli. She pushed her trio of pimento cheese, tuna salad, and chicken salad away from her. Then she clasped her hands, causing the red rose clipped to the cleavage of her white fluffy sweater to all but take flight.

  “So you went out to the gardener and yelled at him, told him never to give Mackenzie another flower, and then you cried on his shoulder. You’re a train wreck, Eugenia. I told you that you need to start taking yoga with me. It will relax you.” She pressed a Coke bottle to her lips and raised it as if she were going to chug a beer.

  Sandra raised a fork in front of her face, studying the prongs as if to make sure they were clean enough for her liking. “Yoga is New Age. You shouldn’t be doing it.”

  Berlyn dropped her bottle and snatched the fork from Sandra’s hand. “New Age–phew age. Yoga is what you make of it. And I don’t sit there channeling spirits. I sit there wondering how in the tar hill I’m going to get my legs above my heart without suffocating myself.” She glanced down into her cleavage and shrugged.

  Eugenia let out a huff. “That sounds like just the relaxation I need.”

  A bell chimed on the restaurant door. A young mother in a pink peacoat came in with a bundled-up toddler in tow.

  “You need to quit talking so ugly to people, Eugenia. It’s not proper,” Sandra scolded.

  Eugenia turned toward the noise. “The man gave my daughter an orchid, Sandra! An orchid! Poor girl can’t have children, and he gives her a flower that could mean ‘many children.’ And you want to lecture me on what’s proper?”

  Dimples looked up. A piece of bacon hung from her mouth, the remainder of a BLT in her hand. “I don’t think it was such a bad idea.”

  Their heads turned quickly. She shifted her eyes, aware that all the attention was now on her. She usually wasn’t crazy about that, but Eugenia watched her back straighten. She chewed hard on the bacon, then set her sandwich down with a determined slap. She picked up her napkin and wiped her mouth. “Don’t look at me like that, Berlyn.”

  “We weren’t. We were looking at that piece of food stuck in the corner of your mouth.”

  She swiped at it with her napkin. “Don’t try to change the subject. I know a thing or two about life in spite of what y’all think. And I know that sometimes people need hope. If you don’t have hope, you ain’t got nothing left.”

  “Don’t say ain’t,” Sandra retorted.

  “Shut up, Sandra.” Dimples turned back to Eugenia, who gaped at her. Dimples had never told anyone to shut up. “Mackenzie needs her some hope. And if the good Lord himself told that man to go give her some hope, then who are we to question it?”

  Eugenia started to answer, but Dimples wasn’t through. “You more than anyone else, Eugenia Quinn, ought to be glad someone loves your daughter enough to try. Besides, all you’ve been doing hasn’t accomplished much. As of yesterday morning she was still in her pajamas at noon. Sounds like that gardener went and stirred up a fire in her that got her out of bed and dressed—”

  “It’s because she’s angry, Dimples, not because she has hope.”

  Dimples picked up her sandwich and swung it slightly as she talked. “Maybe that’s not so bad. Maybe she needs that anger. And if Jeremiah wants to give her flowers, if he wants to help heal your girl’s heart, you’d be stupid not to let him.” A piece of lettuce flew out of her sandwich and onto the table.

  Sandra snatched the lettuce and put it back on Dimples’s plate. “Quit flinging your food, Dimples. They’re going to think we just broke out of the home up the street.”

  Eugenia moved a fork around her salad. “That flower broke her heart.”

  Dimples set her sandwich down again. “Her heart’s already broken, Eugenia. But what if? What if there are more children out there for her? Would it be so bad for her to believe it’s possible? Everyone needs something to believe in. If you convince her there is nothing worth believing in, then may as well put her in the grave. And if you don’t believe there is something beautiful out there for her too, you’re as pitiful as she is. Angry or sad, without something to believe in, there ain’t nothing worth living for.”

  Sandra’s lips parted, and Dimples raised a crooked, bony finger at her. “Sandra, I swear, if one word comes out of your mouth, I’m gonna deck ya.”

  Sandra turned her glare to Berlyn as if Berlyn had been giving Dimples lessons on sass. Berlyn just shrugged. Eugenia studied Dimples’s good eye, which was still locked on hers. In all these years, she’d never seen Dimples confront anyone. Truth be told, this outburst was a miracle in and of itself.

  Berlyn’s interjection halted her thoughts. “I’m believing for something.”

  Sandra rolled her eyes. “Oh, do tell.”

  Berlyn turned toward Sandra. Eugenia could see the rise and fall of Sandra’s thin chest beneath the ruffles of her navy-blue blouse.

  “I’m believing one day I’m going to wake up, and Krispy Kreme is going to announce that the Hot Now sign will be on twenty-four hours a day.”

  Eugenia chuckled. She felt it coming up. She hadn’t chuckled in a long time.

  Maybe she’d been half-dead too.

  And maybe Dimples saw more with one good eye than Eugenia had seen with two.

  Chapter 39

  Soft music sifted through Anna’s car like waves lapping in a pool. Slow and rhythmic. Anna’s question came out laced with apprehension: “You sure you feel like doing this?”
r />   “Yes, I’m sure. It’s the mall, Anna. It’s lunch. It’s what they call living.”

  “Well, it’s a good place to start, I guess, but we could just go to lunch now and maybe go to the mall next week. It’s okay to take things slow, Mackenzie. You don’t have to do everything at once. It’s not like there are huge expectations here.”

  “You apparently haven’t spoken to Gray either. Trust me. Gray has expectations.”

  Anna pulled her Tahoe into a parking space in front of Macy’s and let it idle beneath them. “I don’t think Gray meant you had to do everything in one day. Maybe he just meant start somewhere.”

  Mackenzie released her seat belt and opened the car door. “I’m tired of talking about Gray.”

  Anna followed her lead, and they made their way inside the store. Colors of spring exploded around them like an Easter basket as they walked through the door. Every sweater, shirt, necklace, and pair of pants screamed that winter was a has-been and it was time for spring to stake out its territory. They wandered by habit toward a familiar corner of the store.

  “Have you ever wondered what ninety-five-year-old woman purchases clothes for the petites department?” Mackenzie said as she scanned the offerings.

  Anna shrugged. “Can’t say that I have.”

  “Seriously. If it’s not a button-up sweater, floral top, or khaki capris, you won’t find it here.”

  “I’m taking that to mean you have no desire to buy anything here.”

  Mackenzie looked into her friend’s face. The tension melted. “Sorry. I’m being catty. I usually don’t do catty.”

  Anna nudged her. “We’re only allowed to do catty when we’re PMSing and need chocolate or a gallon of sweet tea. Then catty is completely permitted.”

  Mackenzie smiled.

  “Nice to see that.” Anna wrapped an arm around her friend’s shoulders as they walked out of the department store and into the mall. The activity was nowhere near what it would be on a weekend, but it was still filled with people and movement.