by Arlene James
He clapped a hand to the back of his neck and looked around him. He hadn’t reached out to God in years, but Coraline and the mayor, Joe Sheridan, the Garmans and so many others had unashamedly hit their knees and asked for God’s help in this time of trouble. And just look what had come of it.
An anonymous benefactor had stepped forward; as a result, downtown Bygones had transformed into a thing of beauty. The place hadn’t looked this alive even when Randall’s had been in operation. Main Street literally bustled these days. Oh, it didn’t make up for Randall’s closing, but it helped. It did. The community garden had helped, too, and what Lily had done this evening had helped. And they were just getting started!
Tate nodded and put his back to the painted brick beside the door. “Okay, God,” he said. “Okay.”
He still didn’t get why Eve had to die, especially like that. Maybe he never would understand why that had to be. But he had to admit that, as Lily had said, sometimes things just worked out the way they should. That couldn’t always be an accident, not when good people like her took the time to pray about them, not when folks pulled together and kept the faith, did kind things for one another and refused to quit. Maybe it was time he got over his loss, focused on his blessings, worked for—and expected—the best and took a few chances. Just look at what shy, retiring Lily had done, after all, bucking her whole family and moving halfway across the country to take a chance on a new home and an old dream. All in the hope of being noticed.
Well, he had noticed. Despite himself, despite his past, despite everything. And now he wanted her. He shouldn’t, but he did.
Maybe, if things worked out between them, she would be as glad as he to forego a pregnancy. Not every woman felt the need to give birth to a child. She might be one of those women who liked kids and not babies or was willing to adopt or… He didn’t dare hope for it. He didn’t dare. But how did he not?
Chapter Eleven
The bike that Lily rode to the community garden on Friday morning was lavender in color. Knowing that she wouldn’t sleep for thinking of that kiss, she’d stayed up Thursday evening to sand and paint the frame and fenders in the back of her shop, using cardboard to shield those parts that should remain unpainted. That morning before she’d left, she’d affixed a half-moon wicker hamper between the handlebars. She’d found the hamper at the This ‘N’ That and had thought to use it in a floral arrangement, but it worked perfectly as a basket for a lavender bicycle. She was a happy cyclist when she arrived just after dawn in tennis shoes, shorts and a snug T-shirt, her ponytail set off by the visor Tate had given her nearly a week earlier. Tate and several others were already on-site, including Josh Smith in his Cozy Cup Cafe van.
Kenneth met her with the news that he’d brought several small pots of herbs for her to sell at the flower shop. While she loaded these into her hamper, they discussed the possibility of his building strawberry wagons for her to sell. When that conversation concluded, she turned to find Tate ready with coffee and breakfast pastries for them to share.
“Josh says they’re day-old,” he reported, flicking crumbs from his shirt, “but they taste great to me.”
Lily tried not to blush as she met his gaze, but she couldn’t help it. No one had ever kissed her the way he had kissed her last night, as if she was Eve to his Adam. But then, he’d already had his Eve, and he’d told Lily in no uncertain terms that he didn’t want another, so she would be foolish, indeed, to get her hopes up over a few kind words, a single dinner alone and a few expressions of affection. Tate was not the sort to lead a girl on or take advantage of her; it was much more likely that he’d felt sorry for her after her ill-advised confession on the trip back into town. She’d as good as told him that she’d never been kissed, not really kissed, anyway.
Besides, even if Tate should feel some real fondness for her, that didn’t mean he was thinking about marriage, which brought other issues to mind. For one thing, he’d stated quite firmly that he wanted no more children and wouldn’t go through another pregnancy. That was fine for him. He had Isabella, who was as adorable as could be, but Lily didn’t think she could marry and not have a child of her own. She’d left Boston less because her sister had married a man she’d liked than because of her sister’s stated intention to start a family right away. No, Lily didn’t think she could give up the idea of a baby of her own, not even for Tate.
For another thing, she couldn’t accept the idea of a Tate who didn’t attend church and nursed a grudge against God. That, more than anything else, grieved her.
She took the coffee and pastry, trying not to think of anything else.
“Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me. Thank Josh Smith. And Melissa Sweeney.”
They took a few moments to eat. Tate looked over her bike and pronounced it “sweet,” grinning at the color and flipping the lid on the basket, mindful of the potted herbs inside.
“You never fail to amaze, Lily,” he told her. She couldn’t help wondering what that meant. Draining his coffee, he crumpled the cup and tossed it into the litter barrel nearby. Shaking his head, he muttered, “Lawyer,” as he walked toward the garden.
She hurried to toss her half-eaten pastry and near-empty cup, catching up with him inside the fence. “What exactly do you mean by that?”
“You’re too creative, kind-hearted and gentle to successfully practice law.”
“That’s a nice way of putting it,” she returned wryly.
“Just the truth,” Tate said.
The truth was that she’d been a terrible lawyer. Her brother-in-law, before he was her brother-in-law, had once told her, after reviewing one of her briefs, that it was one thing to see both viewpoints in a lawsuit and another to sympathize too closely with both sides. He’d suggested, with some exasperation, that she might have a future in arbitration, but she hated confrontation too much to consider a career as a mediator.
Lily got busy. Danny and his friend Matt Garman seemed to make a point of working alongside her. Danny proved quite knowledgeable about the plants. Matt proved equally as well informed about the school.
“The teachers are all expecting layoff notices by the end of the first semester,” he told her during the course of their conversation.
“That’s awful,” Lily said.
“We can still turn it around,” Coraline insisted from two rows over. “We’re planning fund-raisers, and if our tax base improves just a bit, we’ll be okay.”
“What about the police department, though?” Lily asked, straightening. “I heard they were worried about layoffs, too.”
“More layoffs, you mean,” someone said. “They’ve already cut to the bone.”
“Yeah, and the Fire Department is all volunteer now,” someone else said.
“Even the ambulance is staffed by volunteers from the clinic,” Tate revealed.
“Man, Randall’s plant closing down really hacked the heart out of this town,” Kenneth muttered.
“No,” Pastor Garman insisted, rising from a stooped position. “No, the heart of Bygones is strong. Look around you. This garden is evidence of that.”
Murmurs of agreement went around the plot.
“The real trouble started when Randall’s wife divorced him,” someone said.
They all glanced around guiltily at that, as it smacked too much of gossip. Yet Lily sensed truth in the statement.
Wendy Garman sighed and said, “Divorce is a terrible thing, no matter how bad the marriage, but Hugh is right. The heart of Bygones is strong and vital. What we’ve done here, what the SOS Committee has done, what the newcomers have brought to us is all proof of that.”
“I agree,” Lily said, shaking off her work gloves.
Tate did the same and reached over to take her hand in his. “Me, too.”
Coraline stripped off her gloves and grasped Tate’s free hand. “Same here.”
One by one the workers gathered around, linking hands there in the light of the rising sun, their feet planted a
mong the rows and hillocks of the garden that the community had come together to make. Hugh Garman cleared his throat.
“Let us lay our hearts before God,” he said quietly, bowing his head.
Lily watched as everyone present followed suit, including, after the slightest of hesitations, Tate. Lily felt rather than heard his gulp, and his hand tightened almost painfully on hers, but he joined the others as Hugh led the group in spontaneous prayer for their community. Hugh was brief but eloquent, asking for God’s will to be done, for wisdom and guidance and blessing, for love and kindness to abound, for needs to be met and for their beloved little town to be saved if at all possible, before closing in the name of Christ Jesus. Amens wafted softly upon the morning air, and a sense of peace settled upon the garden.
Coraline gave Lily a beaming smile and hugged Tate, who seemed uncomfortable. Others also embraced. As Lily and Tate returned to work, Josh Smith came and pulled Coraline aside. Lily heard him ask if anything could be done about reopening the Randall plant. They went off to talk about it. If Tate seemed a bit troubled and withdrawn, Lily told herself that it was understandable.
To her mind, he fought a battle on two fronts now. He fought for Bygones and for his own spiritual health. She wasn’t sure that he realized it yet, but she knew it and so did Coraline. She suspected that on some instinctive level even Isabella knew, and Lily suspected that God had used the crisis in Bygones to reach Tate, to show Tate that He was still active in the lives of His children. Lily prayed that, whatever happened, God wouldn’t let Tate leave the field of battle until his personal war was won. She told herself that she would be happy with that. She just had to remember that Tate was not for her, no matter what her silly heart might say.
Now all she had to do was get through a birthday party without making a complete fool of herself over the man.
* * *
The hamster escaped midway into the party. One might think that an orange hamster in a miniature lime-green tutu would be easy to spot, even if it could nestle comfortably in the palm of an adult hand, but the dress-up box had been overturned and the girls had strewn boas, scarves and lacy shawls in all directions while outfitting themselves for tea. They loved playing dress-up, especially as they were allowed to put on play makeup and paint their nails, or rather, have their nails painted.
Lily did the actual painting, while Tate did his best to apply the teensy nail appliques, peeling them from their paper backing with tweezers and placing them carefully on tiny wet fingernails. Often the fingers growing those nails were weighted with costume jewelry, enormous rings made of cheap paste and brilliant colors. The girls giggled, gestured wildly, called each other “dahling” while waiting for their nails to dry, and neglected the hamster because its silky fur stuck to their wet nail polish all too easily, hence the ease of its disappearance.
Ginny took advantage of the crisis to insist that the girls clean up the mess they’d left behind them. Ten little girls in elaborate dress, toy high heels and party crowns, scurrying about and tossing leftover bits and baubles into, or at, a box, was as near complete chaos as Lily ever hoped to experience. Tate stood in the midst of it all, obviously afraid to move for fear of squashing something or someone, while Isabella choked back tears and repeatedly called, “Spunky!” as if the hamster would come to her.
Peter Bronson spied the little fellow, burrowing between the tan leather sofa cushions. In the short time that the small rodent had been missing, he had managed to chew a hole in a throw pillow and gnaw on the wood handle of a purse from the dress-up box. Tate consigned him to the safety of his habitat, which had taken pride of place on the coffee table in the living room. A relieved Ginny herded the girls into the dining room, where she had laid a lacy table with plastic dishes and a pretty bowl of floating roses, courtesy of Lily.
The girls could hardly wait to enjoy the luscious “cake” fashioned by the Sweet Dreams Bakery. Created of petit fours iced in pink-and-yellow fondant and decorated with delicate white flowers and elaborate letters, the individual cakes were placed in a checkerboard pattern that spelled out, Happy Eighth Birthday, Isabella! Tate lit the candles and everyone sang before Isabella blew out the candles in one great puff of breath, but then she asked to have them lit again so she could make a second wish. Tate shrugged and lit the candles again.
Isabella closed her eyes tight and blew out the candles once more. Everyone applauded. Ginny shook her head and began serving tiny sandwiches and cups of “punch tea,” while Lily scooped ice cream and separated the little cakes onto plates. After a very giggly meal, Lily read a picture book about a tea party to the girls in Isabella’s bedroom while Tate and Ginny set up several games in the living room and Peter started cleaning up after the tea party.
By the time the games were done, the girls had, of necessity, divested themselves of their costumes. Peter dutifully packed away the dress-up box, while Ginny put out small bags filled with party favors. Then they all sat down as Isabella opened her gifts. They were, as Tate had hoped, simple items having to do with the hamster: balls and wheels and a funny little swing, a mirror so Spunky could keep himself company, a hamster hat and hamster shoes and, best of all, a book about hamsters.
Isabella declared it “the best of all birthday parties ever.”
The girls’ parents proved prompt in picking them up, which was a good thing, as Peter seemed to have reached the end of his endurance.
“I am going home to take a nap,” he announced, getting up off the sofa. He hugged his granddaughter and trudged out of the room.
“Lily,” Ginny said, “I don’t know what we would have done without you today.”
“Oh, that’s kind of you, ma’am. I enjoyed myself.”
“Not as much as Isabella enjoyed you.” She kissed Tate’s cheek, hugged Isabella and followed her husband out.
“She’s right,” Tate said. “You were a huge help. Thank you.”
“Thank you, Lily,” Isabella echoed, hugging her.
“My pleasure entirely. By the way, I haven’t given you my gift, yet.”
Isabella drew back, her penciled eyebrows aloft. “Oh, boy, another gift!”
“It may not be what you’re expecting,” Lily said, moving around behind the easy chair where she’d stowed the gift bag. She brought the big pink bag forward and handed over a card that she’d bought at the grocery store. The card had a drawing of roses on the front but no verse inside, so Lily had hand-printed, “Roses for a little beauty. Happy birthday, Isabella. Love, Lily.”
Isabella read the card aloud then delved into the bag and brought out a dark green plastic pot filled with dirt and several thorny sticks supporting tight green pods. Clearly puzzled, she blinked at Lily, who chuckled.
“It’s a rosebush. It will have pink roses. Those are the buds.”
Isabella gasped. “It’ll grow roses?”
“That’s right. Lots of them, or so Kenneth says. It’s not the very best time of the year to plant them, but I brought special soil and feed, and he says that if we follow the directions, this type should make lots and lots of roses by next spring. There’s a little booklet in the bag telling all about it.”
Isabella eagerly dug into the bag again and sat with Lily to go through the booklet, poring over the photos and directions.
“Will there be butterflies?” she asked breathlessly. “This photo shows butterflies.”
“I suppose the blossoms will draw butterflies.”
“Oh, I hope there’ll be jillions of butterflies!”
Lily laughed. “That would be fun, wouldn’t it?”
“It was one of my wishes,” Isabella confessed softly. “I wished for butterflies.”
Lily exchanged looks with Tate, who said, “I’ll get a shovel and watering can. Why don’t you let Lily help you wash your face and hands and meet me out back?”
Because the potting soil and plant food were in the bed of Tate’s truck, that seemed like a good plan. He went out to the garage. Lily helped Isabella sc
rub off the play makeup and birthday cake, then they carried the rosebush and the booklet out the back door. Tate was ready with the shovel, having placed the watering can on the stoop.
“Let’s take a look around,” he said, “and decide where you want to plant your rosebush.”
“I already know where I want to plant it,” Isabella announced. “Where I want the butterflies. At Mama’s place.”
Lily watched Tate’s face drain of color and expression.
“Please, Daddy!” Isabella pleaded. “The flowers we leave there always die, and other people plant things, don’t they?” He nodded jerkily. “Mama would see them when she looks down from Heaven,” Isabella went on, “all the roses and the butterflies. She would like that, wouldn’t she? Pink roses and butterflies?”
This wasn’t at all what Lily had intended, but she couldn’t very well intervene. The plan all along had been to allow Isabella to choose an appropriate spot for the rosebush. The last thing Lily wanted to do was remind Tate of his loss, but what spot could be more appropriate for Lily’s rosebush than her mother’s grave? All Lily could do was look away from the naked pain on Tate’s face. He gulped and cleared his throat.
“Yes,” he said thickly, “your mother would like that. Very much.”
Isabella let out a happy sigh. “That was my first wish, butterflies for Mama.” She grabbed Lily’s hand. “Thank you, Lily. You gave me my wish!”
Lily managed a smile, but she could barely glance at Tate.
“You, uh, mind helping us do this?” he asked her. “Then I’ll take you home.”
Lily squeaked out, “I don’t mind.”
“Let’s load up,” he said tersely, snatching up the watering can.
Lily walked Isabella into the garage and helped her climb into the backseat of the truck. While Tate stowed the shovel and watering can in the bed of the pickup alongside the bags of potting soil and plant food, Lily belted Isabella into her seat and then did the same for herself. Isabella insisted on holding the rosebush in her lap. Tate slid behind the steering wheel, started the truck and backed it out of the garage.
