Elderberry Croft: The Complete Collection

by Becky Doughty

  “Yes, he does, especially if he’s bringing his girlfriend with him.”

  “Richie, please.” Why couldn’t her husband just accept that this is what Ivan had chosen? He didn’t have to agree, he didn’t even have to like it, but he didn’t need to be hateful. “I don’t think he’s bringing Jamison anyway.”

  “Good. Maybe he broke up with her.”

  “Richie!” All the possibilities the morning had promised dissipated. Why not bring out the gift basket, too?

  “Willow Goodhope stopped by this morning.” The words were out before she even knew they were coming.

  Richard froze, his coffee cup halfway to his mouth. “She did?” He was sitting at the table, his napkin already unfolded in his lap, clearly frustrated at having to wait for his breakfast.

  “Yes. While you were sleeping.” While you were dreaming of me. The thought twisted in her belly.

  “What did she want?” At least he didn’t sound too happy about it.

  “She brought us a basket of stuff.” Patti stood at the sink, washing the skillet she’d used to make the pancakes that were keeping warm in the oven.

  “Well? Where is it?”

  Her hands shook a little, making the heavy pan clunk against the steel sink. “In my room.” She wished now that she’d taken the basket straight out to the dumpster the moment Willow disappeared around the bend in the driveway.

  Richard was silent for so long, Patti finally turned to look at him over her shoulder. He was toying with the handle of his mug, his expression unreadable. She took a deep breath. “I’ll go get it.”

  A moment later, she returned with the basket and set it down on the table in front of him. Then she headed back to her room. She’d wait there until Ivan arrived.

  Sitting on the edge of her bed, she reached for her mother’s Bible where it rested on her nightstand, even though she didn’t read it often enough. The margins were filled with the spidery script of the God-fearing woman who’d taught by example what it meant to be faithful. Patti found solace in the written thoughts of her mother, and sometimes even in the words of the Lord.

  She opened to the New Testament—she didn’t think she had it in her to read about wars and plagues and prophets of doom right now—and began slowly turning the crinkly pages, letting her eyes meander over some of the underlined verses. She read the notes in the columns, almost hearing her mother’s gentle voice whispering in her ear. Then her eyes stopped in the letter to the Galatians, where a section of verses was underlined and bracketed in bold strokes, as though the woman reading them had returned to them over and over. In the margin were the words, Lord Jesus, help me.

  Patti’s breath caught; she’d prayed the same thing herself, just a short while ago.

  Her fingers caressed the page as she read the scripture out loud. “Let us not lose heart in doing good, for in due time we will reap if we do not grow weary. So then, while we have opportunity, let us do good to all people.”

  “Lord Jesus,” she whispered, using her mother’s personalized version of the prayer. “Help me. Help me to not grow weary of doing good, especially to my husband, and to my son.” She paused, her throat constricting around her words. “And even to Willow Goodhope, who apparently understands about the doing good part.” She cleared her throat, hoping her next words didn’t sound too disrespectful. “And Jesus, don’t forget about the reaping part, okay? Please?”

  The door to her bedroom suctioned with the opening and closing of the front door. Ivan was already here; he must have been in the car when he called. She closed the Bible and laid it on her pillow. Through the thin walls, she could hear the two men greeting each other, and she felt the usual urgency to stand in as referee in case things got out of control as they so often did. But as she listened, what she could make out of their exchange was pleasant, even a chuckle from Ivan. She smiled, waiting, giving them a few more moments alone.

  She found the two of them sitting at the table, Willow’s basket open between them. They were each enjoying a muffin, and Ivan held the card of poetry in his hands. “Do you think she made all this herself?” He reached for one of the jars and unscrewed the lid to smell its contents.

  “I believe that woman can do anything she sets her mind to,” came Richard’s reply. He wasn’t angry. He didn’t seem upset at all. She could hardly believe his reaction to the contents of the basket. At that moment, he looked up, and his eyes met Patti’s. Ivan noticed and turned to look at her, too.

  “Hey, Mom. Sorry about crashing your morning. By the way, these muffins are amazing. You should try one.” He stood and pulled out her chair for her. “Here. Sit. You want some coffee?” Then he reached for the coffee pot to refill everyone’s cups.

  She sat, as directed, his civility leaving her at a loss for words. What had happened to the crabby boy who’d called not more than half an hour ago?

  Richard’s eyes went back and forth between her and Ivan, watching them, studying them both, as though really seeing them today. She smiled tentatively at him; he actually smiled back. It wasn’t much, just a lifting of the corners of his mouth, but it was there, nonetheless.

  “So I saw the pancakes in the oven. Are you going to bust them out or what?” Ivan dropped back into his seat. “I’m starving. These muffins are good, but I really want some of your flapjacks. Bring ‘em on!”

  Patti happily retrieved the platter from the oven and pushed the start button on the microwave to warm up the syrup. The little things.

  “What are your plans for the day, Ivan?” she asked, wondering if he’d be sticking around for a while.

  “Well, Jamison and I,” Ivan began. Patti cringed at the name on his lips, knowing that Richard could hardly stand the sound of it. “We were going to go hiking today, but then it started raining.” He shrugged, spread peanut butter over the stack of pancakes on his plate, a small furrow forming between his eyebrows. “Then we started arguing, and I left, because we seem to do a lot of that lately. So honestly, I don’t have any plans.”

  Patti waited for Richard to make a snide remark, but he was uncharacteristically silent.

  “You know, relationships are hard,” Ivan stated before shoving a dripping, gooey bite into his mouth.

  “Yes, they can be,” Patti murmured, recalling the verses she’d read only a few minutes ago. “But we can’t give up on each other, Ivan. No one deserves to be given up on. Some-times we just need to look outside ourselves and our own needs to the needs of those around us.”

  Ivan nodded, holding her gaze. “You’re right, Mom. No one deserves to be given up on. No one.”

  Richard reached over and brushed his fingers along her forearm. The unexpected caress sent a tremor straight to her heart.

  “This Willow woman. Tell me about her.” Ivan changed the subject abruptly. “She moved in last month, right?”

  Richard nodded. “Yep. She’s pretty amazing, what she can do with plants. Seems like she can make anything grow. And apparently, she can make anything out of what she grows.” He waved a fork at the basket still on the table. “She’s quite a looker with all that red hair, too, isn’t she, Patricia?” He cleared his throat, not waiting for an answer. “You should go down and introduce yourself, son. She’s about your age.”

  It was like a light coming on in Patti’s head. Ivan. Richard was thinking of Ivan when he stared at Willow. She dipped her chin, embarrassment making her face warm.

  Ivan grinned cheekily across the table at his dad. “Well, maybe I will. But don’t be trying to set us up or anything. I’m in a relationship already.”

  “I know that, son.” Richard’s words were gentle, for once, without condemnation. “I just think you might find a friend in her.” He turned his face in the direction of Elderberry Croft. “And I get the impression she could use a friend, too.”

  Chapter 4

  Valentine’s Day. Usually Patti didn’t make any plans other than a special dinner. She always bought or made Richard a card; he always wrote her a nice, sho
rt note. He didn’t often tell her he loved her, but on Valentine’s Day, and a few other select holidays, he made a point to do so.

  “Mom?” Ivan stuck his head in the front door, not even bothering to knock. It was another clear, Southern California day, although the cloudless sky left the air bitingly cold. He wore a vintage corduroy blazer the color of dark chocolate, and a rust-colored wool scarf wrapped around his neck. It brought out the velvet brown of his eyes that were so like her own. He was very handsome, this man-boy of hers.

  “Happy Valentine’s Day, Ivan. You look awfully nice. How’s Dad doing out there?” Richard was outside on the front porch in his chair, and Patti had just finished running the vacuum, wanting the place to look spiffy for their evening meal. She had a roast marinating in the refrigerator and a poppy seed Bundt cake in the oven.

  “He’s fine. Staring at Willow again,” he laughed. Thanks to Willow Goodhope, Ivan was coming by more regularly, and Patti wasn’t surprised to see him, even today. The morning Willow brought the basket in the rain, Patti had sent Ivan down with a thank you card and a loaf of her fresh-baked banana bread. An hour or so later, he was back, a lighthearted smile on his face.

  The two of them often sat outside on Willow’s patio when he visited. Ivan explained why she never invited him in; she told him up front she had a policy about being alone with men in her home. Patti knew it made Richard happy to see them out there; he was making such an effort to be kinder to Ivan lately, and even toward her.

  “Look what Willow gave me today,” Ivan remarked, holding in his hand a smooth branch, one end wrapped in twine, the other end split, the two halves curving slightly away from each other. Then he demonstrated how to use it, tapping it against his palm to make a percussive sound. “See? It’s called a clapper. It’s like spoons, but made out of a hollowed-out elderberry stick. Pretty cool, huh?” He laid the foot-long instrument on the table and pulled out a chair, dropping into it. “She plays a wicked guitar, Mrs. Goodhope does.”

  Patti paused in the middle of smoothing lemon oil on her maple coffee table. “Willow’s married?”

  Ivan frowned, looking more uncertain than upset. “I honestly don’t know. She just seems…taken, I guess. I thought she was wearing a ring when I first met her, but I haven’t seen it since. There’s just something about her, Mom. I think if she’s not married now, she must have been at one time.”

  “Well, why didn’t you ask her? You’re always so good with people, Ivan. They open up to you without realizing they’re doing so.”

  “It’s the strangest thing. I keep meaning to, but every time the conversation gets close, it somehow slips my mind. I don’t know if she’s redirecting things, or if I’m just easily distracted, but the time never seems right. And really,” he tapped the clapper on his thigh a few times. “If she wanted us to know, don’t you think she’d have let on already? It’s not like she keeps to herself or anything. In some ways, she’s more open than any other person I know. But there’s something about her, something she’s hiding, or protecting, and I feel a little clumsy and nosy when I start poking around.” He shot a look out the window to where Richard sat in his chair. “I like her, Mom. Not the way Dad wants me to like her, but I like her nonetheless.”

  He hadn’t mentioned Jamison in a week or so, and although Patti was concerned, she wasn’t going to be nosy, either. Ivan was a big boy, and he would talk to her when he was ready.

  “Hey, how’s that cream working on Dad? Does he like it?”

  “The stuff from Willow? Oh my goodness!” Patti exclaimed. “It’s wonderful, Ivan. I know it’s too early to tell if it’s making much of a difference on the scars themselves, but Dad loves it. I’m sure it helps that Willow made it.” She chuckled good-naturedly, still amazed he was letting her use it on him. “It’s so easy to work with. It soaks in quickly, it doesn’t get sticky, and it doesn’t have any kind of medicine or preservative smell to it. Just natural; like the woods, all spicy and warm. And I love mine, too. Look at my hands!” She held out her hands toward him, palms down. “Even my fingernails seem stronger.”

  “Healer’s hands. That’s what you have, Mom.” He smiled sweetly, looking to her like the little boy he once was.

  Patti blushed, beaming. The little things.

  “Do you need help with anything before I leave?” He paused just before pushing open the door.

  “I’m good, honey. But check if Dad’s ready to come in yet, will you? If he is, you can help him. That would be nice.”

  A few minutes later, just as Patti pulled her cake out of the oven, Ivan ushered Richard back inside. “I’m going to lie down for a bit, Patricia. I’m a little tired.” She smiled and nodded, pleased to see the two of them working together so nicely. Richard still didn’t seem to be sleeping well at night, but he didn’t complain, and Patti looked forward to the hour or so to herself while he napped, often taking advantage of the break to go on her daily sojourn around to the front of the trailer park to check the mail.

  The Coach House Trailer Park was so named because of the two-story building at the front of the property. It was, in fact, a stop along the old stage coach route of the 1800s that passed through Southern California. In its glory days, the main house had been a hotel stop, complete with upstairs rooms for paying guests, and two shacks out back for those who opted to spend their money on extra services provided by a local brothel. Some sixty years ago or more, the coach house had been converted into a boarding house, then into three huge apartments, then eventually, the property and the accompanying acreage had been purchased by the current owners. They put in slabs for mobile homes, fixed up the outlying buildings, including the two little love-shacks out back, and opened up The Coach House Trailer Park. Kathy now lived in one of the little back buildings, and Willow Goodhope moved into the other just over a month ago, christening it Elderberry Croft.

  As Patti strode past Elderberry Croft, she slowed to admire all that the girl had managed to accomplish since she’d arrived. It really was remarkable. The Davises had moved here shortly after Richard’s car accident, nearly fifteen years ago, and Ivan had spent the last of his high school years here. In all that time, Patti had seen no one else in the park caring so much about how their places looked. Sure, Joe grew his vegetables, Myra had hanging plants all over her front patio, and Kathy liked to rearrange her formidable heart rock collection on a whim, but this was different. Willow didn’t just move in; she became the property.

  At that moment, Willow emerged from her home. Waving wildly, she called out, “Patti! Just the person I wanted to see today!” She wore leggings under a long sweater, her feet encased in woolly boots that looked like something an Eskimo might wear. Her hair was swept up in a ponytail at the back of her head and her ears were covered with a pair of purple fuzzy earmuffs. Willow wrapped her in a quick hug, exclaiming, “Happy Valentine’s Day!” and Patti caught a whiff of that smell again. She breathed it in—it reminded her of something; what was it?

  “Are you going to check your mail? I’ll walk with you.” Willow spoke loudly as she fell in step beside Patti, linking her arm with hers. “I’ve been meaning to tell you how much I like your Ivan. Thank you for having such a wonderful son. You are truly a blessed woman.”

  “You’re welcome, Willow. Although I should be thanking you. He hasn’t been the same since you two met, and we’re seeing a lot more of him around here.”

  “What’s that?” Willow leaned toward her a little.

  Patti grinned, stopped walking, and turned to face the younger woman. Reaching up, she pushed back the earmuffs. “Is that better?”

  Willow burst out laughing, making Patti step back in surprise, but then she, too, started to laugh.

  “Oh my goodness, I am such a dingbat!” Willow wheezed when she’d calmed down a little.

  “What’s that?” Patti hollered, setting the two of them giggling like schoolgirls again.

  “Hey, you two!” Kathy came out her front door and called out to them. “Y
ou’re scaring the kids with all your caterwauling!” She made her way down her steps to the gate to greet them.

  “We’re going to check the mail for Valentines from boys,” Willow declared. “Why don’t you join us?” And the three of them headed off together, leaving Kathy’s dogs safely inside her yard.

  They stood before the long row of mailboxes on the main driveway into the park, their three boxes set one right next to the other. “I got a card from Makani!” Kathy tore into the red envelope with gusto.

  “How wonderful,” Willow responded enthusiastically. “I can’t wait to meet him. What about you, Patti? Anything good?”

  Patti was frowning at the pile of bills in her hands. She always came to the mailbox with a sense of anticipation, looking forward even to the mail-order catalogs that came on a regular basis. She didn’t get out much, but she enjoyed paging through them as though she was window-shopping. Today there were none, only cellophane-windowed envelopes and a stack of ad sheets from the big chain drug and grocery stores in the area. Then a hand on her arm made her pause.

  “Look. You dropped something.” Willow bent over and picked up a small, pale blue envelope from the ground and handed it to her. How had she not noticed it? Turning it over, her heart fluttered when she recognized Richard’s handwriting, addressing the missive to her.

  Kathy was busy reading the card from her son, and Willow was thumbing through her own small stack of mail, so Patti tucked the envelope into her coat pocket. She would read it in private when she got home.

  Her mind was racing. Richard never mailed his Valentine notes. She suddenly couldn’t bear it; the letter was burning a hole in her pocket. “Ladies, as much as I’ve enjoyed this little impromptu outing, I really have to hurry home. I was having so much fun, I almost forgot. Richard was dozing when I left, and I slipped out without telling him. He knows I check the mail every afternoon, but he does expect me back so he doesn’t have to worry.”

  “Then let’s go!” Willow cried, linking arms again and drawing the two older women back the way they’d come. They split off to their respective homes, and Patti slipped inside as quietly as she could.