by Girard, Dara
But Ray didn't tell his mother any of this. Instead he finished his coffee and headed off to work.
***
Harmony was still in a foul mood hours later, until the latest issue of Home and Gardens arrived. She quickly flipped to her favorite column: Living in Luxury. She loved the column. She loved the advice given, and whenever she read something she wanted to add to her home, she followed it religiously. She was bothered that nowadays so many young woman didn't seem to care about beautiful things anymore. She wanted a daughter-in-law who would keep up the tradition of beautifying things, especially Hamsford Historical Gardens. The Gardens, as they were called, had put Hamsford on the map as a point of interest. Her father, a leading botanist and arborist, had been instrumental in purchasing the land and selecting the unique selection of plants and flowers from around the world that covered a total of fifteen acres. Her involvement, was limited to making special appearances but as a member of the board, she played a major role in making sure of The Gardens' upkeep.
She grew up around beautiful things; lavish flowing gardens, polished marble and oak furniture, and a wardrobe full of custom-made dresses and evening gowns. She knew the importance of proper grooming. While she understood female independence was important, she didn't want her poor boy to come home to a heated frozen dinner or take out. Or worse yet, cooking for his wife. She thought of the recently married couple she’d heard about where the husband did all the cooking and cleaning while the wife went out with her friends. Harmony shuddered at the thought. She set the magazine down and sighed. Why did that woman have to come to town? What did she do to make a living? She seemed to work odd hours. Did she have a job or was some man providing for her and she was now looking for his replacement? She was pretty enough to persuade a man to do so, but not her boy. Not Ray. No, she wouldn't worry about the lady next door. Harmony smiled and sat back down in her favorite chair and read her favorite column pushing Octavia Newberry from her mind.
***
Two weeks later Harmony woke up later than usual because of a cold that had kept her in bed the past week. She hated getting sick because then she was reminded of her age and it was best to forget that than remember her husband was gone and one day she'd be gone too. When that happened she feared the house would likely be neglected with no one telling Melva how to care for it. That was why it was essential that Ray married Amelia. She would know the importance of caring for the gleaming wooden railings and keeping the mantelpiece spotless. She would make sure dust never settled on the hallway chandeliers, put fresh flowers on the table in the entry way, and bake sweet potato pie or banana fritters letting the scent mingle with the fragrance of fresh lemons and ginger tea. But she wouldn't be maudlin. She was alive now and would see her son married one day to the proper woman who would become the new lady of the house, but for now she would make sure that the Ellis estate remained the darling of Hamsford’s upper elite.
Every day Ray had checked in on her, fussing over her, making sure Melva cooked her her favorite green banana porridge. Her mother had always cooked it for her whenever she got sick. She pretended not to like his fussing, but was inwardly delighted by the attention. Fortunately, he seemed to take her warning about Miss Newberry seriously. Since their discussion weeks ago she hadn't seen him next door for any reason so her mood was greatly improved. Besides, today was a special day. Six months earlier she had contacted the editor of Home and Gardens by phone. It took several tries, a total of seven to be exact, before her insistence got her call put through. She was extremely proud to get a promise that a top speaker would come and talk to her Home Decorating Club. Wanting to make a good impression, Harmony dressed with exquisite care--making sure her hat and shoes matched and she went through her extensive collection of handbags until she found the right one. The day was perfect for their gathering. It had rained the night before, but today everything seemed fragrant and alive. Harmony left her house in high spirits, but they dipped when she saw the taxi she'd requested. She’d never learned to drive, but for a moment wished she knew how when an old rusted blue taxicab drove up to her door. She thought of calling for another cab, then checked her watch and realized she didn't have time. She'd make her complaint later. Once inside, she ignored the driver's hearty 'Good morning' and told him in clipped tones where she'd like to be taken.
Minutes later as the cab drove close to her destination, Harmony saw a glimpse of the Marquee Hotel, where the meeting was to be held, and the thought of anyone seeing her coming out of the dreadful looking thing made her heart fall. "Stop here," she told the driver.
"But we're not there yet," he said in a heavy island patois that made her wince.
"I want to get out here." She'd walk the rest of the way. She'd never let anyone see her come out of such a vehicle. She paid the driver then quickly glanced around, pleased to see no one close by--at least no one who knew her and that was all that mattered-- before exiting the vehicle. She turned as the taxi pulled away from the curb and the next moment she felt as if the sky had opened as a wave of dirty rain water came crashing down, soaking her. The taxi had driven right through a puddle ruining her outfit. She cried out to him but he was already some distance away. Her gaze darted around but there was nowhere to hide except for the parking lot. She dashed behind a car nearby and squatted wondering what to do. She pulled out her cell phone then groaned when she saw that the battery was dead. Her son was always nagging her to remember to charge her phone daily and now she wished she had listened. She'd have to find a way to get into the hotel unnoticed so she could place a call.
"Mrs. Ellis?"
Harmony briefly closed her eyes and groaned. She knew the owner of the voice before even turning--the low feminine voice stated her words like a statement rather than a question. Harmony straightened and lifted her chin, pushing the feather dripping from the front of her hat to the side. She turned and saw the last woman she’d want to see at that moment, standing in front of her wearing a cut-off T-shirt and jeans looking as if she'd come from a farm or from doing some other laborious task. Her dark hair was pulled back in a ponytail, her large brown eyes cocky and amused.
"Can I help you?" Harmony said.
A smile quirked the corner of Octavia's mouth. "I'm here to ask you that question."
"Do you find this amusing?"
"No, I'm sorry. That was a very careless driver."
Harmony’s day was going from bad to worse. To have her clothes ruined and then have this woman see her humiliation. And--dear heavens--there was the possibility of being seen talking to her as well. It was all too much. She took a step back ready to leave. "Excuse me."
"I have a car if you'd like me to take you home."
"Listen young lady--"
"My name is--"
"I know who you are and that doesn't matter to me."
"Ray told me that today's meeting is very important to you."
Harmony gritted her teeth. It galled her that her son would share any business with this woman. It gave her a chance to gain a familiarity she didn't deserve. "I'll be fine. Excuse me." Before Octavia could reply Harmony pushed by her and raced into the hotel. The reception area hummed with people. Fortunately, she was familiar with the hotel, she’d attended many social functions there, and knew where the closest ladies' room was. She raced inside and ducked into one of the stalls. She glanced at her watch and groaned. She would miss everything.
Seconds later she heard the door open. "Mrs. Ellis?"
Harmony held her breath. Why wouldn't the blasted girl leave her alone?
"Mrs. Ellis I know you're in here."
Harmony released her breath. She couldn't just ignore her and wish her away. "Yes?"
"Do you want me to call Ray?"
"How many times must I tell you that I'm perfectly fine. I can handle this situation without your assistance."
"You're a size sixteen, correct?"
"What?" Harmony sputtered outraged. The woman had no tact and she wore a fourteen--sometimes
.
"There's a dress shop nearby. I could get you a new outfit."
"For the last time young lady--"
"My name is--"
Harmony resisted the urge to cover her ears. "I don't care. Please leave me alone and for what it's worth leave my son alone too. Am I clear?"
There was a long pause then Octavia said, "You're more stubborn than I thought."
"You haven't answered me."
"Goodbye Mrs. Ellis," she said then Harmony heard the door close.
***
Twenty minutes later, Harmony crept to the ladies' room door and peeked out. The reception area was clear and she had a direct line to the concierge. She took a deep breath and hurried over to him and was only a few feet away when she saw a member of her Club and darted behind a large plant. She swallowed when the woman passed by then noticed she had dropped the program. Harmony picked it up and sighed. Oh, she would miss everything. She turned the page then stopped when she saw her neighbor's name.
We have the privileged of welcoming special guest speaker Ms. Octavia Newberry. The renowned gardener and hostess has been published in Fine Living, written two bestselling books, hosted an Emmy award winning show, was a frequent guest contributor of Home and Gardens where she writes Living in Luxury with her great-aunt the renowned columnist, Margaret Whitehall. Today, Ms. Newberry will be discussing several of her gardening techniques that have revolutionized the industry.
Harmony stared at the bio amazed. This was her neighbor? Oh what luck to have someone like that living next door! She glanced up in time to see Octavia now dressed in a fitted floral skirt and yellow gabardine blouse heading to one of the meeting rooms.
"Yoo hoo!" Harmony waved. "I see you've change."
Octavia turned and smiled. "Yes, I was just moving some garden samples for a presentation I have to attend." She turned to walk away.
Harmony took an eager step forward then stopped. "I know and I'd love to hear you speak."
Octavia glanced down at the program in Harmony's hand, quickly understanding the older woman's change of heart. "Fortunately, that won't be for another hour. I'll meet you in the ladies' room in twenty minutes."
True to her word Octavia arrived twenty minutes later carrying a clothing bag. Inside was a size sixteen baby blue sheath dress matching shoes and purse. The young lady certainly had taste. "Why didn't you tell me who you were?" Harmony asked as she admired herself in the mirror.
"You never gave me the chance."
"I'd love to have you over for dinner. I'd like you to get to know my son too."
Octavia laughed. "I'm glad to hear it because yesterday he asked me to marry him and I said yes."
The End
***
A Home for Adam
“Send him back!”
“But he just got here.”
“I know so it shouldn’t be difficult to put him on a train back to where he came from.”
“Claire,” her husband, Jonah, said with a tired sigh. “Let’s just think about this.”
Claire folded her arms and shook her head, adamant. “There’s nothing to think about. I don’t want him here.”
“But he’s my sister’s child.”
“That sister of yours has lots of children. If she’d keep her legs closed, she wouldn’t have to farm them out for other people to raise. I doubt this one even knows who his father is.” She looked at the boy and shivered. “And I don’t like the way he looks at me. It’s as if he knows something he shouldn’t.”
Claire Swedan wasn’t the only person to feel that way. His mother had felt the same way the moment he was born with his two front teeth intact and big brown eyes that had an eerily observant expression not seen in newborns. Adam Trelawn was born with eyes like that of an old man: Wise, judging eyes.
Orphelia felt them watching her when she let different men into her life (especially into her bedroom) as if they were a weight of conscience that she’d ignored years ago when she’d left home to live with her first boyfriend, a man who’d said he was a musician but really made his money selling ganja (also known as marijuana), infusing the air with its smell. Adam’s eyes watched in silent reproof of the cramped, dirty apartment, the always empty fridge, and the new swell of her belly that came every spring. Was it her fault that Reggie didn’t like condoms or that she’d forgotten her diaphragm with Buster?
Adam quietly helped her with changing the diapers and feeding the new arrivals, but she felt his reproach and soon grew to hate him. What did a little boy know about a woman’s needs? Was she supposed to be celibate because she was his mother? Was she supposed to deny herself the urges that filled her? The urge to be in a man’s arms and hear him say how much he loved and wanted her—even though they were lies? She held out a faint hope that one day she would meet a man who didn’t lie and she was determined not to stop until she found him.
No, Adam knew nothing about her or her needs. He was just another greedy little mouth to feed. At least Damon had money. She wouldn’t let Adam make her feel guilty about that. A man with real money was a step up for her. Unfortunately, even though Adam barely spoke, those knowing eyes of his haunted her and made Damon nervous. And because there was only one male in her life who mattered to her, four days after his tenth birthday Orphelia packed Adam’s things (briefly regretting that she’d no longer have free childcare) and shipped him off to her cousin, Wendy.
Wendy Lisle was a lonely woman eager for company and accepted the child who arrived on her doorstep with one suitcase and a meager two hundred dollars to cover expenses. She hustled him into her three-level townhouse and settled him in the kitchen and gave him something to eat. She imagined buying him new clothes--his trousers were too short--and getting him a nice haircut. It had been so long since she’d had someone to care for. Her husband was gone and her children lived faraway. Now she could put all her love and energy into Adam. She made him a tuna fish sandwich with thinly sliced cucumbers and romaine lettuce and set it down in front of him; imagining their new life together then she looked into his eyes and burst into tears.
She hurried out of the room and quickly wiped her eyes, surprised and embarrassed by her outburst. It must be the excitement of having someone else, she thought.
But the next day was no different or the day after that. Every time she looked into his face she was filled with a remarkable sorrow. At first she thought it was because he looked like her husband or a lost relative, but he didn’t resemble anyone—it was those solemn, brown, ancient eyes. They reminded her of missed chances. She hadn’t been a good wife. She’d focused on herself and couldn’t make up for it now. Her husband had left her a long time ago for another woman who made him feel special and worthwhile. And her children wanted nothing to do with her. She’d been alone for a long time and welcomed her punishment. So after eight months she sent Adam packing to her Uncle Dennis: An older man who lived in a crumbly house and smelled of cigars.
At first Dennis Petrie was hesitant when he saw the boy. He liked living alone and didn’t need anyone in his space. But the boy didn’t seem bothered by his gruff ways. Adam had an otherworldly calm that strangely enough made Dennis angry. So angry he shattered a vase one day after watching the news and seeing the atrocities on the screen, but the boy beside him remained resolute and hopeful. What right did this child have to be calm in this awful world? A world where he’d fought in two wars and seen friends die and family members whittled away by poverty and disease. How could this child not be angered by his own unfortunate situation? Shouldn’t he be at the age where he was unruly and mean? Wasn’t there a reason his mother didn’t want him? Instead, Adam met Dennis’ rough ways with either a shy smile or a kind word. But each kind act and calm brown gaze filled the older man with anger. So he sent Adam away as well to live with his nephew, Jonah Swedan, in Hamsford, Maryland. It was a town with a large Jamaican community where old world ways sometimes clashed with modern times. Adam arrived in Hamsford taller and older (nearly twelve), but his effec
t on people remained undiminished.
Claire frowned. “No, I will not have him here in my house. It’s bad enough we have to look after that aunt of yours, but this…absolutely not. I will not have it.”
She stormed away and Jonah sighed. She was a hard woman when she made up her mind. He looked at the young boy standing in the doorway. He couldn’t just send him back. He was family. He folded up the note the boy had given him and stuffed it in his pocket.
Jonah opened the door wider. “Come inside.”
The boy shuffled in, but his gaze remained steadfast and Jonah understood his wife’s uneasiness. There was nothing rude or arrogant about his gaze, it was just astute observation.
“Oh he’s a Violet child!” a voice filled with delight said from down the hall. “What good fortune for us.”
Jonah looked at his aunt and gave an indulgent smile. Her gray hair was pulled back and her fresh face beamed. She’d helped raise him and in her later years, she knew she would always have a place with him. “Sure he is.”
She tugged on Jonah’s sleeve. “He has to stay.” She went over to the boy and reached for his bag.
Adam shook his head. “No ma’am. I can carry it myself.”
She gently tapped him on the shoulder. “Don’t worry, you’re home now.”
Jonah could tell that the boy didn’t believe her and he couldn’t blame him. He couldn’t stay. For one or two nights maybe, but then he’d have to figure out what to do with him. “Aunty, why don’t you check up on Megan?” he suggested to get her out of the way.
Before she could reply, footsteps came pounding down the stairs followed by a gasp. He turned and saw his nine-year-old daughter, Megan, and her six-year-old sister, Judy. Megan looked at her great aunt who nodded and said, “Yes, a Violet child.”
Jonah lost his patience. “Aunty, there’s no such thing as Violet children. That’s just a story.”
