The Garden of Happy Endings

by Barbara O'Neal

  Father Jack nodded. In this light his black hair shone like a raven’s tail, the ends too long and splitting into sections like feathers. “Joseph Whitetail wants to drum, and I told him he could do it this afternoon, so give him some space if he asks for it, if you don’t mind.”

  “Good man.” He cocked an eyebrow. “Kinda outside the realm of the church to let a Native American drum away evil spirits, isn’t it?”

  “He’s an elder, and a lot of the boys respect him.” He crossed his arms. “They need role models other than the gangs. There are some fathers in the homes here, more than other places, but not enough. Still too many mothers trying to raise boys into men on their own. You’re a Big Brother, aren’t you?”

  “That I am, but don’t make it anything noble, now. It’s my way of making amends.”

  “I’m wondering how to get more men in the church to take up that mantle. Will you think about that?”

  “Sure.”

  “The last thing I am concerned about is the gangs, about the possibilities of vandalism.”

  “Any ideas?”

  “A few. I’ve asked the police to make more trips through the neighborhood, but that’s only going to provide a little help. We need to get some on-site, internal protection.”

  Deacon raised a brow in curiosity. “Where are you going to raise this force?”

  “Haven’t worked that out yet. Maybe recruit some of the homeless or some of the toughs to be the patrol at night.”

  “Maybe not the most reliable, Father.”

  “Right.” He sighed. “I’m not sure of the logistics, but we need to do something.” He sniffed. “Elsa’s against any kind of guard.”

  “Is that right.” He nodded, looking across the field. “Floodlights might help, motion-detector lights.”

  “Expensive, though.”

  “Maybe not as much as you’d think. How about if I look into it?”

  “Do that.”

  Across the field trooped the three rascals, as Deacon called them, Mario and Tiberius and Calvin. Mario was the sturdy one, an ox, while Tiberius was an ostrich, all legs and neck and big eyes, taller than the other two by nearly a foot. Calvin was the smallest, but strong. With his streaky brown and blond curls and wide eyes, he was a cheetah, fast and pretty.

  Before they reached the men, Father Jack said, “Those gang boys were just like these three, seven or eight years ago.”

  “Yep.”

  “Elsa wants to find ways to address the gang issue directly.”

  “No small problem there.”

  Father Jack nodded, arms crossed over his chest. “Hey, guys,” he said to the trio. “No school today?”

  “Teacher in-service,” Mario said. “My grandpa’s gonna drum and he said we could help.”

  Calvin leapt closer. “I’m going to help him, too! We’re going to chase away bad spirits.”

  “And bring good ones,” Mario said. “And we’re kinda hungry, Deacon. Can you take us to get sandwiches?”

  He chuckled. “Do I look like Mr. Moneybags to you?”

  “Yeah!”

  “It’s okay,” Tiberius said in his high, thin voice. “I had a good breakfast.”

  “But look how skinny he is!” Calvin protested. “He don’t need no food. I’m always hungry! My mama say she don’t know where I put it all.”

  “You got a hollow leg,” Deacon said.

  Calvin laughed, his back arching, and his missing teeth showing. “No I don’t!”

  Deacon bent and knocked on Calvin’s knee, making a plonking noise with his tongue as he did so. “There it is, right there.”

  The boys all laughed.

  “Tell you what, I’m going to put you to work here, and you can earn you some sandwiches, okay? You help me out and I’ll pay you with a trip to Subway. How’s that?”

  “Okay!”

  Father Jack said, “Do good work, gentlemen. Deacon, I’ll speak with you later.”

  He halted when a dog raced toward them, Elsa’s big black retriever, ears flying, mouth wide open in a smile.

  Calvin cried, “Charlie!” and the dog bounded right toward him, grazed his leg with his long back, as if to say, You’re it! and bounced away again. Calvin hollered and raced after him.

  Elsa emerged from the courtyard, as calm as her dog was wild. Her hair was pulled hard away from her face, though no amount of scraping could catch all the curls, and a few sprang free around her forehead and neck. She waved when she saw them, but didn’t hurry.

  She was no beauty, yet Deacon liked looking at her. There was something appealingly healthy and calm about her movements, her easy ways, her small compact body.

  And yet, this morning, what he noticed was the way Father Jack did not hurry away after all, but waited, his face carefully blank, as Elsa approached. “Good afternoon!” he said. “You’re later than usual.”

  “Long day yesterday,” she said, leaning forward to kiss his cheek. Father Jack closed his eyes, a split second of quiet coming over his face, then stepped back. “How are things going here?”

  “Good,” Deacon said. “You here to help?”

  “Sure. What are we doing?”

  “A little of everything. Fencing, mainly. I promised the boys some sandwiches at Subway if they helped.” He slapped a pair of work gloves together to get the dust out and offered them. “We’d love to have you join us.”

  She inclined her head, smiling, almost coquettish, and took the gloves. “You’re on.”

  Father Jack lifted a hand and headed toward the church. Deacon watched his stiff back until he disappeared into the courtyard. Of course, it wouldn’t be appropriate for a priest to be jealous, but Deacon would swear that’s exactly what he was.

  Curious, he thought. Curious indeed. “Come on, crew. Let’s get to work.”

  On the way to the church, Elsa had been turning the dilemma of returning to Seattle over and over in her head. She clearly could not desert Tamsin at the moment, but Reverend Tall Pine had been eyeing her church for a long time, and if he got a foot in, she might lose it to him

  Could she bear that?

  Yet, could she bear to return, still feeling so lost? Even if she could, it would be impossible to leave Tamsin for at least a little while longer.

  It was a relief to find Deacon and Joaquin and the boys in the garden, allowing her to avoid introspection. She loved the physical work, loved the feeling of warm sunshine on her head and her hands in the earth. Loved being part of something that felt so healing, when the rest of her life felt so chaotic. The boys raced around with the dog, performed short tasks as Deacon directed, raced around with Charlie some more.

  They set up the area for the shared children’s garden, fencing it off with heavy green recycled plastic made just for this purpose. She helped Deacon hold it and he used a staple gun to fix it to posts. It was nice that he didn’t seem to have to chat the whole time, that he was capable of being quiet. She also liked the way he kept an eye on the boys at all times, as if they were his charges. Which in a way, she supposed, they were.

  “Father wants us to have a class after the blessing of the fields tomorrow,” he said, fixing a staple to the post. “We can do it after the first meal. What do you think?”

  “Is everything really ready for planting?”

  “Not yet. We had a couple of setbacks that called for the need of fencing, but it will also help keep animals out, so it’s worth it.” He straightened. “We can have the official planting date moved to next Saturday.”

  “If people want to start early, that’s okay, though, right? I think some are chomping at the bit.”

  “You know, I’m a little worried about frost. There’s a storm coming in early next week that might bring snow.”

  “That’s the kind of snow that soaks the ground in the best way. Good to have the seeds in the ground, right?”

  He gave her his amazing half smile. “You anxious to get started, sister?”

  Elsa laughed. “Yes. Tamsin and I have ma
pped out a grand plan for the kids’ garden. We’ll have a garden of our own, too. How ’bout you?”

  “Absolutely.” He hauled the roll of fencing down to the next plot and Elsa followed, holding it up for him. “What are you putting in the kids’ garden?”

  “We’ll make a teepee of scarlet runner beans at the center, a pretty good-sized one, so they can go inside. Also pumpkins and corn, of course, and some really early crops, like radishes and lettuce, so they get the payoff of seeing things grow and eating them right away.”

  “Great idea.” He put her hand on the plastic, which had holes all through it to imitate metal fencing. “What about your garden?”

  “I mainly want a fajita garden—tomatoes, onions, peppers. Tamsin wants some herbs. She’s an excellent gardener.”

  “Well, she’s the lady of the manor. She’s had the leisure to polish those skills.”

  “Lady of the manor? Not anymore.”

  He clutched the staple gun, clack clack clack, and they moved to the next post. “Maybe not, but that’s who she’s been. I know that type. Debutante girls with all their charities and good works.”

  Elsa bristled. “Maybe you’ve forgotten that you’re talking about my sister. My father was a steelworker—Tamsin was hardly debutante material.”

  He straightened. “I meant no offense. Just an observation.”

  “She’s more than just beautiful, you know. She’s an artist, a good one. She’s very kind, and a good mother, and she loves beauty. She creates beauty in everything she does.”

  Deacon’s mouth edged into the slightest smile. “Lady of the manor.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Whatever. You’re being a snob, you know.”

  “Could be. You tend to know your place in the South.” He pointed to where he wanted her hands on the post, and she followed directions. “You kind of have her on a pedestal, your big sister.”

  “No. I just know her. I’m proud of her. And she’s going through a wretched, wretched time.”

  “Wouldn’t argue with you there.”

  To change the subject, Elsa said, “What are you planning to grow?”

  “Well, I’ve been debating. Garlic, ’cuz I love it. Tomatoes, of course, because they taste so good when they’re hot off the vine. Mmm.” He shook his head. “Cannot wait for that.” He stapled down the length of the post, picked up the roll, and moved on, the staple gun loose in his hand.

  Elsa trailed behind, and from nowhere, she imagined how his back would look without a shirt, how the muscles would move. For the space of a few seconds, the picture was vivid and compelling—the long spine, the muscles over it, his lean waist. A buried yen awakened, stretched, made a sharp yipping noise.

  Startling. He wasn’t her kind of man, all that brokenhearted charm.

  Must be the sunlight. The spring. The fact that she’d not had sex in a while and human bodies were designed to indulge.

  No.

  He propped the fencing against the last post. “I want to grow collard greens, which you probably don’t like.”

  “I love them,” she said, “with hot pepper sauce.”

  “You don’t say?” He paused to look at her. “Where’d you learn to like that?”

  “My grandmother was Mississippi born and bred. We used to go down and spend summers with her until she died, when I was twelve. She taught me to cook, since my mother was the worst cook on the planet.”

  “On the planet?”

  “Oh, you don’t even want to know. She was absolutely tone deaf and had no idea she was so terrible. Like somebody who sings off-key in church, very loudly.”

  He laughed.

  “So I cooked for us a lot. And I cooked what my grandmother taught me to cook. Collards and beans and black-eyed peas. Hmm.” She nodded. “Maybe I’ll grow beans and peas, too. They keep so well.”

  “You’re making me so hungry, sweetheart.” He paused, holding the staple gun down. Every position his body took was graceful, easy. “You hear my stomach growling? There is no good southern food in this town.”

  “I guess I need to have you over for supper one of these days, then.” She said it lightly, even as that blooming thing between them grew brighter. “Collard greens and black-eyed peas and cornbread.”

  “Oh.” He put his gloved hands over his heart, faking a stagger. “I’d be your slave.”

  “Yes,” she said.

  “The sooner the better.”

  Elsa inclined her head. “That you become my slave?”

  He smiled slowly. “You bet.”

  She ducked her head, surprised at herself. And pleased.

  Tamsin’s task for the day was to find a job. She not only needed the money, but she needed something to do. She was helping organize and set up the community garden, and had promised to be the “expert” on hand one afternoon a week, but that wasn’t enough.

  In her old life, the upkeep of the house and gardens took a lot of time, and she spent many hours a day on her quilts. She attended a book group and the quilting society, and volunteered at the library, which she supposed she should still do, but whenever she thought of going in there to face her friends, she couldn’t breathe.

  Her friends had been decidedly silent, actually. A couple of them had called when the news first hit, but nothing lately. It stung. Although, her two best friends weren’t able to be seen with her, not now: Andrea’s husband was a lobbyist, and Nancy’s husband was planning a bid for Congress. Better to keep some distance from Scott Corsi’s wife.

  She twirled her long hair into a knot at the back of her neck. She stood back and surveyed herself—a crisp pink shirt tucked into gray slacks, a black belt and black shoes. The shoes were frankly awful, many years out-of-date, with their super-pointy toes, but they didn’t have any scuffs at least. She wore a silver bracelet and her little opal studs. For a minute, she thought with longing of a blown-glass necklace in her jewelry box. Would they let her have those things, eventually—the sentimental ones that didn’t have any real monetary value?

  She had no idea, but it reminded her to pick up the phone and call the Sheriff’s Office, as she did every morning. Things didn’t get done by themselves, and she figured it was even worse at the station or any other place where bureaucracy held sway. The dispatcher answered in a bored voice. “Pueblo County Sheriff.”

  “Hello, this is Thomasina Corsi again. How are you?”

  “Good, good. How are you this morning, Tamsin?”

  “I’m fine, thank you for asking.” She smiled to make her voice smile, too. “I’m just making my daily check. Don’t suppose I can get my things?”

  “Hold on, sweetie. Let me see.”

  Music came on the line. Tamsin leaned forward into the mirror and carefully applied a hint of berry lipstick. She smacked her lips together.

  “Looks like a judge has ordered the department to accompany you to the house as soon as possible and supervise your claim on your possessions. You can come by and get the list, then somebody will go over there with you.”

  “Really?” She dropped her lipstick in the sink, leaving a curve of red against the porcelain. Using a tissue, she tried to wipe it off, but it only smeared. “Is there a time that’s better than another? Do I need to get a truck or something, or is it just a little bit?”

  “Probably best at around three p.m. Quieter then. The order says, let’s see … ‘Thomasina Corsi will be allowed to remove personal clothing and possessions, including quilting supplies and tools, but no quilts.’ ”

  “What? Why did they say that?”

  “Maybe the judge thinks the quilts are worth something.”

  “Mm. What about kitchen stuff?”

  “That seems like it would be covered under personal supplies. You can also withdraw anything belonging to your child. I’m gonna tell you right now that there are no computers left, and once you leave today, they’re going to seal the place.”

  Tamsin took a breath and blew it out. “Okay. You’ve been so nice. I really appreciate
it. How long do you think I’ll have?”

  “If I were you, I’d plan on a couple of hours, no more, so bring whatever help you can get.”

  Tamsin smiled. “Thank you. From the bottom of my heart.” Maybe, she thought, she would make her a quilt.

  “You’re welcome, Mrs. Corsi.”

  Since she was already dressed to impress and had a list of places with job openings, she decided to make the best of her time before going to the house. She had applied online for many of the positions, but she’d decided to also pop into the yarn shops and fabric stores in person. She had printed up copies of her newly written, neat little resume. Of course, she hadn’t had a lot of experience to put on it, but she figured she’d make an impression with her charity work and quilt awards.

  Actually, she hoped she would.

  She also hoped no one would recognize her from the recent news stories.

  Slipping out the back door, she walked down the block and around the corner, to where she’d left her car, out of sight. Nobody seemed to see her, and she prayed her invisibility held. Nobody would want to hire a woman dogged by paparazzi.

  And she really, really needed a job.

  The morning was disheartening. People took her resume, politely, but no one asked her to come back for an interview.

  She hadn’t had a dollar to her name in a week, and it was not only humiliating, but challenging. Not a dollar for a pack of gum or a bottle of water. She’d had to ask Elsa to fill her car up with gas, and it had cost over fifty dollars.

  But she wouldn’t give up. Maybe there would be things in the house she could sell on eBay, things the police had overlooked. She could have sold the quilts if they’d been released.

  At just after three, she drove her Subaru over to the house, accompanied by Elsa, Deacon, and Father Jack. Deacon drove his truck. There wouldn’t be a lot of room in Elsa’s house, so Tamsin had gone through a mental list, trying to think of the most urgent things she needed. Her quilting supplies, of course, her wok and copper pots and pans, some clothes and costume jewelry, and everything she could get from Alexa’s room.