Thinking of William and his sister, she walked back to the spot where she and William had talked that day. As she looked at the bench, she had the idea that it would be perfect for the little garden at the shelter. She would paint it first; or perhaps paint it with Zoe at the shelter.
As she meandered through the garden, she saw other items she could take to the shelter: a birdbath that would give some height and interest to the garden, two or three clay sculptures that could be tucked under some of the plants, maybe a birdhouse or two. Just a few small items would transform the little garden.
Her mind leapt in multiple directions, imagining Zoe and the other teens painting the bench, one of the other girls filling the birdbath. Or maybe she would teach them how to make some mosaic stepping stones, or one of the painted screens that they could use for the entryway at the shelter. Perhaps their lives were not unlike that of Kristina’s.
She just wished she could do more for William. But for now, she decided, walking back to the house, she would bake cookies for him – a small gesture of home that he could take with him.
Miranda returned to the house, and began mixing the batter, thinking of Ben and of how much she missed him. As she was spooning the dough onto a cookie sheet, the phone rang. She reached for it and saw that it was him.
“Ben! I’ve missed you so much! Where are you? When will you be home?”
“Maybe I should leave more often,” laughed Ben. “We’re heading to the ferry now. I’ll be home by evening.”
“I love you, Ben. I have so much to tell you. I miss you.”
“I miss you, too,” he said, his voice filled with warmth.
Miranda kissed the phone before she hung it up. She put the first batch of cookies into the oven, counting the hours until Ben would be home. She couldn’t wait to hold him tightly, and to feel the world settle back into place.
She had just taken out the last batch of cookies and set them on the counter to cool, when the doorbell rang. She looked up at the clock; it was too early for Paula and Derek to be back.
When she opened the front door, she was surprised to see a man and a woman standing there, with two little girls at their side.
Miranda looked at the woman more closely, and her whole body tingled. The woman was pretty, but had a sad, worn look about her; her resemblance to William was unmistakable.
The woman spoke in a soft, low voice. “I’m sorry to bother you. I’m not sure if I have the right address.” Her voice began to tremble, and the man beside her put his arm around her protectively, as if giving her courage.
“I’m Kristina Bergstrom. This is my husband, Pete. And our daughters.” She smiled down at the little girls. “I’m looking for someone named Johnny Priestly.”
“Oh, my God,” said Miranda, holding on to the door. “Please, come in. Come in. William will be back soon.”
Kristina hesitated, unsure of whether to follow. “I’m not sure I have the right person, but Pete said we should just go and find out.”
“Please, come inside,” Miranda said again, trying to remain steady, but she was shaking with sheer joy.
Kristina lifted her face to the barrel-chested man next to her.
“It’s all right, Honey,” he said. “Let’s just go in.” He smiled down at Miranda. “Thank you, ma’am.”
Miranda bent over to the little girls. “I just baked some cookies. Do you like chocolate chip?” She led them all into the kitchen and was just about to offer coffee when she heard a cry.
Kristina’s hands covered her mouth – she was staring at the doll on the shelf. She swayed dizzily and held onto her husband.
“Oh, my God, Pete. It is Johnny.” She walked slowly to the shelves. Her hand trembled as she reached up, and she wavered before taking the doll in her hands. Then she broke down.
Pete put his arms around her. He looked at Miranda and down at the girls, and then said quietly, “Sit down, Honey. I’ll take the kids outside.”
“The door to the deck is open,” Miranda said, pointing to the living room. Here,” she said, offering him a plate of cookies. “Take these. And there’s a swing down in the garden.”
The girls looked up at their mom with big worried eyes.
“Come on, girls,” Pete said. “Mommy needs to be alone for a minute.”
Kristina turned to her daughters and wiped her tears away. “It’s okay. Go with Daddy. I’ll be out in a little bit.”
Miranda poured a glass of water and set it in front of the woman, and then sat in the chair next to her.
“I don’t understand,” Kristina said. “Do you know Johnny? Is – does he live here?” She looked around, as if expecting him.
“He’s staying here as a guest. He came about a month ago.” Miranda clasped and unclasped her hands, unsure of how much she should say. “He – he’s told me a few things. He told me he came to Seattle to look for his sister.”
Kristina stared at the table, shaking her head. “Are you sure he’s coming back? When will he return?” Her eyes wandered around the table, and she kept bringing her hand to her mouth.
“I think he should be back in an hour or two.” She looked at the clock. “Maybe sooner.”
A shadow of worry filled Kristina’s eyes, and she glanced up again and again at the clock. Her voice trembled as she reached for a tissue from her purse. “It’s been so long. He may not – I don’t know if – ” She kept wiping at her eyes, and putting her fingers to her forehead, in disbelief.
“Let me make some coffee,” Miranda said. “Or would you prefer tea? Or – something stronger?”
Kristina now rested her eyes on Miranda, as if only now really seeing her. She took a deep breath and smiled. “You don’t even know me. And you’re being so kind. I would love some coffee. Thank you.”
While Miranda made the coffee, she saw that Kristina kept dabbing at her eyes, while gazing at the doll.
“I can’t believe he kept it all these years.” She looked up at Miranda. “Did he tell you – ”
Miranda turned and nodded sympathetically. “It came out after – it’s a long story. But, yes, he told me some of what happened.”
Kristina’s shoulders loosened, as if relieved that she didn’t have to explain anything.
They could hear the laughter of the girls and Pete from out on the deck. Kristina took a deep breath and her tension seemed to lessen. Little by little, over their coffee, Kristina told Miranda pieces of her past.
“I wanted to find Johnny. I knew he had looked for me when…” She let her words drift off, and gazed down at her hands, into the past. “There was a time I didn’t want him to find me. I didn’t want him to know what…” She struggled with her words, starting and stopping many times. “It was Pete who started the search this time.”
“This time?” asked Miranda.
“I tried to locate him many years ago. But I couldn’t find out anything. His caretaker, an elderly relative, had died, and he got moved around. But no one seemed to know where he was. I – I didn’t know who to turn to. Out of desperation, I contacted – our stepfather.” Tears shot to her eyes, and she looked up at Miranda in fresh outrage. “He told me that Johnny had died. And he told it in such cruel detail that I believed him.” She looked down, and after several moments she spoke almost in a whisper. “I shut down after that. For a long time.”
It took her several moments before she could continue. Then she sat up taller, and took a deep breath, as if shifting from wounded girl to the woman she was now. “It wasn’t until I met Pete that I – that I got better, that I began to believe in some kind of a future.
“Our – stepfather – died recently. Until then, I was always afraid. I was afraid he would find my girls. He was a – a sick man.” Her face filled with revulsion at the memory of him.
“When Pete first tried to find out what happened to Johnny, it became clear that someone was looking for me, online. I thought it was him – my stepfather. So I avoided those sites, afraid he would be able to track me d
own.”
As if still surprised at the news, she looked up. “Then one day, Pete told me that he had died. He was furious that he didn’t get a chance to hurt the bastard before he died. I read the obituary in disbelief. I thought he would always be there – a dark shadow always right behind me. I was afraid it was a trick, and I waited, making sure he was really dead.
“Then slowly, Pete began responding to some postings on different sites. And that’s how we found out that Johnny was alive, and that he was here. I was stunned. I still can’t believe it’s true.”
The sounds of laughter pulled her gaze out to the deck. “Pete’s been so supportive. All along.” She swallowed, and Miranda followed her eyes to where Pete was sitting with the girls on the deck, making them laugh with some story, then saying, “Let’s find that swing.”
Kristina’s eyes filled with love as she beheld her family. “I never thought I would have so much. Be so happy. And now, to know that Johnny is still alive, and has been searching for me.” She looked down at the doll again, as if to confirm that it was all true.
They heard a car pull up outside, and a car door open.
Kristina stood up, clutching the doll. “Oh, God.” She placed one hand on her stomach and steadied herself against the table.
Miranda gave her a reassuring smile, and then went to open the front door.
William got out of the car, and walked towards the house. He forced a smile, and shook his head. “Another false lead.”
The laughter of the girls and Pete came from the garden, and William suddenly noticed the other parked car. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know you had company. I just wanted to let you know that I’ll be leaving in the morning – ”
Miranda put a hand on his arm. “William – there’s someone here for you.”
He stared at her, trying to read her expression.
Miranda walked inside, and into the kitchen.
William remained rooted, then tentatively followed her in. When he reached the kitchen, he stopped. Before him stood his sister, clutching her old doll.
He stared, not quite believing. “Kristy?”
“Hello, Johnny,” she said timidly.
He rushed to embrace her, as they both broke down.
Miranda left them together, and joined Pete and the girls out in the garden.
Chapter 12
In the garden house, Miranda stood in front of the latest of her floral wooden screens. Ben had widened the window over the summer, and the increase in light had inspired her to finally complete the screen she had begun years ago. And the completion of that project had triggered a burst of creative energy that had not diminished.
She had spent the afternoon working on the screen. Now, with a paintbrush in her hand, she studied the composition before her. She added a few dabs of green, a final highlight of gold, and then decided that it was finished. A coat of varnish, and this one would be ready for Paula’s shop. She almost hated to part with it, she was so pleased with the way it had turned out. But she wanted to send it out into the world, a little part of herself, of her vision, that might bring pleasure to someone else.
Besides, she had several ideas for others that she wanted to get started on. Paula had sold three screens so far and was waiting for more. Miranda had also finished the mosaic mirror, adding bits of blue and green sea glass, and had made a gift of it to Paula as a thank you for all the encouragement she had given. It now hung in her new store, like a burst of blossoms forming the heart of the shop.
Paula had surprised Miranda with the suggestion that she teach classes. Several customers had expressed an interest in learning how to make the screens and mosaics, and the small floral paintings that were so popular.
It was a possibility Miranda had never considered, but one that filled her with excitement. She imagined holding a class in the garden house – a dynamic day of instruction that would include lunch, and finish up with tea in the garden. Maybe she could team up with other artists – maybe she would seek out the artist woman with the swimming pool. Maybe Zoe could be a part of it somehow. Life was opening up to her, in a thousand possibilities.
Miranda cleaned her brushes and finished up for the day. She gave a final satisfied look at the screen, and closed the garden house door.
A cool, misty rain had pervaded most of the day, but now, as she made her way up the flagstone steps to the house, she saw that it had dissipated. The sun shone on the garden, thick with late summer flowers and early autumn blooms.
Inside the kitchen, Miranda turned on the tea kettle and reached for a cup. The summer’s cloud of confusion and doubt had vanished and she could think clearly once again.
Everything was as it should be. Michael and Clara were coming home for a long weekend. William had gone back East after spending every day of the summer with Kristina and her family, and he had decided to relocate to Seattle after the fall semester.
Ever mysterious, William had surprised Miranda one last time before leaving. She and Ben had planned a farewell cook-out for him, and invited Kristina and her family, Paula and Derek, and Nicole and her family; and William had asked if he could bring someone. In answer to her questioning eyes, he had laughed and said simply, “Edmonds. I showed up at the wrong address that day, and I happened to meet an incredible woman.”
Miranda made herself a cup of tea and took it into the living room. She turned on the lamp, and curled up in the window seat overlooking the garden. Outside lay a world intensified by the earlier rain – the greens deeper, the soil darker, the flowers brighter.
She took a sip of tea and let her gaze fall over the living room, deriving a deep pleasure from her home. On the mantel stood her Moroccan enameled pottery. A soft glow from the fringed lamp fell on the velvet brocade of the overstuffed chairs. A few vases of russet and purple chrysanthemums sat on the coffee table and among the bookshelves. This feeling of well-being, of being surrounded by love and beauty and family is what mattered most to her. And letting her life intersect with others, like William and Kristina. Like Zoe.
A smile crossed her lips as she thought of William. She still found it hard to believe that she had ever doubted him. It was impossible now to think of him as anything other than the kind, gentle soul she knew him to be.
She sipped at her tea, wondering how she could have been so wrong about so much. Wrong about his character and what he was up to. Wrong about any significance in the name Jasper, other than it being a name associated with a dog and a pool. All the disparate threads of missing the kids, turning fifty, and going to the shelter, had become tangled up with childhood memories, and dream images, and tension with Ben – resulting in a cloudy vision.
And yet, as William had told her, she had been right about much. He said it was as if she had stepped back in time, and helped that child who was trapped and afraid and in need of protection. And that now, as a man, he was finally becoming whole, happy, healed – and eager to embrace her belief that it was never too late to create a place called home.
It was never too late.
Miranda set her teacup down with the sudden realization that she hadn’t been true to her own convictions. And the thing she had been most wrong about was the insidious, slow-creeping belief that the best years were behind her.
She sat up straight. That’s not the way it was going to be. Time had not buried her old self. It was still there, more alive than ever. The summer had served to galvanize her desires and focus her vision.
She would get back in touch with that earlier, excited, hopeful part of herself – the one that painted medieval landscapes, and threw clay, and dressed in Bohemian skirts. She would merge that old self with the way she was now – with her gardening, and experimental cooking, and magical nights with Ben.
Miranda jumped up and decided to make it happen. Now. Today. And every day.
In one of those moments of euphoria that sometimes overtook her, she flashed on a vision of how this night of today would be.
Barefoot, she walked outside
into the garden where the late afternoon sunlight cast everything in a soft golden glow. She began taking cuttings – bunches of roses and dahlias and hydrangeas, tall stems of phlox and foxglove, smaller chrysanthemums and asters. Then she cut branches from the laurel and curly willow, and gathered trails of ivy.
Filling her arms and basket, Miranda carried the flowers and greenery into the house, and spread them out on the kitchen table. Then she began arranging the flowers in vases and jars, and floating them in glasses and bowls. She set the containers all around the house: slender bud flutes and cut crystal vases on the shelves and counters, larger earthenware jars with tall branches and flowers on the floor. Small bouquets lined the stairs, fuller arrangements surrounded the entry. Throughout the rooms, the beauty of the garden bloomed.
*
When Ben came home from work that night, he noticed red and pink rose petals strewn along the sidewalk leading to the house. When he opened the front door, he was greeted with strains of exotic music and the aroma of freshly chopped parsley and garlic and lemon and spices. From the entryway, he saw that the dining room table was beautifully set with flickering candles and flowers and a spread of dishes.
He set his briefcase down and walked towards the kitchen. More candles and vases of flowers lined the hallway, filled the counters, and reflected against the mirrors.
“Miranda?” he called out, walking into the kitchen.
Miranda wore one of her beloved old skirts, its sequins glittering in the candlelight as she moved about. Her hair was loosely swept up, with a pink rose tucked behind her ear. Her bare arms showed toned and tanned from the summer, as she poured out two glasses of champagne.
“Hello, my husband!” she said, giving him a full kiss on the mouth and handing him a glass.
Ben laughed and looked all around him. “What’s all this? On a weeknight?”
Miranda briefly took in the table, the candles, and the profusion of flowers, and considered what to call it. “It’s a celebration!”
“What are we celebrating?”
“Everything!” She raised her glass. “To life. To the kids coming home this weekend. To still being madly in love with you. To not knowing what’s up ahead. To – ”
The Garden House Page 13
