The Ladies of Garrison Gardens

by Louise Shaffer

  “If you were absolutely sure you were doing the right thing, you wouldn't mind reading about it.” The soprano was firm and final.

  “If you're upset, it's probably because you're conflicted, dear one.”

  Laurel felt herself snap. “Conflicted?” she shouted. “I hate this! But Peter Terranova's going to pull out his entire frigging team and leave if he doesn't get his way. I can't let that happen. I wish I could run the damn resort myself. I wish I could make the gardens such a big deal that everyone in the country would want to come.” And as she said the words, she realized they were true. While she'd been fighting to be mature and realistic, the child inside her had been playing with dreams of running the place. Unrealistic, immature, stupid dreams. “I wish I could tell that son of a bitch Terranova to take his perks and his bonuses and stick them where the sun don't shine. I wish I could tell Stuart to hop up and kiss my rosy red ass. But I can't. Because I'm the wrong person.”

  Maggie and Li'l Bit were listening without saying a word. Peggy used to say there was something in the concentrated way that Li'l Bit and Maggie listened that would make you say all the things you hadn't even admitted to yourself you were thinking.

  “I'm going to let them win, because I have to!” Laurel's eyes were starting to fill. “All my life, people like Stuart were the enemy. But if Peter Terranova and his team walk out, the resort and the gardens will go under. And I won't have three thousand people with no benefits on my hands, I'll have three thousand people with no jobs at all.” And then before she demonstrated her mature acceptance of reality by breaking down and bawling all over Li'l Bit's porch, she ran to her car and got the hell out.

  That night, she couldn't fall asleep. She believed what she'd said to Li'l Bit and Maggie, that she didn't have any choice. But as she lay awake in her bed, all she could think about were the changes she would have made at the gardens and the resort if she had been the right person for the job.

  Chapter Sixty-nine

  CHERRY

  2004

  MRS. RAIN'S BODY was at the funeral home. The service would take place tomorrow.

  “Not that it's going to matter much,” Essie sobbed to Cherry. The housekeeper couldn't stop crying. “You and I will probably be the only ones there.”

  Essie knew where Mrs. Rain's will was and what was in it. “I'll be taken care of,” she said. “And she left something for you, Cherry. The rest of it will go to some people she never even met.” Essie shook her head, which made the tears in her eyes spill over. “It's all tangled up with an old theater she wanted to save. The place is called the Venable Opera House. I guess it's historic or something, I never did get the straight of it. I tried to talk her into giving everything to the Baptist Church. I mean, can you imagine leaving your money to someone you don't know? But she wouldn't listen to me.” Essie dried her eyes, which immediately started streaming again. “Well, she was stubborn, that's for certain, and where she got some of her ideas, like leaving her money to total strangers just because of some trashy old theater, we'll never know.”

  “She was an actress,” Cherry said.

  “Mrs. Rain? Are you sure?”

  “Well, it wasn't acting exactly. Singing and dancing was more like it. She told me about it.”

  “I don't know that I'd believe everything she said these last few months,” Essie said. “She was old. She couldn't remember her own name without writing it down.”

  “Old people can remember things that happened a long time ago even when they don't know what day of the week it is,” Cherry said. “She must have had some reason for giving her money to that theater place.”

  “She should have given it to the Baptists. She put it in her will she wanted to be buried in their graveyard and they're going to do it, even though there's a perfectly good cemetery right here on the property.”

  “She said it was a family cemetery, and she wasn't a Benedict.”

  “Well, she wasn't much of a Baptist either. I doubt she went into that church more than three times in her life.”

  Cherry was the one who found the letter. They were cleaning up the house and Essie couldn't go into the sunroom without crying, so Cherry went in alone to clear it out. She didn't see the envelope at first, because it was partially hidden under the bed. After she found it she walked slowly to the kitchen and handed it to Essie.

  “It's that letter Mrs. Rain was writing,” Cherry said. “I guess it fell off her dresser. There's a name on the front.”

  Essie took the letter and looked at the name. “It's no one I ever heard of,” she said slowly. “And there's no address.” She sat down at the kitchen table and studied the envelope. Cherry could tell she was trying to make up her mind about something. “I just don't know,” she murmured to herself. She smoothed out a crease in the envelope with her finger. “She wasn't herself,” she murmured again. “Ever since the stroke, she wasn't herself.” She got up and said, “I can't let that happen to her.” She walked over to the trash basket and threw the letter in.

  “What are you doing?” Cherry protested. “She stayed up all night writing that thing.”

  Essie's eyes started to swim again. “She was dying, sugar,” she said. “She didn't know what she was doing.”

  “But maybe we should look at it.”

  “Does it say Cherry on there? I know it doesn't say Essie.”

  “But—”

  “Whatever is in there, she didn't mean for you or me to see it. Just let it stay where it is.”

  “But she put a name on the front.”

  “Cherry, I knew her much longer than you did. I know this is what she'd want me to do.” Essie headed out into the hallway. “Come on, we'll make up that sunroom. I'm through being so dang stupid about it.”

  “Okay,” Cherry said. But she waited until Essie was out of sight, and then she ran to the trash pail, grabbed the letter, and quickly stuck it in the knife drawer. She was pretty sure the scrawl on the envelope said Laurel Selene McCready. Reading about her in the Charles Valley Gazette had been what made Mrs. Rain start writing the letter. Maybe, Cherry thought as she hurried down the hall to join Essie, there was a way to find this Laurel Selene person.

  Chapter Seventy

  LAUREL

  2004

  WHEN LAUREL FINALLY FELL ASLEEP, she slept hard. According to the clock by her bed, it was past nine when she woke up—which had to be a mistake. The dogs never let her stay in bed that late, they wanted to be fed. . . . She sat up fast. Everything was much too quiet, there was no barking or growling. She raced into the kitchen to find Patsy Cline lying on the rug in solitary splendor. Laurel ran to the window. The backyard was empty.

  “Where the hell is everyone?”

  Patsy's tail beat out a triumphant good riddance on the floor. Laurel dashed outside, picturing Peggy's beloved dogs wriggling through a hole in the new fence, tunneling under the chicken wire, getting lost in the woods or, worse, playing in traffic out on the highway.

  Please let them be okay! Laurel prayed. I can't screw this up too.

  Assuming the worst, she ran back into the house for her car keys. A note from Perry was on the key rack.

  I figured Peggy's dogs would like to visit their old homestead. I used the key you gave Denny to get into your house. You were sleeping and you didn't hear me. I took the whole bunch over to Garrison Cottage in the van.

  Then he'd added:

  Don't bother looking for your Garrison ID card. I stole it so I could get past the security gate at the cottage. You really should find a safe place to keep your valuables.

  She was going to rip his head off. Then she was going to stomp on his dead body. Not only had he scared the shit out of her, he'd set her up. He knew she'd go to Garrison Cottage to make sure the dogs were all right. He also knew she'd been avoiding the damn place. Obviously, Perry had decided she needed some tough love. She was really going to kill him. Right after she checked on Peggy's babies.

  The drive up to Miss Myrtis's castle was as ma
gical as ever. Laurel had forgotten how the thing rose up out of its sea of wildflowers, and the way the sunshine soaked into the logs of the house and made them glow.

  As she rounded the center island in the front drive, she heard exuberant barking from the pen at the side of the house. The dogs did sound happy to be home, damn their ungrateful little hearts. She parked and went inside.

  As always, the soaring ceiling with Myrtis Garrison's skylights made her catch her breath.

  “They are amazing, aren't they?” said a voice behind her.

  She whirled around to see Maggie, staring up at the skylights. At her side was Li'l Bit.

  “Look at the way that ceiling reaches for the sky,” Maggie went on, still looking up. “She wanted wonderful things to happen in this home.” There was no need for her to explain that the she in question was Miss Myrtis. Maggie tore her eyes away from the skylights and focused on Laurel.

  “Li'l Bit and I come from a time when friends didn't give one another advice,” she said.

  “It may not have been the time, it may have been us,” Li'l Bit added.

  “Either way, it's hogwash,” said Maggie.

  “We need to change. Come sit down, Laurel.”

  She didn't have to obey. She could say she didn't want to hear any advice, thank you. She could make some excuse and leave. But she let them lead her to one of the big couches in the living room.

  “You've been floundering around for weeks and it's got to stop,” said Li'l Bit.

  “It's a hard—” Laurel began, but Maggie cut her off.

  “Yes, it's a hard decision you've been asked to make. But you have to stop letting yourself off the hook.”

  “I'm not—”

  “You know you don't want to give in to Stuart and Mr. Terranova,” said Maggie.

  “You weren't in that meeting,” Laurel protested. “You don't know what they said.”

  “That the only way they can keep the gardens and the resort open is by laying off people and taking away all their benefits,” said Li'l Bit, “because they have to give themselves outrageous salaries and bonuses—”

  “And blah-blah-blah!” Maggie finished up.

  “The gardens were in trouble and the resort was on the verge of bankruptcy,” Laurel said wearily. “Stuart and Pete Terranova turned it around.”

  “Did they?” Li'l Bit asked. “Or would business have picked up anyway when people started traveling again?”

  “I can't take that chance. This town would die without the gardens and the resort.”

  “Who knows?” Maggie asked. “We might prove to be very enterprising if we didn't have the gardens and the resort to depend on. Or maybe people would stop being afraid to leave and go make better lives for themselves somewhere else.”

  “Maybe they'd stop settling for crumbs,” Li'l Bit added.

  “But there's nothing that says we have to lose the gardens and the resort,” Maggie said.

  “Stuart—” Laurel started.

  “Maybe you could do a better job than Stuart,” Li'l Bit said. “Did you ever think of that?”

  “What's to say you can't?” demanded Maggie.

  “For one thing, I didn't—”

  “Go to college or business school or blah-blah-blah,” said Maggie, repeating a phrase that seemed to have pleased her.

  “That's a big deal,” Laurel said. “So is the fact that I've never run a business that takes in several million dollars a year.”

  “Katherine Graham never had a speck of experience publishing a newspaper when that husband of hers killed himself and left it all on her shoulders,” Maggie said.

  “And just look at Watergate,” Li'l Bit added.

  “To say nothing of the Pulitzer,” said Maggie.

  The duet was well under way.

  “Mrs. Roosevelt was an appalling public speaker,” said the cello.

  “Until FDR had polio,” said the flute. “Then she became the greatest woman of her day.”

  “People can do wonderful things when they have to.”

  “Especially women.”

  “You're extremely intelligent, Laurel.”

  “And you're not proud. You admit what you don't know, so you learn.”

  “You'll ask for help.”

  “That character trait is worth more than years of experience.”

  “Charles Valley is your home. No one has to bribe you to stay here. That's another plus.”

  “People will want to help you. You have to stop thinking you're alone.”

  “You do have friends.”

  “When you're doing the right thing, people are drawn to you, you'll see.”

  “And you'll always have Li'l Bit and me. And Perry, of course.”

  “Being angry and downplaying your abilities probably helped you get through some bad times when you were young. But for a while now it's been self-defeating.”

  “Self-indulgent.”

  “Unworthy of you.”

  “Stop making excuses for yourself, Dear One.”

  “It's time to grow up, Laurel.”

  A car honked outside. The duet was over. They both stood up, and Maggie looked at her watch. “I have to get to the clinic,” she said.

  “I need to work in my garden,” said Li'l Bit.

  They started out.

  “Wait!” Laurel called out. They turned, two sets of smart old eyes watching her. “Who's that outside?” she asked

  “Gloria drove us over,” Li'l Bit said.

  “We felt it would be better if you didn't see a car outside,” Maggie explained proudly. “The element of surprise, you know.”

  “Gloria would be another excellent friend for you,” Li'l Bit added firmly.

  “Yes, Doodlebug, she would.” Maggie looked around the room. “I do hope you decide to make this your home. It's such a beautiful place.”

  “Neither of the two women who lived here before you were very happy,” said Li'l Bit. “It would be nice if you could change that.”

  “I still don't know what I'm going to do,” Laurel said. But they had both moved to her, and each bent over to kiss her on her cheek.

  “You'll figure it out. Don't get up, dear one,” Maggie said.

  “We have faith in you. We'll see ourselves out,” said Li'l Bit.

  And they were gone.

  The sun was directly overhead, pouring light in though Myrtis Garrison's skylights. The house was full of the history of the two women who had lived there. Laurel could feel it crowding in on her, with all its fears and hopes—and secrets.

  Chapter Seventy-one

  CHERRY

  2004

  IT WAS LATE, and Cherry was exhausted. She and Essie had worked all day long without stopping, because Essie was determined that Mrs. Rain's house was going to be spotless before they left. Tomorrow, after the funeral, the FORE SALE sign would go up next to the mailbox in front, and in a week or two the real estate agent would hold an open house. The contents of the old place would be sold with it. Cherry's bags were already packed. She'd be spending the night with Essie, and in the morning she'd leave Beneville. The agency already had a new job for her.

  Essie was walking through the house pulling down the shades; Cherry left her and sneaked into the kitchen. It was the first time she'd been able to get away from the older woman all day, and she wanted to retrieve the letter she'd hidden. When she got settled she was going to call the Charles Valley Gazette and ask for Laurel McCready's address. If they gave it to her, she'd send the letter on to its rightful owner. She opened the knife drawer. The letter wasn't there. Frantic, she searched through the other drawers, even though she knew where she'd put it.

  “Sugar, if you're looking for that letter, I took it.”

  Cherry turned to see Essie standing in the doorway.

  “Essie, where is it? I want to send it to that girl Mrs. Rain used to talk about.”

  “I ripped it up.”

  “Oh, no!”

  “I have my reasons.” Essie got a glass f
rom the cabinet and filled it with water from the faucet. “When I came to work here, I thought Mrs. Rain was the strangest woman I'd ever seen. Well, for one thing there was that Mrs. Rain business, instead of calling herself a good Christian name like Miss Annie or Miss Elizabeth. And she was all alone: no family, no friends, no children. In all the years I worked for her I don't think anyone ever came to visit in this house. No woman wants to live like that, Cherry.” She took a sip of water. “I couldn't figure out if she was shy or so mean people didn't want to have anything to do with her. Then I realized she had secrets. I never asked what they were; it was none of my business. But if she told you she was an actress—well, there are all kinds of actresses in this world. And maybe when she was an actress she did some things she wasn't proud of.”

  “She sounded very proud—” Cherry started to say.

  “She wasn't in her right mind, Cherry, not at the end. And she didn't live that lonely life all those years just to go spilling her secrets in her last days because she'd gotten feebleminded.” Essie finished her water, rinsed and dried the glass, and put it back in the cabinet. “Mrs. Rain was a good person, she always treated me right, and if she's not here to protect herself I'll do it for her. Now let's go. There's nothing more we can do here, and I need to put my feet up. I swear I don't know when I've been so tired.”

  “Just let me get my bags,” Cherry said.

  “I'll wait for you in the car,” Essie said, and she left.

  Cherry walked down the long hallway to the sunroom and looked in. The big wingback chair they'd brought in when Mrs. Rain got sick was still there. They hadn't carried it back upstairs. Cherry went in and sat in the chair.

  I'm sorry, Mrs. Rain, she thought. Essie's wrong. You knew what you were doing when you wrote that letter. You wrote it for Laurel McCready and I'm sorry I couldn't send it to her. I know you had a reason for telling her your story. And now she'll never know what it was.

  Chapter Seventy-two

  LAUREL