Chapter 25
Nora dreaded the approach of Easter.
Ever since Anne-Lynn had telephoned and said she was “opening Leota’s garden for a party to celebrate the Resurrection,” Nora had felt sick with apprehension. She didn’t know if she could stand to go back into that house and be surrounded by memories of her mother. Yet, there was no way to decline Anne-Lynn’s invitation without hurting her daughter deeply and risking estrangement. She couldn’t risk losing Anne-Lynn again. They were just beginning to talk, really talk, as mother and daughter.
Since her mother had passed away, Nora had felt her life crumbling from the inside. Besides the heavy burden of guilt over how she had treated her mother for so many years was the added shame of finding out she was related to those who had taken part in exterminating Jews and Christians during World War II. The more she thought about it, the more she shrank inwardly . . . and the more empathy she felt with her father and mother.
What would people think of me if they knew? She couldn’t even talk about it with Fred. When he suggested grief counseling, Nora said absolutely not. She would never be able to call Pastor Burnie and ask for his help. She had said terrible things to him that day she had sought his counsel. Perhaps if she apologized . . . but why would he listen? It seemed every way she turned, she saw people she had hurt. She needed to make amends, but she was so afraid no one would give her the chance. Or, even if they did, they wouldn’t believe she was sincere.
How many loved ones have I lost over the years because I thought I had all the answers? Bryan Taggart, Dean Gardner, Michael. It’s a miracle I haven’t lost Fred. I don’t want to risk losing Anne-Lynn. Oh, Lord, seal my lips. Keep me still. I’m so afraid of ending up alone the way my mother was. I did abandon her. I wanted to hurt her the way I was hurt. And I did hurt her. I hurt her over and over again, year after year, right up to the very last day of her life.
How many Mother’s Days had passed without Nora so much as calling her mother and asking her how she was? She remembered the times her mother had called and Nora hadn’t even tried to hide that she couldn’t wait to get off the line. So many times Nora could have included her mother in family dinners and at the children’s birthday parties.
I remember things Mother said to me that filled me with anger and resentment. And now I realize she was trying to tell me something important, and I wouldn’t listen. I had no idea of the burdens she carried, nor was I willing to find out. I was too busy living life my way.
Would she one day have a grandchild like Annie, who would love her no matter what she’d done? I thought I knew more than everyone else. . . . I thought I knew everything about my mother. Why was it so easy to think the worst of her? Why couldn’t I have just once swallowed my pride and listened to her side? Oh, why didn’t I go back to the hospital that night? . . .
She’d already lost Michael. Jesus, please, don’t let me drive Anne-Lynn away again.
Nora felt as though she were locked in an elevator going down into a dark hole. There was no escaping. Fred insisted she see the doctor, but when she was given a prescription slip for Prozac, she refused to fill it. She knew the cause of her despair, and it had nothing to do with a chemical imbalance in her body. It had everything to do with guilt and shame. Why should she be spared pain when she had caused so much?
Oh, Mama, maybe if I’d had a month with you to talk everything over . . . A week would’ve meant so much. Even one more day. Oh, God, I would’ve been glad for five minutes to tell her I’m sorry and ask for her forgiveness. But that’ll never happen now. You’re punishing me for all the years I neglected my mother, for all the years I despised her and made no secret of it. I allowed bitterness to blind me. I allowed it to choke out every chance of a relationship with her. No wonder she could never say she loved me. How could she when I treated her so abominably?
Fred had finally become impatient with her last night. He said it seemed all the energy she had expended trying to shape Anne-Lynn’s life to her specifications was now focused on torturing herself. “You’ve become prosecutor, judge, jury, and prison warden all rolled into one,” he’d said in exasperation.
Maybe so, but wasn’t it only fair?
“Annie’s been working hard to make this a special Easter for everyone. If you go over there and mope around the entire day, looking like death warmed over, you’re going to ruin her party. One of these days, you’re going to have to stop playing God!”
Shaken, she made up her mind. She would pretend for Anne-Lynn’s sake that she was joyous about the religious significance of Easter. But to do that, she needed to look her best. She needed to smile as though she meant it, whether she felt like it or not. So she had a massage and a facial. She went to her hairdresser and her manicurist. Fred had suggested she shop for a new spring dress, but she didn’t feel up to that. Besides, she had a closet full of clothes from which to choose. She could give away half of what she owned and not miss anything. Clothing used to matter so much to her. She had been so ashamed of her family’s poverty, so determined to show she was as good as everyone else—
No, that wasn’t right. The truth was, she wanted to show she was better.
I covered up my shame with pride. That’s what I did. Isn’t it, Lord? Like naked Eve putting on those fig leaves. I’ve been hiding.
Easter morning, Nora stood in her dressing room, looking through her clothes. She felt like wearing black, but knew Anne-Lynn would hope for something that announced spring and the Resurrection. She finally chose white slacks and a candy-pink blouse with pearl buttons. She topped the outfit off with a mint-green blazer and long scarf in pastel yellow, pink, and green. She wore a circle of gold leaves with pearl buds on the lapel. Looking at herself in the full-length mirror, she was satisfied with the overall effect. She looked fine—more than fine even.
Fred approved. His eyes glowed as she came down the stairs. He kissed her when she reached the bottom. “Perfect. You look beautiful.”
The word cut her heart deeply. Perfect. Was that at the root of her troubles? Hadn’t that always been her goal? Perfection in everything. She had to look perfect, be perfect, have perfect children. What a mess she had made of everything in her constant striving for perfection!
I am a sham. All through church, Nora kept thinking about her childhood and all the ways she had tried to be better than everyone. Grandma Helene had expected perfection, but Nora knew it was unfair to cast blame on her grandmother. Grandma Helene had been miserable, and she had made everyone around her miserable.
Just as I have done. Grandpa Reinhardt sat on a bench, but my husbands ran away. I swore I wouldn’t become like my grandmother, and that’s exactly what I became. Hard, determined to have my way, punitive when I didn’t, bitter with life, grasping for control, manipulating. I don’t want to be like that anymore. Oh, God, I don’t, but how do I change? Oh, Lord, I don’t know what to do anymore. Help me, oh, please, help me!
After the service, Fred talked with the pastor while she went to the ladies’ room. Pastor Burnie smiled at her when she returned. He even extended his hand and said he was pleased to see her in church again. She said she was glad to be back. Then she gathered her courage and said, “I’m sorry, Pastor Burnie. I behaved badly.”
He didn’t let go of her hand, but put his other over hers. “All is forgiven.”
“I’ll listen next time.”
She and Fred didn’t say anything on the way through the hills to Oakland. Fred turned on a CD, filling the car with soothing, orchestral sounds. Her stomach was a hard knot. Fred seemed preoccupied. Was he worried she would say or do something that would cause trouble?
“It’s a perfect day for a party,” he said when they took the Fruitvale Avenue off-ramp.
Blue skies and sunshine. Yes, it was a perfect day for a garden party.
Oh, God, help me get through it. Help me! Help me!
Fred drove up the road next to the freeway and took a right. At the top of the hill, at the head of Annie’s street, was a new Neighborhood Watch sign. Nora wondered if it was her imagination, but the houses along the avenue looked neater. Lawns were mowed, and there was no litter blowing around. The bars on the windows had been removed from the home across the street from her mother’s house.
No, Anne-Lynn’s house, she corrected herself. Perhaps, if she thought of it that way, it would be more bearable.
Corban Solsek’s car was parked in front. There were cars lined up in Annie’s driveway: hers, Susan Carter’s old VW, and an old Firebird. Annie was going to have a full house.
The house!
Nora stared. Gone were the black water stains, the dangling rain gutters, the paint-chipped eaves. The house was a freshly painted candy pink with white trim. It had a new roof, and the small lawn was lush green, mowed short and edged. The flowering plum was in full, pale-pink splendor. The trimmed and shaped camellia and azalea bushes in front were covered with pink and white blossoms. Hanging pots on the front porch overflowed hot-pink and purple fuchsias. Even the white picket fence that lined the right side of the driveway was repaired and freshly painted, along with the carport and garage.
“Annie’s been busy.” Fred smiled at Nora as he opened her car door and helped her out.
“It looks wonderful.” Nora could scarcely take in the transformation. Flowerpots filled with pink and white geraniums were on each step. Two white wicker chairs sat on the front porch, a small wicker table between them, on which sat half a dozen clay pots with tree saplings. Each pot had a white ribbon tied around it.
The front door was open, the screen unlocked. A little card that read Come in! had been taped over the doorbell.
The living room was empty except for Barnaby sitting on his perch. “Whatcha gonna do?” he said, bobbing his head. “Whatcha gonna do?”
Contemporary Christian music played quietly on the radio beside Leota’s old recliner. The carpets had been cleaned, the furniture polished. There was a new painting above the mantel—a portrait of Leota as a young woman. Nora drew in her breath softly and held it, her throat aching. She remembered her mother looking like that. She had been beautiful.
On the right side of the mantel was an elegant marble-and-brass vase filled with lilacs and narcissus. The room was filled with sweet fragrance.
Nora glanced at Fred and nodded, then caught her breath when she looked through the kitchen window to the garden beyond. It was like a wonderland of colors. Memories flooded back, and for a moment she thought the wave of sorrow would overtake her. Then other concerns rushed to replace them. I have to smile for Anne-Lynn.
She saw other guests in the garden. Corban Solsek, Sam Carter, Susan Carter and her parents, Arba Wilson, Juanita Alcala and Lin Sansan and their children. They all had reason to think ill of her. Hadn’t she always thought the worst of them? She had to gather all her courage to follow Fred out the back door and face them.
“Mom! Fred!” Anne-Lynn said and came to greet them. Nora had never seen her daughter look more beautiful, though she was wearing old, faded blue jeans and a pale-yellow sweater that had seen better days. Her hair was a wild mass of red-blonde curls, and her cheeks glowed with color. She had been out in the sun and had a golden tan. Her blue eyes shone with joy. “Oh, Mom, you look so beautiful,” she said, and for just a moment, seeing her daughter’s expression of pure love, Nora felt beautiful and cherished.
She and Fred greeted others and made small talk. Everyone was friendly, smiling and welcoming her and Fred. Anne-Lynn served her a tall glass of fruit punch and went inside the house to bring out more trays of food.
Nora couldn’t get over the garden. She had never seen it look so beautiful, so fully in bloom. And the funny things Annie had thought to tuck in here and there made her smile. Who would’ve thought of using bowling balls in a garden? An old, red Flyer wagon was filled with beribboned saplings in pots.
“They’re from the apricot tree,” Annie informed her, following her mother’s gaze as she came up with the food tray. “There’s one for everyone to take home and plant.”
“It’s a lovely idea.” And she meant it. Annie’s smile was pure delight.
Nora saw Fred deep in conversation with Tom Carter. The telephone rang and Annie hurried into the house, leaving Nora on her own to wander.
The garage and apartment built at the back were painted to match the house. Shutters had been added and tole-painted with exquisite flower designs. The door was open. Nora peered in and saw several of the children playing a board game on the braided rag rug. Anne-Lynn had been hard at work here, too. The apartment had been repainted a sunny yellow, with brightly colored border designs. Gone were the old bed and couch—they’d been replaced by shelves laden with books and games and art supplies. The only other furnishings were two card tables, one with a half-finished puzzle, the other with coloring books, a can of crayons, and a plastic bag of clay. The walls were decorated with childish works of art. There were two easels. One was two-sided with paint-tray holders so that a child could paint on each side. The other was Annie’s.
The brick walkway had been swept and repaired with mortar. Nora’s mother’s old gardening clogs were by the gate, violets planted in them. Red blaze roses covered the old fence and arbor. The scent was heady. The gate was open to the victory garden. How many hours had her mother spent working the soil, planting, tending, harvesting? Nora remembered now how neighbors had exchanged vegetables with her mother. The lady next door had traded green beans for pearl onions, and zucchini for tomatoes. Now beneath the blossom-covered fruit trees were yellow daffodils, red tulips, grape hyacinths, and white narcissus rising from a sea of tiny indigo-blue starflowers and foam-white alyssum. Nora had never seen anything so beautiful.
Maryann Carter came and stood next to her beneath the rose arbor. “Amazing, isn’t it? The minute I saw it, I thought this must be what it was like in the Garden of Eden.”
“Yes.” Nora’s throat was tight.
“It smells like heaven, doesn’t it?”
“Yes,” Nora said, inhaling the mingled scents of roses, lilacs, white narcissus, honeysuckle, and gardenias. “I was a fool when I said Annie could never be an artist.”
Maryann smiled. “People can be like Monet paintings. You have to get some distance before you can see what they are and appreciate their full beauty.”
Touched by her kindness, Nora smiled at her. “Thank you.”
Maryann put her hand on her arm. “Why don’t we refill our glasses with punch and sit down over there so we can get to know one another better?”
Nora smiled. “I’d like that very much.”
“Annie said you were graduating this June,” Corban said to Sam as they leaned against Annie’s car and watched the guests in the garden.
“Yep. With honors.”
“Not too proud of it, are you?”
Sam grinned. “Sure, I’m proud. Not bad for a guy who barely squeaked through high school and spent a few months with the Youth Authority.” He lifted his can of soda in a mock salute. “Took me a while to grow up.”
“Do you have a job lined up?”
“I’ve had some interviews. I’m thinking about taking a job with the LAPD. Maybe I’ll get lucky and end up working with the Youth Authority again. In a different capacity, of course. But I’m planning to hold off making a decision over the summer. I’d like to do a little traveling before tying myself down to a nine-to-five or whatever. What about you? Annie said you’re graduating in June, too. Magna cum laude, I hear. Impressive. Still planning to do your postgraduate work at Stanford?”
“No, Cal has a better graduate program, so I’ve decided to go there.”
“Yeah, right. I wonder why you want to stay so close to Oakland.”
Ignoring him, Corban watched Annie move among her guests. She was so beautiful she made his heart ache.
“Man, you’ve got it as bad as I ever did.”
Corban glanced at him. “What?”
“Annie. Your tongue’s practically hanging out.” He watched her for a moment and then gave Corban a rueful smile. “Take some advice from someone who’s been there. Give up.”
“Just because you didn’t get anywhere with her doesn’t mean I won’t.”
Sam laughed. “Pretty sure of yourself, aren’t you? Even if you were a Christian, you wouldn’t have a prayer.”
Corban’s eyes narrowed. Sam Carter was full of ill tidings, not that he’d expected a rejected suitor to give him any encouragement. Still, he’d take the bait. “Why not?”
“Because she’s already married.”
“Married?” He glanced at Annie and then back at Sam. “What’re you talking about? She’s not married.”
“She’s as married as anyone can be, Corban, old boy. You just don’t get it.” He smiled ruefully. “Took me a while, even after she told me up front I was wasting my time. I thought I could wear her down with my charm and good looks.” His expression turned tender as he watched her. “Has she talked to you about the Lord?”
“Sure.” Jesus Christ always came into their conversations somewhere. Even when he tried to steer things down other paths, she always came back to God. “I’ve been taking a comparative religions class.”
Sam laughed again. “Oh, that’ll impress her.”
Sam Carter could be more irritating than a rash. “I don’t know much about religion. I thought it might be interesting to find out more.”
“Religion is one thing. Faith is another entirely.”
“So Annie said.”
“All you have to do is watch Annie to see the difference. She say anything else?”
Corban looked away from Sam’s amused expression. She’d summed up the entire course in a few sentences: “Every religion in the world is about man trying to reach up to God, like working your way up the ladder. They’re all about striving to achieve something for yourself. Christianity is the only religion about God reaching down to man and offering salvation as a free gift, with the added bonus of a personal relationship with the Creator God through Jesus Christ, who was there in the beginning.”
Corban sighed. “She talked about grace being a free gift.”
Sam lifted his can of soda in salute. “It’s free all right, but it didn’t come cheap. And there’s the rub, old man. Our sweet Annie’s passionately in love with the one who paid the price for salvation.” He cocked his head and smiled sardonically. “Think you’re up to competing with Jesus Christ?”
“Faith can bring people together.”
“True. But what’s the basis of your faith?”
“I’m not sure yet.” Before he met Annie, he’d never thought about having faith in anything but himself.
Sam grinned at him. “She’ll make a believer out of you yet, buddy. And then she’ll cut you loose.”
Corban glanced at him in annoyance. “Sounds like sour grapes.”
“No. I’m just hoping the next time I meet a girl like her, she’ll be the marrying kind.” Sam’s expression was tender as he watched Annie. “The thing with Annie is she just wants everyone to feel the same joy and sense of freedom she does.” He shook his head. “She is something to watch, isn’t she?”
Corban couldn’t agree more. She was radiant, and some of that joy seemed to overflow to everyone she came near . . . except for Nora Gaines, who looked thinner and paler than the last time he’d seen her. Annie’s mother had looked like a scared little girl when she came out the back door. Now she was sitting with Susan’s mother, talking and looking less stressed out. Still pensive, but reachable. Annie joined them for a moment, took her mother’s hand and squeezed it, leaned down and kissed her cheek, and then went to talk with her aunt Jeanne.
George Reinhardt was talking with Tom Carter and Fred Gaines. Corban wondered how old George was faring now that his mother had gone on to meet Saint Peter at the pearly gates, leaving him a nice, fat bankroll. At first glance, he didn’t look any happier than he had the first time Corban met him.
Annie looked his way and smiled. Much to his chagrin, she smiled at Sam Carter, too. She wasn’t partial.
“It’s a pity Annie doesn’t need us,” Sam said, straightening away from the car.
“Maybe one of these days.”
“Don’t hold your breath. She’s got everything she wants right here in Leota’s garden.”
Corban had only an inkling of what that meant.
Annie set out platters of food on the dining room table and left the Fiesta dishes stacked to one side so that guests could serve themselves when they felt like it. Uncle George, as usual, was sitting alone in the living room, watching a ball game. He had a beer beside him, one he had taken from the six-pack he had brought. Sadness filled Annie as she watched him. He had been sociable for an hour and then retreated.
At least Jeanne was having a good time, talking and laughing with Arba. And last she saw Marshall and Mitzi, they were in the game room having fun with the other children. Life was going on all around Uncle George, but he seemed blind and deaf to it.
She thought of Grandpa Bernard and the things Grandma Leota had said about him. Was Uncle George going to become like that? Locked inside himself with whatever demons plagued him?
Lord, what is he afraid of?
And what about her mother? She was trying so hard to be courteous and pleasant to everyone. Obeying the rules.
Oh, Grandma Leota, I wish you were here. She pressed her lips together and finished putting out the silverware and napkins.
Her mother had talked with Uncle George for a little while and then gone into the bathroom. Was she still in there? No, the bathroom door was open. Annie found her in the second bedroom, looking at the wall where several pictures were hung.
“I’ve never seen this picture.” Her mother was looking at the one of Helene and Gottlieb Reinhardt on their wedding day.
“I found it in the attic. The one of Grandma Leota and Grandpa Bernard was in Grandma’s bedroom. And Fred gave me a copy of your wedding picture. I had to wheel and deal to get Dad to send me a picture, and I’ve left a space for Michael. Maybe I could have a copy made of his graduation picture from college.”
“I’ll do that for you.” She looked at the shadow box, and Annie wondered what she was thinking. Annie had put the Silver Star, Bronze Star, and Purple Heart in it along with some tools from a box in the garage: a measuring tape, a hammer, plans for the apartment, and some nails. Her mother’s gaze moved to the plaque in the center of the wall. Annie waited, saying nothing, giving her mother time. She had spent painstaking hours doing the calligraphy, making sure every word was spelled correctly. After all, it was in German and she didn’t speak it.
Denn also hat Gott die Welt geliebt dass er seinen, elingeborenen Sohn gab, damit alle, die an ihn glauben, nicht verloren werden, sondern das ewige Leben haben.
JOHANNES 3:16
“It shouldn’t be so easy,” her mother said quietly, guilt her mantle.
“The only thing the Lord won’t forgive is the refusal to believe and accept the gift of His Holy Spirit.”
“I believe, but . . .”
Studying her mother, Annie ached over the grief she saw in her face. Eleanor Gaines would bear the consequences of her behavior over the years and live the rest of her life with regrets. But she didn’t have to live the rest of her life believing she had never been loved. God loved her. So had Grandma Leota. Her mother needed to know that. She needed to accept love so that she could move forward and do something constructive with her life. Grandma Leota had understood that and, with God’s guidance, she had provided for it. It was time her mother knew it.
Annie walked over to the old sewing machine sitting beneath the window that overlooked the driveway and rose-covered picket fence. “Grandma said you were a talented seamstress, Mom. She told me you used to go down to the fancy dress stores and look over the new styles, then come home and make improvements on them. She said you had the talent to become a wonderful designer.”
“Did she?”
“Yes, she did. She was very proud of you. Grandma said all the women in our family have been artists of one kind or another. Grandma Helene was a master with the embroidery needle and in the kitchen as a cook. Great-Aunt Joyce was a wonderful painter and graphic artist. Grandma Leota had a green thumb. You’re our clothing designer.” She saw the telltale moisture in her mother’s eyes.
Father, is she listening . . . really listening?
Annie knew her mother was trying hard to turn over a new leaf, to be better than she had been, to be brave. But that would never be enough. She needed to relinquish herself and let God show her what He had made her to be. Would she be willing to surrender her pride for that great purpose?
Today could be the beginning. Please, Lord, please. You’ve softened her. Will she take the seed?
“It’s yours, Mom.” Annie ran her hand over the polished wood of the antique Singer sewing machine. “You can take it anytime you want it.”
“It belongs to you, Anne-Lynn. Everything in the house belongs to you.”
She heard the hurt in her mother’s voice and knew she felt rejected despite the fortune in stocks she had been given. “Grandma Leota left things to me because she knew I’d pass them on when you and Uncle George were ready. This belongs to you, Mom. Grandma wanted you to have it.”
Her mother drew in a shaky breath. “How can you be so sure?” She looked so vulnerable, so hopeful. Like a little girl desperately longing for something just beyond her reach.
“Open it. See for yourself.” Annie walked over, kissed her mom, and left the room.
Nora trembled as she stood alone. She remembered the hours she had spent at this old sewing machine. She had found such pleasure and satisfaction in the work. She had lost herself in it. When had she stopped? Why? Was it the year she ran off and married Bryan? She had bought another sewing machine then, a newer one. But as the years rolled by, she had enough money to buy things off the rack. And there had never seemed to be enough time to sew. She was too busy driving Annie to school or music lessons or whatever else she’d planned for her to do.
Nora ran her hand over the old machine, seeing it now with new eyes. Just as her mother had retreated to her garden, she had retreated to this room, losing herself in her work, dreaming her dreams, hoping there was more to life than loneliness and rejection. Oh, Mama, we weren’t so very different, were we? Why couldn’t I see that before? Lifting the cover, Nora reached in and pulled the old machine up, locking it into position.
A white envelope was taped to the front of the machine. Eleanor was written in her mother’s handwriting. Hands trembling, Nora opened it.
My dearest Eleanor,
I knew one day you would return to yourself and open this machine again. I’m so proud of you. I remember standing in the doorway and watching you as you sewed. You had such amazing concentration. You took such care. You were never satisfied unless you’d done the job right. And you made beautiful things, darling, the kind of things only an artist can create. Artistic talent runs in our family, you know. Your father was a master carpenter. Just look at the fireplace mantel, the apartment behind the garage, the arbor to the victory garden. Grandma Helene could make the best strudel this side of the Atlantic. And your grandfather taught me how to grow things. You have a wonderful heritage.
I like to imagine you sitting at this sewing machine again one day and making costumes for church pageants, maternity clothing for poor young mothers, playsuits for children, and nice dresses for little old widow ladies like me. And the Lord will bless you for it. I know He will.
You said to me the other night that I never loved you. Oh, you are so wrong, my dear. You are the daughter I prayed for, Eleanor. I loved you from the moment I knew I was expecting you. I loved you even more when I held you in my arms. I named you after a great lady, a woman of great character, the woman I know God intends you to be. Trust Him and He will mold you into His vessel. And remember . . . I never stopped loving you, Eleanor, even during all the years you believed otherwise. You are the daughter of my heart. Even when we are apart, I hold you close. And wherever I am at this moment as you’re reading this letter, be reassured, my beloved,
I love you still.
Mama
Nora wept. She read the letter again through her tears and then held it against her chest, finally reading it again.
“Annie told me I’d find you in here,” Fred said from behind her. He put his hands on her shoulders and kneaded her muscles gently. “She said your mother wanted you to have the sewing machine. Do you want it?”
“I do.” More than anything. More than all the stocks, for they only represented cold cash. She had felt disinherited when the will was read. And now, she felt like the prodigal who was welcomed home by a rejoicing parent. She folded her mother’s letter carefully and tucked it back into the envelope, then put it in her jacket pocket and kept her hand over it. She had what mattered. She had what really counted. Love.
“George brought the van,” Fred said. “Maybe I can talk him into moving the sewing machine for us this evening. They could spend the night.”
“They never have before.”
“There’s always a first time.”
“We’ve plenty of room.”
“The children could ride over in the car with us.”
Fred turned her around and lifted her chin. He studied her. “Are you all right?”
“Not yet, but . . . I know now my mother loved me.” Thank You, Lord, oh, thank You.
He leaned down and kissed her. “I love you, too, Nora. I have from the moment I met you. And I always will.”
Oh, dear Jesus, I’m so undeserving, and so very, very thankful. She went into her husband’s arms and rested in his embrace a long moment. “Will you do me a favor, Fred?”
“Now what?” he said in a teasing tone.
She drew back slightly and looked up at him. “Don’t call me Nora anymore.” She smiled. “Call me Eleanor.”
Annie finished drying the last of Grandma’s Fiesta dishes and put them away in the kitchen cabinets. The washing machine was going with the tablecloths and napkins and several dish towels. The leftovers were put away. She had sent German potato salad home with Arba, wedges of apple strudel with Juanita, and German potato sausage with Lin Sansan.
Smiling, Annie closed the cabinets. Well, Lord, we had an international day, didn’t we? Like a meeting of the United Nations in our backyard!
It had been a wonderful day. Everyone she had invited had come to the party in Grandma Leota’s garden. Juanita had even managed to get her husband, Jorge, to participate. He was a quiet man and rather wary among the throng of people milling around the garden, but he had gradually warmed up when his wife had introduced him to Lin Sansan and her husband, Quyen Tan Ng. It was the first time the men had met and spoken. Amazing, since they had been neighbors for three years!
Halfway through the afternoon, Annie had decided to organize a block party. Summer wasn’t that far away, and it would be a perfect time. When she mentioned the idea to Arba, her friendly neighbor said she was all for it and willing to help. So was Juanita. They spread the news to the other neighbors.
Lord, I want to know everyone’s name by the end of summer. Men, women, and children! But it’s going to take dynamite to get some of them out of their houses. People are so afraid. Father, I want this neighborhood to be like neighborhoods used to be, when everyone knew one another and people talked over their back fences.
Grandma Leota had told her what the neighborhood had been like fifty years ago. She knew it could be that way again. It was already starting. Opening the garden to the children had brought the mothers over to visit. Arba, Juanita, and Lin Sansan often sat on her patio now, talking, even when Annie was working, which was often since Arba had introduced her to Miranda Wentworth, an interior decorator. Ever since Miranda had come to see her painted trims and borders, Annie had more offers than she could fulfill. And the gallery wanted another painting. The proprietor had come over and made an offer for Grandma Leota’s portrait, but Annie declined. She was thinking about painting Arba, Juanita, and Lin Sansan as they sipped tea together in the garden. They were wonderful to watch and would be even more wonderful to paint. They were all so different. Arba in her bright colors, Juanita in her old-fashioned fifties-style dresses, Lin Sansan in her black pants and white shirts with mandarin collars . . . different, but perfectly matched.
Everyone loved the garden. And everyone brought something to it. Annie was always receiving potted plants, seeds, or doodads to tuck into leafy corners. Sam had brought a ceramic angel today—a silly, chubby, bewinged child that didn’t bear the slightest resemblance to real angels written about in the Bible.
Grandma Leota had planned and laid out the garden. All those years she had toiled and planted, always hoping and praying this little piece of earth would become a sanctuary for those she loved. Grandma Leota had dreamed her dreams and prayed her prayers while kneeling on the earth and planting bulbs. She had believed it would all happen someday. She never gave up hope.
How Grandma would have relished this Easter Day. Annie wished she had been sitting among her flowers, seeing how everyone responded to the beauty of her garden. Sam, Susan, Corban, Arba, and the neighbor children had all shared the workload of bringing it back. Annie wanted people to feel at home in here. A garden wasn’t meant to belong to one person. A garden was for sharing, for exercise, for joy, for prayer. A garden was an open-air cathedral to the glory of God, a living monument to the birth, life, death, and resurrection of the Lord. Every season was a trumpet sounding, every sunrise and sunset a daily reminder of God’s glory. Here, in this small corner of a small neighborhood, Annie hoped people would come to understand a little better the way things were meant to be.
Her mother was going to be all right after all. Uncle George and Fred had carried the old sewing machine out to the van. Though Uncle George had agreed to move it, he had resisted spending the night in Blackhawk. He said he had to be at work in the morning. Poor Uncle George, debt-free, forever debt-ridden. Would he ever lay his burdens down? Annie knew Grandma Leota had written a letter to him as well.
With everything put away in the kitchen, Annie went into the living room and picked up Kidnapped by Robert Louis Stevenson. She ran her hand over the worn cover. Grandma Leota had told her how much Uncle George had loved to read as a boy. This had been his favorite book. Annie had put it on the side table, hoping Uncle George would pick it up and leaf through it—and find the letter tucked inside. He hadn’t touched it. He had spent most of the afternoon sitting alone and watching television. She had not seen him even glance through the albums she had compiled and left open on the dining room table. Her mother had taken one of the old scrapbooks with her.
The time just hadn’t been right for Uncle George. Perhaps the next time he came, he would be ready to look around, to think back, to wonder. Perhaps he would be ready then to ask the painful questions and receive the redemptive answers. Lord, please soften him. Annie opened the drawer in the side table beside Grandma Leota’s recliner, placed the book in it, and closed it again. God would tell her the right time to take it out. In the meantime, she would keep praying. Grandma Leota had taught her that. Never give up. Never despair. No matter what we feel or think, keep praying. Choose hope!
The scent of lilacs and narcissus filled the living room. Annie looked at Grandma Leota’s portrait. Her heart had been in her throat as her mother paused to look at it before leaving. “You do have a gift, Annie. Don’t let anyone, including me, tell you otherwise.” Then her mother had looked at the marble-and-brass urn that had contained Grandma Leota’s ashes and was now filled with flowers. “Your grandmother loved lilacs.” Her mother had touched some of the blossoms.
“Yes, she did. She loved daffodils too.”
Eleanor had turned and looked at Annie. She’d smiled, her eyes filling with tears. “And roses.”
Annie had smiled back. Her mother knew. “Those, too.”
Oh, it was a wonderful day, Grandma Leota. And you were with us every moment of it, close to our hearts. You are alive and well and with our Lord.
Everything had been picked up in the living room. The door was locked. Annie went back into the kitchen and through to the back porch. She went outside into the cool evening air. Crickets were chirping and several frogs croaked. They were attracted to one corner of the garden, where she’d made a fountain. She had used half of a wine barrel and a small pump she’d bought from a hardware store on East Fourteenth. She’d tucked in submersible, marginal, and surface water plants. She loved the sound of running water. It was like living water, and the frogs would keep the garden free of bugs.
She walked the path to the victory garden. The moon was out, reflecting light off the white alyssum, the gardenias, the pale blossoms on the fruit trees, the star jasmine and narcissus. The flowers themselves gave light. The darkness was broken by starlight, moonlight, and white flowers, and the air was filled with their sweet fragrance.
Annie remembered the first day she had looked out Grandma Leota’s kitchen window to the garden. It had been unkempt, weed-choked, barren in patches. . . . The trees and bushes had been in dire need of pruning. Grandma had told her what it used to be like, and Annie had imagined it and longed to see it that way again. Under Grandma’s guidance, the work had begun. The soil had been turned, softened, mulched, planted. The trees and bushes had been pruned and cut back. It had been hard work but well worth the aching muscles, broken fingernails, scratches, bruises, and blisters.
Along the way, surprises had cropped up. Bulbs Grandma had planted and forgotten years ago had appeared. Perennials long gone had left their seeds and bloomed again. New life had sprung up everywhere as though God had blessed this little patch of earth.
All day Annie had watched family members, friends, and neighbors wander around the garden, and she kept thinking how they were all like flowers. Some were poppies, blooming bold and brief. Others were like ornamental vines, passionflowers, or trumpets. Still others were shy violets and wallflowers. And all together, what a beautiful world they made. Everyone different, everyone amazing to behold.
Annie was so thankful for having had even a little time with Grandma Leota. She had never really thought about a garden’s significance until she came to know her grandmother. Grandma Leota had told her once that everything important had happened in a garden. . . .
“God created the garden for man and placed him in it. Adam and Eve fell into sin in a garden. Jesus taught in a garden. Our Lord prayed in a garden. He was betrayed in a garden. And He arose in a garden. And someday—” her grandmother’s eyes had shone—“we will all be reunited in the garden.”
Not all, perhaps.
Annie frowned. Corban had waited all day and all evening so he could be alone with her. She knew he was in love with her, and she had tried to dissuade him from saying anything that might later embarrass him. Yet he was persistent, determined. Far more than Sam had been. But then Sam was a Christian. He had been able to understand and accept. If only Corban would come to that saving faith and have the direction, purpose, and joy he yearned to have. Maybe then, life wouldn’t be so difficult for him, so pointless and frustrating.
“I’m in love with you, Annie,” he had said.
“I can’t love you the way you want, Corban.” What else could she say but the truth, even when it hurt him? She could see his frustration and feel his longing, but she was content. She would keep trying to turn his attention to the Lord. That’s all she could do. Even when he tried to talk her out of living alone, or living in the inner city, or living for others rather than herself, she would pray for his salvation. “I’m where I’m supposed to be, Corban. I’m where I want to be. What more could I possibly want than to live in the garden?” Maybe in time he would understand what she meant.
Annie stood on the lawn, inhaling the fragrant evening air and gazing up at the night sky. It was long past midnight, the darkest time—and yet the stars shone brighter now.
This was Your day, Lord. Oh, I know every day is Your day, but this one was extra special, and I thank You for it. You are amazing. Oh, Father, I thought there was no chance of restoration and reconciliation when Grandma Leota passed on. I had so hoped we would have her awhile longer and Mother would have time to make amends. For whatever reason, it wasn’t to be. Oh, Lord, I confess I almost lost hope when Grandma died. I thought whatever plan You’d made for my poor, broken family had somehow been destroyed by Satan. And then You reminded me of the Garden and the serpent and Your promise of a deliverer. And Jesus came. I remembered Noah and his wayward sons and how You told them to spread over the earth and multiply, and, instead, his descendants gathered together and built the Tower of Babel in rebellion against You. You went right ahead and fulfilled Your plan when You confounded their language and scattered them over the face of the earth. Man strives to do things his own way, and yet, it is always Your will that prevails.
Annie raised her hands in exaltation to the God of heaven and earth.
Oh, Lord, my God, I delight in You! She laughed aloud, so happy she felt her heart would burst with joy. Oh, Lord, Lord, how majestic You are. Only Your plan will come to completion. Evil may seem to reign. Wars may come, and violence may spread over the earth, and man may take life itself into his own hands, but You prevail. You always have. You always will. I can rest in that knowledge. I can cling to Your promises and listen to Your voice, and walk in Your ways. I can trust You whatever the world may say or do. Someday my time will come, and however it does, I know You will not lose me. You will bring me safely home.
A soft breeze caressed her face, and she inhaled the incense of the garden. Sighing, she lowered her arms and smiled. She went back into the house. Morning would be here soon.
And there was work to do.