In the Light of the Garden: A Novel

by Heather Burch

  Harold came down the stairs, looking dapper in a green shirt and jeans. Probably planning to spend the day with Louise. The two of them had been almost inseparable for the last two months. “New shirt?” she asked.

  He nodded. “Louise picked it out. Said it makes my eyes sparkle.”

  “Personally, I think it’s Louise that makes your eyes sparkle.”

  He blushed and waved a hand through the air.

  “Guess what?” But she couldn’t wait to tell him, so she didn’t wait for an answer. “The dance studio is for sale.”

  He gripped the railing on the staircase, his hand covering the top of the dancing bear’s head.

  “And there’s already been an offer made on it.” Charity was practically giddy.

  Harold looked pale. Maybe she should have had him sit down before telling him. “Lil’ Bit, I told you I didn’t want it back.”

  “We’re not buying it. Your attorney is. Apparently, the situation somehow leaked to the local news, and they did an expose on Ephraim Conner. He’s willing to sell for the sixty-six hundred dollars he’d given you as a down payment before tricking you into signing over the place.” From what Charity had gathered, Ephraim Conner had convinced Harold to sell him the studio. Giving the money as a down payment—coupled with the hours he put in at the studio at Harold’s side—had made him seem completely trustworthy. That was the tool crooks like him used. Get people’s trust, and they’ll let their guard down.

  Harold placed a weathered hand to his heart. “Your attorney called the news station?”

  Charity grinned. “No. That would be unethical. However, my attorney has a mother who is a politician. And they’re sort of known for contacting news stations with juicy tidbits. Now, I’m not saying that’s what happened. Just speculating.”

  Harold passed her and sat down at the dining table. “Phil’s buying the place. That’s good. He met his wife Mitzi there.”

  Charity sat across from him. “That’s not all. He’s going to keep you as a silent partner. Which means you get a paycheck each month but don’t have to do anything to get it. Apparently, you’re what people went to the dance studio for. It was the atmosphere you created, not the dance lessons that kept them coming back. Phil wants to honor that atmosphere and keep it going.”

  Harold pursed his lips, his watery blue eyes smiling.

  “It’s your legacy, Uncle Harold. I know you told me once that every good thing in your life leaves, but maybe it doesn’t. Maybe you just don’t see the lasting fruit of the seed you’ve sown.”

  He patted her hand. “You’re a good girl.”

  She had to chuckle. “Thanks. You’re a pretty decent old guy.” But his smile quickly faded. “Harold, what is it?”

  “I feel like there’s things we need to talk about concerning the past. Marilyn and I—”

  She’d watched him over the last two months being torn between the past and a newly rekindled relationship with Louise. She needed to put the questions about him and her grandmother to rest once and for all. “I don’t care about any of that, Uncle Harold. What happened between you and Gram, it’s ancient history. It’s over. And she’s gone. But Louise is right here, and she really cares for you. I’m scared that if you can’t let go of the past, you’re going to lose her.”

  “She’s a special woman. Gave me a second chance when I didn’t deserve it. She’s better than I deserve.” His voice was thick with emotion.

  “Whatever happened between the two of you, it must have shaken her to the core, but you’re worth it, worth a second chance. Everyone can see that about you except you,” Charity said.

  “Louise was my companion whenever I’d come to Gaslamp Island to visit George and Marilyn. The four of us had more fun together than should have been legal. Whenever I called, she was right here, ready to hop in the car and go dancing on the mainland or fishing in the boat or even just out to dinner here on the island. She didn’t date other men much, always was self-conscious about her limp and her scars. I never noticed them.”

  “So, you two dated?” Charity asked.

  He rubbed the back of his neck. “I was a stupid man. I didn’t give her the kind of consideration one should give a girlfriend. I called her when I hit town.”

  “And when you weren’t here? You never called?” Charity pressed.

  “I just thought she was as happy with the situation as I was. She never let on like she wanted more. Then one night she called me and said she did. I was on my way to the island.” Harold stared at the marble floor.

  “What happened?”

  His look of shame cut right to Charity’s heart. “Once I knew how she felt, I told her I felt things for her, too. That we needed to try to make a go of it. I asked her to meet me at the pier.”

  “It didn’t go well?”

  He looked away, but not before Charity saw the ghosts swimming in his eyes. “There was a situation. I had to . . . I . . . should have gone to the pier. But I didn’t. I left her waiting there just like she was always waiting on me. And she never forgave me. And I didn’t deserve her forgiveness.”

  “She’s forgiven you now.” It was important for him to know that.

  “She has. Speaking of forgiveness, I was wondering how things were going with your momma?”

  Charity brushed a hand through her hair. She could feel the bits of clay snagging. She’d spent the morning at the potter’s wheel—more out of nerves than need. For two months she’d been making pottery pieces to display around Baxter House during the Founders’ Day Ball. With the inheritance from Gramps, she didn’t need to work, but pottery was in her blood. The feel of the cool clay on her fingertips, the water from the sponge running over her hands, it was all therapeutic. And yet, it hadn’t helped her deal with the feelings she’d been having about her mother.

  “Lil’ Bit?” A weathered hand waved before her.

  “Sorry. Got lost in my own thoughts.”

  His brows were high, chin down as if readying for a battle. “I asked about your mother.”

  “Things were good when she was here.” Better, in fact, than she’d ever remembered. Her mother had actually pitched in and helped to make the situation better, rather than throwing a dramatic hand to her forehead and claiming all the stress had given her a migraine.

  Harold nodded. “They seemed to be.”

  “I thought maybe . . . maybe.” All the anger started churning in her stomach. “Then, I listened to Daisy make that awful phone call to her mother.”

  Harold’s smile was soft. “And it brought back all the times your mom—”

  Her eyes were fire when they landed on him. “Rejected me. My mother rejected me over and over my whole life.” Bitterness caused her muscles to tighten. “Maybe not as directly as Daisy’s mom rejected her, but for a lifetime.”

  Harold put an arm around her shoulder.

  Whenever Charity allowed her mind to drift down that path, the pain and anger surged as if it controlled her entire being. As if it controlled her life. “And then she comes here, and I see the tiniest bit of compassion, and I just act like all that rejection never happened. What happened to Daisy broke my heart.”

  “And for the first time, you saw it from the outside looking in,” Harold said.

  “I can’t bring myself to forgive her, Harold. I’ve been trying. At least I think I have.”

  “You know, forgiveness isn’t always a coat that you can just put on and take off. Sometimes forgiveness can only be accomplished layer by layer.”

  Was that her problem? Maybe she was trying to take too big a leap.

  “What is it folks say about eating an elephant one bite at a time?”

  She didn’t know, but it made sense. There was only one problem. “I’m not sure I want to forgive her.”

  Harold squeezed her shoulders. “You will, Lil’ Bit. I know you. You’re not one to harbor hatred against another human being.”

  “I don’t hate her.”

  “Maybe not. But isn’t unforgi
veness the seed of hatred? Unforgiveness breeds bitterness, and bitterness can only lead to hate. Maybe you could sit beneath the weeping tree and think about all this?”

  Charity groaned. The weeping tree. The closest she’d come to sitting beneath it was when she’d stood at its edge and cried, and the tree had draped branches over her shoulders. “I can’t.” It was a hopeless sound, those two words slipping from her lips. “I’ve tried. But whenever I get close, something inside just stops me.”

  He turned her to face him. “Maybe Ellen Marie isn’t the only one you need to forgive.”

  Each of his words dropped like bombs into the basement of her heart, depth charges absorbed by the solid concrete walls. “Maybe.”

  He angled her beneath his arm. “Time makes things clear.”

  “Thank you for being here, Uncle Harold.”

  He chucked her chin. “There’s nowhere I’d rather be, Lil’ Bit. Let’s get some coffee.”

  Inside the kitchen, a grinning Daisy turned to greet them. “Fresh coffee’s on. Mr. Hoggy-Pants over there”—she tossed a thumb in Dalton’s direction—“drank the last of the pot I made earlier.”

  He shrugged. “Since she’s been working at the coffee shop, I can’t stay out of the brew.”

  Daisy crossed her arms over her chest. “Well, you’re going to have to. Or I’m going to set out a tip jar.”

  Charity grinned at the two of them. In the early mornings, Daisy worked the rush hour for Briella. Afternoons, she worked on her GED test booklet, readying for the exam. In the early evenings, she went with Dalton, who’d promised to teach her about his work. They’d been doing jobs pro bono around the island so Daisy could get a feel for landscaping at a variety of levels. Charity couldn’t be more proud of the young woman Daisy was growing into.

  “Why don’t you tell them your news, Daisy?” Dalton said.

  Her eyes widened to the point they might pop out of her head, and then she cut a fire fight look to Dalton, who hid by taking a long drink of his coffee. Charity frowned. “What news?”

  “Go on, Daisy. Tell them about Josh.” His grin stretched from ear to ear.

  She marched to him, grabbed the cup from his hands and hit him on the arm with a fist. “Maybe I’ll just tell them about how the widow Malcolm undressed and left the shades open so you could spy on her.”

  Dalton coughed. Or maybe it was a gag.

  Harold stepped deeper into the room and rubbed his chin. “Widow Malcolm is a fine-lookin’ lady.”

  Three gasps echoed in the room. “Sure,” Dalton said. “If you’re ninety-five.”

  “You know, I heard that she fakes falls and calls 911 just to get some attention from the paramedics,” Daisy added.

  Poor lady.

  Daisy pulled coffee cups from the cupboard and handed them to Charity and Harold. “Charity, maybe you could make a special order for her.”

  Charity filled her cup. “I’m not sure it works that way. Special orders have always been requested.” Besides that, the special ingredient was practically gone. On the up side, there was a small piece of paper inside the bag, resting ominously beneath the last of the ingredient. It was the same onion skin as the note left on the top layer penned by her gramps’s own hand. The problem was, whenever Charity started to pull this piece of paper from its place, something cold swept over her body and stopped her. Her hands shook, her stomach rolled. “Daisy, you changed the subject on us. I want to hear your news. Who’s Josh?”

  In true teen fashion, Daisy rolled her eyes.

  “She has a date for the ball.” Dalton grinned and ducked when Daisy went to strike him again.

  “It’s not a date,” Daisy deadpanned.

  Dalton took refuge behind Harold. “It’s not? What would you call it?”

  Harold leaned away from him. “Don’t go hidin’ behind me, hotshot. You’re on your own.”

  An elaborate and surrendering sigh escaped Daisy’s mouth. “A new family moved in down the way. Their son is visiting. He just came back from boot camp. His name is Josh. We’re just going to meet here.” Her eyes narrowed to slits and turned on Dalton. “It’s not a date.”

  “Don’t young folks go on dates anymore?” Harold asked.

  “Yes.” Daisy huffed and poured herself a cup. “They just don’t share all the gory details with their families.”

  Charity bit back a smile. Their families. Daisy hadn’t even realized she’d made the reference, and that made Charity’s heart nearly explode. Right now, in this very moment, everything was perfect. But somewhere deep inside, she knew that was all about to change.

  CHAPTER 16

  Founders’ Day Ball

  It was the day before the ball, and Daisy and Charity were trying on their new gowns one more time. Since Daisy was going on a nondate to the ball, Charity had decided the young woman needed the perfect dress. They shopped the Internet, the island, the mainland, and then returned to the island. While on their hunt, Charity had spied a slip of a dress in black velvet that hung from her shoulders like a second skin. She’d only put it on at Daisy’s insistence and had no intention of purchasing the thing. Daisy, however, had other ideas. “If I’m wearing a nondate dress, then you are, too,” had been her argument. Well, how does one argue with logic like that? After all, Dalton was Charity’s nondate. To show her support of Daisy, she purchased the dress and tall, spiked heels studded with tiny rhinestones. They found a bright-blue sleeveless dress for Daisy that complemented her dark tan and blonde hair. Nude wedge sandals and a tiny clutch purse completed the outfit. They stood in Charity’s room, staring into the full-length mirror at the two Cinderellas looking back at them. “Hair up or down?” Daisy gathered hers at the crown of her head and moved her chin from side to side.

  Charity did the same. “I don’t know. What do you think?”

  Daisy shrugged and let her hair fall. “I don’t know.”

  “We should wear makeup, though. At least a little bit,” Charity added.

  Daisy frowned and then nodded a reluctant agreement. “I guess.”

  One more thing on Charity’s to-do list. Buy makeup. Learn how to use it before the ball tomorrow night or, better yet, maybe she could get them appointments for hair and makeup at Studio Gaslamp. “I can’t believe the ball is so close.”

  Daisy locked eyes with her in the mirror. “We look really pretty.”

  “We do. Should we go over the schedule again?”

  Daisy groaned and turned around so Charity could unzip her gown. “No. The extra tables and chairs arrive at nine a.m. The committee will be by at nine forty-five to set things up. The first batch of food arrives at noon, and we have to make sure the fridge is empty. Then the caterer gets here at twelve thirty to do the rest of the food prep. Pretty much everything is done for us by two, and the caterer takes over. We got this.”

  Charity nodded, trying to convince herself that everything would go smoothly. She’d finally begun to feel like she was part of the community and having the ball at Baxter House was risking everything she’d accomplished.

  Daisy cocked her head. “What is it you think is going to go wrong?”

  “Anything. Everything, maybe. I don’t know.” Charity sighed.

  Daisy scrunched her face and gave her a mock frown. “We got this.”

  Charity laughed. “What is that look on your face?”

  “My thug look. Mean-mugging. Gives you confidence. Try it.”

  Charity scrunched her face. “Like this?”

  Daisy shook her head. “No. You just look constipated. Put some swagger in it.” She forced Charity’s head to the side and pushed on her hip until it was cocked. “It’s all in the attitude. Yeah. Now you got it.”

  “And this helps me how, exactly?”

  “Confidence. When I was on the street, I didn’t get messed with because I had confidence. Everything is going to be fine. And if it’s not, you just mean-mug your way through it.”

  Philosophy from a teenage runaway. She could do worse.
>
  Everything is going to be fine. She repeated it like a mantra. The house was perfect, the caterer’s driver had delivered all the ready-made foods, and the caterer would be there by twelve thirty to do the hors d’oeuvres that could only be completed at the last minute. Cases of white and red wine sat at the ready on her kitchen floor, the white would need to be chilled, but ice and coolers were coming with the caterer. The committee ladies had already done their morning inspection. Everything was perfect.

  And that’s what scared the daylights out of Charity. With a cup of tea, she sat down at one o’clock to recheck her list. The caterer was running late, but she’d been warned that that was his habit. Above her, sitting on a newly added wooden shelf, were three vases. Looking at them made her smile. She’d used a new technique with the glaze, and the finished product proved better than she’d imagined. Each vase had ocean-colored swirls of deep-blues and greens. The luminescence of the glaze created depth and shimmer. They were likely the most beautiful pieces she’d ever made. Dalton had insisted on building a shelf to display them, and she’d gladly let him. They’d catch the eye of anyone who wandered into the parlor. Charity sipped her tea, letting the calming swirls slake the tension from her muscles. She set the to-do list aside.

  At 1:05, the world began crashing around her.

  Charity tugged the front door open to find her mother, face smeared with mascara streaks, standing on her porch.

  “It’s over, Charity.” Her hands were trembling when she raised them to her face. “I don’t know what I’m going to do.”

  Charity was used to drama with her mother—in fact, the woman perfected it—but this was something more. This was honest despair. The haunted look in Ellen’s eyes cut right to Charity’s core. Instinctively, she reached out for her mother. But Ellen shook her head. She wouldn’t be consoled.