The Ghost with the Green Thumb

by Maggie M. Larche

  In this manner, the days passed quickly. One afternoon, Billy and I walked around town. We browsed through several stores and lingered in the air conditioning at each stop. I spotted the town’s candy store, Slice of Sweetness, across the road.

  “Now we are talking,” I said. “Come on, Billy.”

  A little bell tinkled as we walked through the door, and a rush of cold air blew in our faces. I went straight to the counter.

  Billy followed me. “Have you ever been here before?”

  “Not since I was little,” I said. I walked to the counter. “Ooh, gummy bears. Those are my absolute favorites.” I checked my pockets for cash. “I’m going to load up.” I scanned the counter packed with bright candies and dark chocolates. “On the other hand, I could sample something new. Decisions, decisions.”

  A store clerk walked out from the back room. She was a plump, older lady with a shining face.

  “Good afternoon,” she said with a pleasant smile. “Is there anything I can get you?”

  Billy pointed to me. “She wants everything.”

  “I kind of do,” I said. I turned to the clerk. “I need a minute to decide.”

  “Take all the time you need. Just tell me when you’re ready.”

  The bell tinkled again, and an elderly woman with bluish white hair swept into the room.

  “Hello, Caroline. I’m here to pick up my order.”

  “Hi, Hetty. I’ve got it right here.” She motioned for the customer to follow her to the counter. She pulled out a large basket stuffed with chocolates.

  I paused my perusal of sour straws, distracted by the basket. It must have had ten pounds of chocolate in it. My mouth started to water.

  “Thank you,” Hetty said. “This is just perfect for the Garden Club. You are going, I hope?”

  My ears perked up. Garden Club?

  “I’ll be there, though possibly a little late. What time does it start again?”

  “Three o’clock at the Town Hall.”

  Hetty paid for her basket and sailed back out of the shop.

  “Are you ready, dear?” asked Caroline.

  I stared at her. “Never mind. We’ve got to go.” I grabbed Billy’s arm and pulled him away from a display of jelly beans.

  “Hey!” he said.

  “Thanks anyway,” I said as we went out through the door.

  In front of the shop, Billy pulled his arm out of mine. “What was that about? I wanted some candy!”

  “Didn’t you hear them?” I said.

  “Hear what? About the old lady meeting?”

  “It wasn’t an old lady meeting! It was a Garden Club.” He stared at me blankly. “Come on, Billy, use your head. A Garden Club.”

  He stared at me. “However many times you say it, I’m still not gonna get it.”

  “In case you haven’t noticed, we have a honest-to-goodness garden mystery on our hands. Someone is taking care of the Lovers' Garden, but we don’t know who. What if they’re in that club?”

  “Why would they be?” asked Billy.

  “To learn more about gardening,” I said. “They probably talk about stuff like fertilizer and mowing the grass and how to get rid of weeds. But even if our mystery person isn’t in the club, someone there might know who we should be looking for. I mean, the town’s just not that big.”

  “Maybe,” said Billy slowly. “And we could ask about the other mystery.”

  “What other mystery?”

  Billy’s mouth dropped open. “Are you serious? The whole, your-Grandpa-can’t-see-the-garden mystery?”

  I paused. I hadn’t thought about that. “Do you really think anyone there could help?”

  Billy shrugged. “Dunno. But it could be worth a shot.” He grinned. “You can just waltz in and say, ‘Listen ladies, I’ve got this be-yoo-ti-ful garden that only me and my friend Billy can see. What do you folks think about it?’”

  “They’ll think we’re kooks.”

  “I think we’re kooks,” he said.

  “Kooks or not,” I said, “we are going to that meeting.” I dragged Billy toward home, and he groaned.

  “Tell me why I couldn’t have gotten candy first.”

  “You heard the lady. The meeting’s at 3:00. We’ve got to get changed. Maybe if we look nice, they’ll be less likely to think we’re crazy.”

  “I wouldn’t count on it.”

  Chapter 9

  I took a little longer than expected to get ready. I spent an extra ten minutes looking for the sole sundress that I had packed, only to find it crumpled in a ball at the bottom of my suitcase. Then I had to iron it. And then I actually fixed my hair.

  It’s ok to want to look nice, I told myself. It was all for the meeting. It certainly had nothing to do with Billy.

  At 2:45, we walked into town for the Garden Club. I had a very good feeling about it. Surely, someone would be able to help.

  Billy wore the same t-shirt and shorts that he had all morning.

  “Way to make an effort,” I said.

  “I am spending quality hours at an old folks meeting,” he said. “That’s all the effort you’re going to get.” He glanced at me. “You, however, look very nice.”

  I turned pink and hoped that we wouldn’t notice.

  Billy led us to the town hall, and we mounted its broad steps. Inside the large room, we found about 40 women or so standing around talking, with a few men mixed in as well. Everyone appeared to be older. Apparently, the Garden Club attracted a lot of retirees.

  But I thought that could be better. The older the gardener, the more experience they’d have.

  Most everyone seemed to have refreshments of some kind. I saw mainly glasses of punch, but some people had coffee or tea instead. Plus, I saw cookies everywhere.

  “Let’s get something to eat,” I whispered to Billy.

  “That is the smartest thing you’ve said today.”

  We wound through the people and finally found the refreshment table tucked into the back corner of the room.

  “Hello,” said the attendant. She was probably in her 70’s with a bright, happy smile. “What can I get you?”

  We looked at the enticing display of sweets laid out on the table. I wanted very much to try one of everything, but then thought that might be a little rude. And I didn’t want anyone to be less disposed to help me because I took too much food. So instead, I asked simply for one chocolate chip cookie, one brownie, and one lemon square, as well as a glass of punch.

  And when I spotted Hetty’s chocolate basket, I had to sample a few candies as well.

  “Man,” I said to Billy as we walked away from the refreshment table, “the sacrifices I’m making for this.”

  He stuffed a chocolate into his mouth. “I know,” he said with his mouth full.

  I found us unobtrusive chairs in the corner where we could sit and eat while we waited for the actual meeting to start. As I munched my desserts, I watched the people around me. None of them seemed like what I had imagined garden enthusiasts to be. My grandma, for instance, had always seemed to have some dirt under her fingernails except for really special occasions. She was usually a little tan, too, from being outside in the sun so much.

  But none of the people I saw really had that outdoorsy look about them. In fact, if I had to guess, I’d say that most of them sat inside all day.

  Maybe they’re big on indoor plants, I thought.

  By the time we finished all of our goodies and drank two refills of punch each, the meeting still hadn’t started.

  “I’m going to do a little undercover work,” I whispered to Billy.

  “Ok,” he said. “I’m going to get some more chocolates.”

  I threw away my trash and then began nonchalantly walking through the crowd. I listened to whatever snatches of conversation I could pick up, but what I heard did not sound promising.

  One woman told another about her daughter’s new job. “She insists on working outside the home, and so the kids spend all their time with a b
abysitter!” she confided. “It’s a shame, but will she listen to her mother? No.”

  I moved on.

  Next, I overheard a man complain to another woman about neighborhood kids. “Those troublemakers are so noisy. They’re always upsetting my poor cats.”

  Everywhere I turned, people had similar conversations. Two women talked about their husbands, while another couple argued about the new mayor. One man recounted his last poker hand to a woman who politely smothered a yawn, while a new grandmother displayed baby pictures to anyone who would pay attention.

  What was going on? Didn’t these people come here to talk about gardens? Finally, I was fed up with waiting. I walked up to a woman in a pink suit and pulled on her sleeve. “Excuse me.”

  She turned and looked down at me. “Yes?” she asked pleasantly.

  “Hi. Could you tell me when the meeting’s going to start?”

  She laughed. “Aren’t you sweet? This is the meeting.”

  My jaw dropped just a little. “But aren’t we going to talk about gardens or something?”

  “Talk about gardens?” She looked positively surprised. “Well,” she paused, apparently thinking, “we haven’t really talked about gardens in ages.” She stood indecisively for a moment, and then got the attention of a man a few feet away.

  “Frank.” He turned, and she waved him over. “Frank, come here.”

  “Yes, Bertha?”

  “I was just going to ask you if you knew anything about gardens?”

  “Gardens? Hmm. Can’t really say that I do. Why?”

  “This girl wants to know.”

  “Oh, yes?” He looked at me from under his bushy eyebrows. He looked as though he wasn’t sure what to make of me. Finally, he shrugged and walked to the podium set up at one edge of the room.

  He tapped on the microphone. He cleared his throat loudly, and then said, “Excuse me, folks, excuse me. I’ve just got a quick question. If anyone in this room considers themselves knowledgeable about gardens, please see the little girl in the yellow dress. Thank you.”

  I bristled at the term “little girl,” as he stepped away from the podium. A buzz of conversation swept the room. All around me, I heard people questioning each other as to whether they knew anything about gardens.

  “Don’t you?”

  “No, not a bit. But don’t you?”

  “No. Should I?”

  “How about Frances?”

  “Nope.”

  “Does anyone?”

  Bertha, the woman in pink, looked down apologetically at me. “Apparently no one seems to know much. Do you need special help?”

  Instead of answering, I asked her a question of my own. “Let me make sure I’ve got this straight. This is the Garden Club, right?”

  She nodded, pleasant as ever.

  “But no one here knows anything about gardens?”

  “No, I’m afraid not.”

  Frank had rejoined us by now. “You see,” he began, “the Garden Club certainly began as a place for garden enthusiasts to gather. However, as time went on, we discovered that people felt more of a need for the social opportunities that such a club can offer.”

  “Yes, indeed.” Bertha picked up his sentence. “We found that we no longer needed to discuss things like seeds and… I don’t know… manure,” she wrinkled her nose distastefully, “and instead we focused on providing a social atmosphere for our members.” She stopped and thought. “I suppose you could say that over time, the real garden lovers were weeded out.”

  “Oho! Weeded out!” laughed Frank. “I say, that’s very good.”

  Bertha laughed with him. “Why, thank you! It was rather funny, wasn’t it?”

  I stared at them. As strange as my request might have sounded to them, they seemed pretty loopy to me.

  As they continued tittering with each other, I muttered a quick thanks and left them. I looked around the room for Billy, but I couldn’t see him through the crowd of people. All of a sudden I felt discouraged and overwhelmed, and I had to get out of there. I walked straight out the front door.

  I sat glumly on the front steps of the town hall. This little trip had been one gigantic waste of time. There was no way my mystery gardener was here.

  As I was planning what my next move should be, the door opened behind me. I turned and was surprised to see Ms. Matilda, the restaurant owner.

  “Hi, Beth. I thought I recognized you across the room. Were you the one asking about a garden expert?”

  “Oh!” I jumped up. “Yeah, that was me.” I looked at her suspiciously. “Do you actually know anything about gardens?”

  “Sure do, sweetheart, though I have to hide it in there.” She pointed back into the town hall. “All that group is interested in is gossip, but there was a time when it was just a bunch of garden lovers getting together to talk shop. Me and your grandmother came to meetings together for years.” She eased herself into a rocking chair on the porch and glanced at me with an amused expression. “She loved Hetty’s chocolate baskets, too.” Guiltily, I wiped some chocolate from the corner of my mouth.

  “Now,” said Ms. Matilda, “what can I help you with?”

  I sat down in the chair next to her and didn’t answer at first. On the night that Grandpa and I ate at The Cutting Board, she told me that she wasn’t taking care of the Lovers' Garden, so she wouldn’t be much help there.

  Could she maybe help me with Grandpa? After all, she had been one of Grandma’s best friends. Could I trust her?

  “Here’s the thing.” I sat in the chair next to her. “What I’m going to ask you about may sound a little crazy. But I’m serious.”

  She waved her hand. “Don’t worry about it. In my day, I’ve heard some pretty strange things. I doubt you can surprise me.”

  “Ok.” I took a deep breath and began to tell her about the Lovers' Garden. As I talked, I found a little hard kernel inside my chest melting slightly, and I shared more than I intended to.

  I saw her eyebrows rise when I mentioned that I possibly saw Grandma in the garden, but she let me go on uninterrupted until I finished my tale.

  “So, my question is,” I concluded, “how come Grandpa can’t see the garden all alive? And who is taking care of the plants? And just in general, what’s going on?” I paused. “I guess I have more than one question.”

  I sat back, fully expecting Ms. Matilda not to believe me, but hoping all the same.

  She took a moment to respond. I wasn’t sure if she believed me or not, but at least she appeared interested.

  “Sweetie, that is quite a story. I take it back – you have managed to surprise me.” She paused. “Let’s take the questions one at a time, shall we?”

  I nodded, relieved that she appeared to take me seriously.

  “First, I really don’t know who is caring for the garden. I wish I could help you there. But it isn’t me, and I’m not really sure who else in town would go to the trouble of tending someone else’s plants. Honestly, I don’t think many people even know of the existence of the Lovers' Garden. Your grandma liked to keep it hidden and special.”

  I must have looked disappointed, because she patted my shoulder. “Don’t be discouraged. Just because we don’t know yet doesn’t mean we’ll never know.

  “Now, as to why your grandpa can’t see the garden, that is strange. Very strange. I can only say this. People can be affected by grief very strongly and in different ways. Your grandfather might just need some more time to deal with his feelings.”

  “But he’s done enough of dealing with his feelings,” I said. “He needs to move on if he’s ever going to be happy again. He needs a new project or a new interest or something. Don’t you agree with me? After all, you went and bought a restaurant instead of retiring! You know all about trying new things!”

  “I do believe in trying new things,” said Ms. Matilda, “that’s true. But you can’t both run from your past and embrace your future. Yes, I bought a restaurant at a time when many people stop work for goo
d. But I was ready for the new adventure. No one forced it on me.

  “New challenges are wonderful, but only when you’re ready for them. Perhaps your grandpa just isn’t there yet.”

  I sat silently.

  “Now, for your third question. If you want my honest opinion –”

  “I do.”

  “I think that both of your previous questions are tied up in this. Someone’s taking care of the garden, but you don’t know who. Your grandfather can’t see it. And a little tiny part of you whispers, is something else going on? Something… supernatural?” She looked at me. “Am I right?”

  I felt a chill up my back at her words, but I nodded.

  “The thing you’ve got to remember about gardens is that, even in their most natural forms, they’re pretty magical. All that new life and growth and constant renewal. It’s a beautiful thing.

  “When you add in all the personal drama you’ve got – loss and grief and healing – well, I’m just not surprised that something out of the ordinary is going on. And it sounds to me as though your grandma has a hand in it.”

  “Do you really think so?” I asked. If I was being honest with myself, this was what I’d been thinking since I’d first glimpsed Grandma’s ghost in the garden. But to hear the idea spoken aloud by an adult made it feel all the stranger.

  “I do,” she said. “After all, love is what sustains in the end. Gardens, relationships, anything. And I think love’s got a great deal to do with what’s going on in the Lovers' Garden. Heck, it’s even in the name!” She smiled at me. “As you know, your grandma had a lot of love to share. Maybe she still does.”

  “Wow,” I said, sitting back. I didn’t know what to make of Ms. Matilda’s answer. It felt true, but I knew the second I shared it with another soul, I would sound insane.

  She looked as if she knew exactly what I was thinking. “I wish I could give you a clearer answer, honey, but I’m not sure there is one. Just give it time. These things have a way of working themselves out.”

  “These things?” I asked with a shaky laugh. “These magic garden things?”