She knew that she ought to go see a doctor, in case she had a cracked rib. But, how could she explain the trauma to her body? A doctor might call in the men in white coats to take her away if she told him the truth about what had happened to her.
That was the crux of the problem, wasn’t it? There were very few people that she could talk to about ghosts and spirits that wouldn’t think she was crazy—nobody for certain that could help her put the genie back in the bottle.
She closed her eyes. There had to be a solution...if only she could stop thinking so much and use her intuition to figure it out.
A couple hours later, after she woke from a nap, she made herself some corn chowder. Then, after the butterflies dancing in her stomach prevented her from eating much of it, she gave up and pulled her tattered cloth suitcase out of her bedroom closet.
Aunt Grace didn’t have a telephone, because she didn’t believe in using any more mechanical devices than were absolutely necessary. For decades, she’d said that the energy ‘interfered with her visions’. Opal suspected that she blamed electricity for damaging her eyes in the first place.
It was a four-hour drive to Coon City. The only proper thing to do was to show up on her Aunt’s doorstep, plop her suitcase down, and say that she had come to stay for a day or two. Aunt Grace would moan and perhaps not let her in at first, but then, hopefully, she’d concede and seem at least a little happy for the company.
Surely, the spirit had not been quiet and invisible while Georgia was in the house. Why was Georgia still there? Why hadn’t she run screaming out the door yet?
The more she thought about it, the more the answer seemed plain. He was biding his time. For some reason, the spirit wasn’t threatened by Georgia. Either, he was simply waiting for her to leave, so he could enjoy his solitude...or there was some more devious reason why he was waiting to announce his presence.
She tossed clothes into her suitcase. Then, she grabbed her toothbrush and a few toiletries, shoved them inside, and rushed back out to her car.
I’ve got to go see Grace now. There’s no time to lose.
Chapter 41
Georgia held on to the last bundle of straw as she talked with Stevie and Clarissa.
“You know...I could clean up the gardens for you.”
“Thanks, but there’s a gardener coming over tonight to do some work.”
“Some?” Stevie said as he followed her back to the vegetable garden and glanced around at the mess. “Looks like a tornado went through here. I’d be happy to give you some help.”
“Sorry, kid. I’d rather have a professional do it, especially out in the rose garden. He’ll know how to prune all those heirloom roses, so they’ll survive the winter. It’s too much for you to do anyway. This guy’s probably got a lot of power tools.”
“Yeah? Who’s that?” Stevie asked.
“Daniel, your great grandma’s gardener.”
“I didn’t know she had a gardener. I thought she did everything herself.”
Georgia shrugged. “She probably didn’t want to admit to anyone that she needed help. You know she was always very independent, even in her last days.”
“Well...have you got any other projects for me in the house?”
“Boy, you are hard up for money aren’t you?”
“Odd jobs beat slinging fries in town or shoveling chicken manure for Dad. My wardens are threatening me with both if I don’t get a job soon.”
Georgia looked past Stevie towards the truck, but she couldn’t see the driveway beyond the garage. “Speaking of wardens, is your mom with you?”
“Nah. She’s at the beauty shop. She told me to come over and see if you needed help with anything.” Then, seemingly out of spite, he looked down at his little sister and ruffled her tawny hair with a rough flick of his hand. She flung him off with her tiny arm. “Clarissa insisted on tagging along. She wants to see the stupid cat.”
“Stop it, butthead,” she yelled. Then, she turned to Georgia. “Where’s Max? Momma won’t let me have him at our house, you know. She says we had a lot of farm cats when I was a baby, and they just kept multi...multiplying...so they had to get rid of them. Is Max going to multiply too?”
Georgia laughed so hard—her stomach got a cramp. “That’s a good question. Maybe we can get him fixed, so he can come live with you. I don’t know who’s going to take care of him after I leave, unless Fred and Annie want him.”
Clarissa frowned. “You’re leaving?”
“Not until Friday,” she said as she walked with them towards the house.
“Have you been feeding Max?” Clarissa asked.
“Of course. You shouldn’t be worried about him starving. He’s as fat as a bear. He must be eating mice when he’s not getting his calories here.”
They went in through the back door, and Clarissa ran over to Max who was lounging on the living room sofa, stretched long and wide across two of the cushions.
“I’m going to play with Max...and Alphie!” she shouted.
While Stevie opened the pantry to raid for a snack, Georgia watched her niece pet the cat and whisper into his ear. As she hugged him and kissed his head, the feral-looking cat seemed to tolerate the affection with a housecat’s aplomb.
Georgia turned to Stevie. “Everything’s so dusty in this house—I started washing all of the bedding. There’s some sheets on top of the dryer in the basement. I’ll give you a couple of bucks if you fold them.”
He hesitated and frowned as if disdaining the idea of boring women’s work then he pivoted around on one heel to face the basement. She saw earphones magically appear from under the collar of his shirt, and he was nodding to a beat by the time he reached the basement.
Georgia went sat down on the couch beside Clarissa and her furry captive.
“Did I hear you say you were going to play with Max and Alphie?”
“Yup,” Clarissa nodded, beaming sunshine across her face.
“Who’s Alphie?”
“He’s my friend. Just like Max.”
“Oh? Where does he live?”
Clarissa rolled her eyes. “Here, of course.”
“I don’t know anyone by that name.”
“He’s not friends with everyone. Just me. If you don’t know him, maybe he just doesn’t like you.”
Georgia sat mute.
“Max doesn’t like him. But, he’s just silly. I think everyone would like Alphie if they knew him.”
Clarissa was the right age to have an imaginary friend. But, she thought it was odd that Marsha or her grandmother had never mentioned it. Maybe they were keeping it quiet and hoping it was a passing phase.
“Is he ever called Alphonso?”
“No,” Clarissa groaned. “I told you...his name is Alphie.”
Georgia gave up on getting any more information out of her, and thought that maybe she should also give up on deciphering her grandmother’s cryptic note about Alphonso. It didn’t seem likely that she was ever going to understand it.
She busied herself with some more chores around the house...cleaning windows, dusting shelves, and sweeping the floors.
A little later, she saw Max saunter over to the back door with Clarissa close at his heels. They ran out the door together.
“Don’t go too far...” Georgia yelled as the door slammed behind them, and she realized that she had inadvertently become the little girl’s babysitter.
She peeked out the window between the lace curtains and saw Clarissa making a bouquet of dandelions as the cat lounged on the patio beside her.
As she turned away, she realized that she hadn’t heard a peep from Stevie in a while. She wondered what was taking him so long to finish folding the sheets. It shouldn’t have taken more than a few minutes, and it had been over half an hour since he went down there.
She cracked open the basement door and listened, but couldn’t hear anything. There was only the dim yellow glow from the dangling light bulb to light her way as she crept down the steps. The old
wood boards creaked with each footfall.
“Stevie?”
As she rounded the corner and came upon the washer and dryer, she saw the laundry basket containing sheets folded into haphazard crooked squares. The dryer door was open, and the remaining linens were still inside in a wrinkled heap.
“StevieHayden!” Georgia yelled as she realized that she must sound like the boy’s mother.
Where was he?
She walked deeper into the basement and saw that the door to the third room was ajar. It was the one room in the basement that was occasionally used as a guest room (for any visitor that had overcome their primeval fear of spiders).
On tiptoe, she crept towards the door and peered around the edge. Her jaw dropped as she saw Stevie’s head bobbing to the beat as he pulled down box after box from the closet and rifled through them.
She flung open the door. “What are you doing?”
It took him a second to look up and see her standing there. He jumped and pulled off the earphones, with a look of embarrassment. Then, he stuttered, “I...I just wanted to see if there were any old pictures of us kids in here...”
She winced as she glanced at the mess of photos piled on the bed. “Well...you might have asked. This is all your great grandpa’s old stuff. All of the more recent family photos are in albums upstairs.”
His face turned as red as he began stuffing photos back into a box “I’m sorry.”
“Are you going to finish those sheets?”
“Yes, Ma’am,” he said as he hurried out of the room and returned to his job.
There was something going on with that boy...and his mother. They sure had a keen interest in hanging out at this house and rifling through things all of a sudden. She knew that they had not been frequent guests when Grammie was alive.
Her heart softened for a moment when she wondered if there was trouble at home that Stevie was trying to escape from. He was a young man on the cusp of leaving home and finding his own way in the world...and living in the same house with her sister’s sharp tongue couldn’t be easy.
She let him be as she walked past him to the staircase, deciding not to give him any more lashes.
Back upstairs, she started to return to her chores, but paused when she heard girlish giggles. Clarissa’s young voice was unmistakable, but did she also hear the deeper chuckle of a man’s laughter?
She peered out and saw her niece sitting cross-legged on the patio, leaning back on her hands and looking up towards the massive gray bicep of the cottonwood tree next to the house.
“Whatcha doing, sweetie?” she asked as she stepped out.
“Playing with Alphie. He’s doing tricks!”
Georgia followed the girl’s eyes up again to the same spot, but saw nothing except a few leaves rustling in the wind. “You have quite the imagination.”
Clarissa ignored her as she began clapping and giggling again. “Do it again!” she said as if she were the only attendant at some invisible circus.
She shook her head. The girl was so engaged with her imaginary friend that she couldn’t help but look up again at the branches of the tree as she went back inside the house. The feeling of being watched by unseen eyes weighed heavy on her. Perhaps it was the tree itself with its widespread arms and contorted bark. It was probably as old as the Gingerbread house itself. Everything was old here. This property was probably haunted by the ghosts of old family members as well as the imaginary friends of a little girl’s fertile imagination.
Inside, she looked up at the grandfather clock. The afternoon was ripening into early evening, and she hoped that Stevie and Clarissa would be gone before the Gardener arrived. She didn’t want them getting underfoot...or to have Marsha come looking for them.
When Stevie came upstairs, she gave him the task of sweeping the front porch. He finished with lightning speed then came in and plopped down on the sofa next to Clarissa and Max. As she handed him a few dollars, she said, “It must be about dinner time. Maybe you and Clarissa should run home before your mom starts to worry.”
Stevie poked Clarissa’s arm. “She’s probably right. We better get back before Ma has convulsions.”
“Can I take Max with me?” Clarissa asked as she patted the cat’s head, ignoring his flattened ears.
“Not this time. You’re going to have to ask your mom permission. Maybe you can sweet-talk her into it.”
Clarissa folded her arms and pouted as she jumped off the couch. Then, she stomped out the front door.
Stevie followed. “Maybe, I can come back tomorrow if you need something else done?”
Georgia waved and said, “Maybe.”
As they left, she looked out the window at the darkening sky, then up at the clock again. The gardener was due to arrive soon. She wondered why she felt so nervous.
Chapter 42
It was an hour later, as her fingers wrapped around a box of pasta from the pantry, that Georgia heard the intermittent chugging of a sputtering motor followed by the squeal of brakes.
She raced to the library window. The sky was an inky blue, but in the dim light she could make out the outline of a very old pickup in the driveway.
Surely, this rust bucket was—
But, her criticism disappeared the instant that she saw the gardener step out, take off his cap, and run his fingers through his silky dark shoulder-length hair as he looked up towards the twinkling sky.
Then, he took two steps towards the porch and stopped, bouncing his hands together. He turned in a circle on his heel and took a few more steps before pausing again.
She was amused. Was he performing some sort of prayer or pre-work ritual? Or...was he gun-shy and trying to compose himself before speaking to her? Either way, she enjoyed watching from her secluded post.
When he began to climb up the porch steps, she closed the curtain. Unable to restrain herself, she rushed to the door to meet him and had it open before he reached the doormat.
“McKenna...buona sera.” He took off his cap again, and gave her a curt bow.
Georgia smiled as she stared. He wore clothing similar to the night before—a loose white t-shirt and baggy rolled up trousers. His unkempt hair cascaded down around his face like the locks of a merry ruffian in Robin Hood’s crew, but his goatee was trimmed to perfection. Despite his quirky appearance, there was something very alluring about him. She imagined that he would look handsome if he wore a tuxedo or rags from a thrift store.
“You’re here. I wasn’t sure you were serious about working in the dark.”
“Of course.” He gestured toward the beat up truck. “My apologies. My other motorcar is...being repaired.”
He pursed his full lips, uttering each syllable with distinction, and for a moment, she found herself distracted by the sight of him, standing in the golden glow of the porch light like some perfectly formed Roman sculpture with each curve of the muscles in his arms illuminated. But, she composed herself, remembering that he was here for a business task, and after that, she’d probably never set eyes on him again.
“Moreno...from the sound of that truck...I’m not sure you’ll get very far with a load. Are you sure you can do this tonight?”
“Please...call me Daniel. It is no problem. I just have to give to give her a kick now and then and she obeys.” He motioned toward the truck. “She’ll be fine,” he said with a wink.
“If you say so...I really appreciate you doing this on such short notice.”
“It is my pleasure. I am doing it as a favor to your lovely grandmother.”
Charming...so dreadfully charming. She found herself flushing and feeling lightheaded in his presence. It took a moment for her to compose herself and say something coherent.
“I’ve got the back patio light on for you, but it doesn’t cast light as far as the gardens.” She looked up at the sky. “There’s not even much moonlight...”
He followed her gaze up to the cloud-filled sky and the small crescent moon dangling like a fish hook above them.
&
nbsp; When he looked back at her, his eyes seemed to sparkle again from some light within...or was it just the silver moonlight reflecting off the stained glass on the door?
“Magic is best done under the cover of darkness,” he said with a Cheshire grin.
She liked the confidence of this eccentric man. “Well...I’ll leave you to it then. The gate by the garage is unlocked. I’ll be inside if you need anything.”
He bowed again and disappeared from the porch.
She went back inside and boiled some water for her pasta. After eating, she busied herself tidying up the dried bundles of roses and statice in the turret room where her grandmother kept her crafts.
But when she found herself back downstairs, she couldn’t resist peeking out the window next to the dining table to see if she could see Daniel working.
Unfortunately, only the closest corner of the vegetable garden with its towers of tomato cages could be seen from the house. The rest of it...and the rose garden were too far down the path and partially obscured by the garage.
She shut off the kitchen light and the light over the dining table. Then, she stood on her tiptoes and peered out again.
After a few seconds, she heard the squeaky wheels on her grandmother’s wheelbarrow. Then, she saw a scraggly plant that looked like a dead corn stalk and some thorny branches fly up into the air. They seemed to move of their own accord above the fence line, flailing about like skeletal limbs.
She couldn’t imagine how he worked in the garden at night. The mere thought of squishing on slugs and getting tangled in spider webs was enough to make her shudder.
How did he manage in the dark? Did he have some sort of unique biology? She wondered if he was born with some genetic mutation that gave him eyes like a raccoon or a bat.
There were other odd things about him, too. In addition to his amazing eyes, he had awfully pale skin for a gardener, and his speech, obviously of foreign origin, was archaic and stilted, as if he sometimes stumbled to find the correct English word. Despite these quirks, he was undeniably attractive...in a rough sort of way. This evening, she had re-evaluated her belief that he was a few years younger. There was something about his voice and the twinkle in his eyes that told her that he was older...and perhaps a bit wiser than she’d surmised before.
The Gardener Page 18
