Chapter 6
Leota peered through the window in the front door and saw Corban Solsek standing on her front porch. Why was he back? Was it Wednesday already? Couldn’t be. Annie said she was coming for another visit on Monday. Her classes were on Tuesdays and Thursday and Friday evenings.
She opened the door and noticed the spiral notebook he was holding. “You’re a few days early, aren’t you?”
“I wanted to talk with you, Mrs. Reinhardt. If you have a few minutes.”
“I think I have a few to spare.” She opened the door for him. “Well, come on in,” she said when he hesitated. She could tell how much he was looking forward to this visit. His mouth was a hard, flat line. He didn’t look nervous; he looked annoyed. “Get it off your chest, whatever it is.” He was probably going to tell her she was an old coot and he didn’t have time for her folderol. A pity. He might have learned something from her if he’d been willing. Then again, she had to admit she might have learned something from him as well if he didn’t irritate her so much with his know-it-all attitude. Every time she looked at his sanctimonious face, she wanted to box his ears.
“Can we sit down?” he said when he was standing in the living room.
Apparently whatever was on his mind wasn’t going to take just a minute or two to sort out. She looked at the notebook again. “Are you planning to take notes?”
“If you don’t mind.”
“What if I said I did?”
His jaw clenched and unclenched. “I wouldn’t do it.”
“No. I imagine you’d wait until you got back to wherever it is you live and then write it all down the way you want it to be.”
His eyes darkened. “Look, you’ve made it more than clear you don’t like me. I’ve never been able to figure out what’s the problem.”
“Haven’t you? I’ll give you a hint. You have the manners of a goat in a produce market.”
He stared at her, mouth agape. “I wouldn’t call you Miss Manners.”
Leota laughed. She closed the front door and looked at him. She laughed some more.
“What’s so funny?”
The poor boy was practically snarling. She continued to chortle as she walked past him to her chair and sat down. Pulling a Kleenex from its box, she wiped her eyes. “Well, now, I’d say that’s the first honest thing you’ve said to me since you darkened my doorstep.”
Corban stared at the woman, not knowing what to say.
“At least you have the good graces to blush,” she said, merciless.
He shook his head and sat on the edge of the sofa. “Maybe it would help if I told you a little about myself.”
“It’d be better if you told me what you wanted in the first place.”
He felt oddly ashamed, but what for? He was trying to help the elderly, wasn’t he? He frowned slightly, unable to hold her gaze. Her calm troubled him. She was looking at him, and he had the uncomfortable feeling she was seeing deeper into him than anyone ever had, seeing things even he wasn’t aware of.
“Get to the point, Mr. Solsek.”
“I’m a student at UC Berkeley. I’m working on a term paper for a sociology class. I need a case study.”
“Just one?”
He nodded. “My professor’s made it a requirement.”
“What’s the subject of your paper?”
“It’s on some ideas I have about caring for the increased number of elderly in our nation.”
“Extermination, perhaps?”
He tried not to be insulted. She sure knew how to push his buttons.
“All right.” She smiled wryly. “So, what is this idea of yours?”
“An expansion of residential-care facilities in high-density population areas. The idea is twofold: care for the elderly and renewed life to the inner cores of our cities. The government could subsidize the takeover of some of the old office buildings and hotels in the inner cities, refurbish them and convert them into residential-care facilities. Occupants would pay a lump sum in order to live at the care facility for the rest of their lives. One floor could be a medical facility. Another could be for recreational activity. Of course, this is just a quick summary. There would be all kinds of services offered under this kind of system.”
He looked at her again, watching, hoping for some sign of affirmation. What he got was a deadpan stare.
Leota leaned back, all humor gone. How could someone bright enough to get into Berkeley be so naive? “Would occupants have visitation rights?”
His mouth flattened. “I’m not designing a prison system, Mrs. Reinhardt. Of course, visitors would be welcome. There’d be guest accommodations available for a limited time and for a small fee.”
“What if someone wanted to move out of the facility?”
“It’d be unlikely anyone would want to leave.”
“Especially if the initial investment was nonrefundable. Or used up.” Or if the attendants put sedatives in the food!
He frowned. “The point is all occupants would be given the highest level of care during the latter part of their lives. They would have a safe environment, the security of good care, comfortable surroundings, communal interaction. Many don’t have that now.”
“Someone like me, you mean. Someone in an inner-city neighborhood, living on Social Security. Someone old, with declining health and little, if any, family support.”
Corban sat back on the sofa and smiled. “Yes, someone like you.”
“How old is your professor, Mr. Solsek?”
“Why are you asking?”
“I think he has something else in mind for you to learn. If I could hazard a guess, I would say he’s in his sixties.”
“Close, I guess. Why?”
“The poor fellow is looking ahead to retirement and his declining years. He’s probably horrified at the thought of someone like you deciding what will happen to him.”
Corban’s face went red; his eyes blazed with temper. “That’s a cheap shot! I’m wasting my time here. What do you know about the way things are now? You’re locked up in this decaying house all day watching game shows and Brady Bunch reruns! The most fun you have is tormenting the checkers at the supermarket.” He stood up, tucked his spiral notebook under his arm, and headed for the door.
“Where are you going?”
“I’m leaving. What does it look like? I’ve wasted three weeks coming over here, hoping to get to know you. I’ll call Nancy and tell her to find you another volunteer.”
“Well, now, there’s an attitude to open minds and hearts.”
The fire in his eyes died, and Leota almost felt sorry for him. Almost.
“I’ve got eight weeks to write this report, Mrs. Reinhardt.” He sounded weary and depressed. “I need someone who’s willing to give and take.”
She knew what part of that he thought she was. He was blind as a mole in a tunnel. And troubled about it. That was a good sign. Was his despair merely because of his report, or was there more going on in his life than a sociology class? Maybe he didn’t even know what was bothering him. He was barely out of adolescence. How could he? “If you’ll sit, I’ll give my opinion on what you’ve told me so far.”
He frowned, looking decidedly wary. “I can guess.”
When she didn’t say anything, he slowly returned to the sofa and sat. “Okay. Go ahead.”
He had all the enthusiasm of a man with an apple on his head with her in possession of the bow and arrows. “I’m speaking my opinion now. It can’t be taken as gospel on the general geriatric population, you know.”
He nodded, grim-faced.
“I would find it daunting to live in a building inhabited solely by old folks.”
He leaned forward. “Not everyone in the building would be old, Mrs. Reinhardt. There would be nurses and doctors, maids and cooks, recreation directors—”
She held up her hand to stop the flow. “Let’s put it this way, Mr. Solsek. I would find it daunting if the only young people I ever saw were those who were paid by the government to attend to my needs.” He looked confused. “I’ll leave you to think about that one. Before you leave, I have a question for you, and I don’t want an answer today. I want you to think about it and tell me on Wednesday. That is, if you decide to come back.”
“Go ahead,” he said cautiously.
“Why do you want to house old people like me in a government-funded facility and keep us away from the rest of society?”
“Partially funded, Mrs.—”
“Wednesday, Mr. Solsek. Think about it.”
Corban stood up slowly. Leota saw the struggle going on in his face. No less a struggle than what was going on inside herself at that moment. His ideas troubled her. She recognized the foundation he was building from. Clearly, he didn’t. Telling him would do no good. He wouldn’t believe it if she did. Could she make him see it for himself? Probably not. He was far too sure of himself. The young were always on fire to make a better world.
Oh, God, is this the way it starts?
“I’ll make a deal with you,” she said. “If you’re willing to give me an honest answer on Wednesday, I’ll answer whatever questions you intended to ask me the first day you came here.”
Corban studied her. He didn’t look happy with her proposition. Maybe he thought she just wanted to keep him coming around for her convenience. Of course, there was something to that.
“I haven’t got a lot of time to waste, Mrs. Reinhardt.”
“Neither have I, Mr. Solsek.” She had never suffered fools gladly, but she felt an inner nudging where this one was concerned. How much did he know about the way the world really was? Maybe it was compassion that drove him. All the more reason to light the lamps and let some light shine into that dark mind of his. A little at a time so he wouldn’t be blinded by it.
And it’s up to You anyway, isn’t it, Lord?
Corban let out his breath slowly and rose. Calmly, this time. Tucking his spiral notebook under his arm again, he went to the door and opened it. Pausing, he looked back at her. “I’ll think it over and talk to you on Wednesday.”
“God willing, I’ll still be here.”
Leota worried all day Sunday. Despite what her granddaughter had said, Leota didn’t think Annie was coming back.
Over the years, she had invited Eleanor numerous times to Thanksgiving dinner, Christmas, Easter, her birthday. Sometimes Eleanor would say that sounded nice and she’d bring the family; then she’d call later and say she couldn’t make it after all. She always had a reason: one of the children was sick; her husband had to work; unexpected friends had called and would be arriving for the weekend. The underlying message had always been loud as a trumpet: You weren’t there for me, so why should I be there for you? When Eleanor did come, she spent the entire time looking for anything she could seize upon to dredge up the past and point out yet again her mother’s many faults.
Lord, I know I wasn’t perfect, but I tried so hard.
Time hadn’t helped Eleanor see the truth about anything. Leota had even hoped the arrival of children might open Eleanor’s eyes so she could see the wider scope of how life is less than perfect. No such luck. Eleanor was a master at controlling her life and the lives of her loved ones. She made sure she was always home when the children were. She made sure they had everything they needed. No thrift store clothing for her children. Macy’s and Capwell’s. No day-old bread. Three square meals a day, apportioned so that there wouldn’t be weight or skin problems. No home remedies when tummyaches hit. Only a medical doctor would do, and a professional counselor if things became difficult emotionally.
Leota wanted desperately to believe all the lame excuses. She wanted to ignore the slights and pretend she hadn’t heard the words designed to cut. The few times she had attempted to defend herself, Eleanor had left without hearing her out.
Leota had finally wearied of it. She hadn’t called Eleanor once last year. She had received four perfunctory calls: one for Christmas, one for Easter, one for her birthday, and one for Thanksgiving. Mother’s Day came and went without a card or call.
A card had come each holiday from her son. Love, George and Jeanne—it was Jeanne who signed the cards and addressed them. Those few times Leota saw George, there was no bitterness in his attitude. He was just caught in his own world and his own worries.
He was more like Bernard than he would ever realize.
Lord, I have to believe or I’ll know there’s no hope of reconciliation. I’ve dreamed for so long of a close relationship with my children and grandchildren, but did Annie come and just stir up hope? It hurts. I just keep thinking about all the lost years.
Would Annie call and say she was sorry but she wouldn’t be coming? Young people had such busy lives these days. Places to go. Things to see. Interesting people to meet. Why would a beautiful eighteen-year-old girl want to spend time with an old woman?
Leota tried to read her Bible to take her mind off her worries, but she couldn’t concentrate. The telephone rang once at six o’clock. The sound always startled her. She received so few calls. This time the ringing of the telephone filled her with a sense of dread and despair as never before. She let it ring four times before she answered, and it was several seconds before she realized the voice on the telephone wasn’t her granddaughter but some saleswoman. She was so relieved, she listened. Usually, she hung up before they finished the first sentence of their spiel. This evening, she couldn’t stop thinking about Annie. What if her granddaughter had to make a living doing telephone solicitations?
When the woman finally ran down on her memorized sales pitch, given in double time, and asked whether she was interested in this wonderful offer, Leota said, “You did that very nicely, dear, but I’m an old lady living on Social Security. I don’t even have a CD player.”
“Oh.” She sighed. “I’m sorry I took up your time, ma’am.”
“I hope you’ll have more luck with your next call.”
“Thank you, ma’am.” The poor girl sounded almost teary. “You know, you’re the first person tonight who’s been polite to me.”
“Don’t give me too much credit, dear. I usually hang up.”
The saleswoman gave a soft laugh. “Most people do. I’ve had ten people hang up so hard they left my ear ringing, and several others who’ve cussed me out. Comes with the territory. Anyway, thanks for listening, ma’am. I hope you have a pleasant evening.”
“I hope you find another job.”
The woman laughed. “So do I!”
Leota hung up gently and let out her breath. She read her Bible for another half an hour before putting it aside and giving up on it. She knew what it said, but it was hard to dwell on the good sometimes. She turned on the television, checked every channel, and shut it off.
What was she going to do with all those Toll House cookies if Annie didn’t come? She had baked three dozen. They tasted pretty good, too. She had tried one just to make sure she hadn’t botched the recipe. After all, it had been three years since she last baked them.
The telephone rang again at seven thirty. She let it ring and ring before answering, sensing this time it would be Annie.
“Grandma Leota? I hope I didn’t wake you.”
“I don’t usually go to bed until after the ten o’clock news.”
“Oh. Good. What time do you get up?”
Leota had awakened at five thirty every morning for years. She had hoped to get over the habit, but years of rising early to have enough time to get ready and catch a bus to work had set a routine. Her alarm clock had broken years ago, but her eyes still popped open at the same time every day. Her routine never varied. Awake at five thirty, up at six, take a bath, get dressed, fix breakfast and sit down to read her Bible, read the newspaper, and do her crossword puzzle for the day. Always in that order. Since having to give up her gardening, Leota found that the rest of her day was an agony of boredom.
I’m waiting to die, Lord. That’s all I’m doing.
“Grandma?”
“I’m dressed and about by seven thirty.”
“Oh. Good. Would it be all right if I came earlier?”
“Earlier?”
“Well, I thought about coming over around the same time I did before, around one, but I’d rather come in the morning and stay for the day. Would that be all right? I’ll bring lunch.”
Leota didn’t know what to say. All day? Oh, my, all day!
“Grandma? If you’d rather I waited until later, it’s all right.”
“Oh, no. The earlier, the better. And you don’t have to bring anything. Just yourself.”
Annie gave a soft laugh filled with apparent relief. “I’m so glad, Grandma Leota. I’ve been looking forward to this for days.”
Leota put her hand against her heart. Oh, my dear, I’ve been looking forward to this for years! “I made cookies.”
“Did you?” Annie’s voice sounded husky when she continued. “How long since you’ve had Chinese food, Grandma Leota?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Years and years.”
“There’s a great deli on the corner not far from us, and they have the best Chinese food in the world. I’ll bring lunch. I promise, you’ll love it.” She sounded so excited. “I’ll see you tomorrow morning.”
Leota sat for a long time in her chair, relishing the feelings. Then the little worries started up again. What if Annie got into an accident? What if she got mugged going to the deli? What if . . . ?
Oh, Lord, keep her safe. I hear San Francisco is like Sodom and Gomorrah these days. It’s not the same city it used to be when Cosma and I would have to dress up to go there. We even wore hats and gloves. From what she’d heard at the grocery store, the traffic was awful these days. Drug addicts were everywhere, looking for easy prey to steal money. Leota frowned. Was it just yesterday she’d read that there were fourteen thousand homeless in San Francisco, and many were addicts of one sort or another? God, please, keep Annie safe. Don’t let any harm come to her. Put angels around her.
When she finally went to bed at eleven o’clock, she lay awake another hour or more, her mind whirring with all the dire possibilities of what could happen to a beautiful girl in an evil world.
Annie arrived safely at nine. She was wearing jeans and a white T-shirt with a tan jacket. Her hair was loose and curly, framing her pretty face and flowing over her shoulders and down her back. Leota thought she was the most charming girl she had ever seen. Prettier by far than any of those anorexic models on the covers of magazines.
“I hope you haven’t eaten yet,” Annie said as she came in, two bags in her hands and her purse looped over her shoulder. “I couldn’t resist the Danish rolls.”
Leota had been too worried to eat breakfast. She’d kept looking at the clock, wondering if Annie was all right. “Did you have any problems getting here?”
“None at all. Traffic was going the other direction. It was clear sailing through San Francisco and across the bridge, and you’re just a hop-skip off the freeway. Shall I put the Chinese food in the fridge?”
“Put it anywhere you want.” The house felt different with Annie here. She filled it with life. “Would you like some coffee to go with the rolls?” Leota said, following at her slower pace.
Annie put the bag of Chinese food in the old refrigerator and closed the door. “That would be perfect.”
“Plain or fancy?” Leota smiled, filled with the assurance that she was stocked for any possibility. Whatever her granddaughter wanted, she had.
“Whatever you’re having, Grandma.”
Leota was dismayed by her lack of interest in libation. She thought of the outrageous price of that fancy coffee—and suddenly wanted to tell Annie how much it cost for no other reason than to let her know how much this visit meant. However, she thought better of saying anything. She hardly knew her granddaughter. What if Annie misunderstood and was offended?
Instead, she said, “How has your week gone?” She was eager for any information.
Annie told her about her two classes, one in art history and the other in sketching. Both sounded interesting, as well as time-consuming. Lots of reading for one and projects for the other, but Annie seemed excited about all of it. Leota sat, enchanted, at the kitchen table, just listening to her talk. The room fairly hummed with the girl’s youthful enthusiasm. Leota decided that Annie was a levelheaded young lady who intended to make the most of life. How refreshing! Instead of seeing the foibles of those she served at the restaurant as faults, she found everything about her customers interesting. No doubt they liked her equally as well. How could they not?
Leota rose once to spoon the sweetened powdered coffee into the cups she had taken from the china hutch yesterday. She poured hot water; then, with the coffee ready, she stood undecided. Perhaps it would be more polite to serve Annie elsewhere than in her small, cluttered kitchen.
“Would you like to have the coffee and rolls in the dining room?”
“Could we just stay here?” Annie’s smile was sweet. “It’s so nice to look out at the garden.”
Leota’s defenses came down completely. “I like it in here, too. I always have preferred this room to the front.” She folded up the newspaper and set it aside. So what if it was a little untidy? Annie didn’t seem to mind. “Though it’s been a bit depressing the past few years.” She put the two cups on the table.
“Why, Grandma?”
“I can’t work in the garden anymore. I haven’t the strength to do the work. There’s a lot to properly keeping up a garden.” Remembering the Danish rolls, she added two of the plates Cosma had given her years ago. They were hand painted with gold rims and so lovely she had never dared use them. Just the thought of breaking one kept her from taking the risk. She had few precious things, even fewer from loved ones. Well, it was high time she used them. Though Annie didn’t know it, this was a celebration day. Only the best would do, and if anything was broken, so be it. What good would pretty china do when the owner was dead and buried?
“These plates are beautiful, Grandma.”
“A friend gave them to me years ago. She brought them back from one of her trips. France, I think.” She told Annie about Cosma. They sat at the tiny kitchen table sipping coffee and eating sweet rolls.
As Annie sat in the little kitchen, she found herself thinking about her mother’s hands as she looked at her grandmother’s. Her mother kept her nails perfectly manicured, often going to the salon to have them tipped with acrylics and painted some pretty shade. Grandma Leota’s nails were neatly trimmed and natural. Her fingers were slender and graceful despite the effects of arthritis. She still wore a wedding ring. It was a simple gold band, worn so long it appeared to be part of her finger.
“Mom doesn’t like gardening.” Annie sighed. “She likes having a beautiful yard, but she prefers to hire someone to look after it.” Marvin Tikado’s gardening service came once a week to mow the lawn around the house, trim the bushes, and make sure there were no weeds anywhere. Periodically he replanted new border flowers along the cobblestone walk to the front door.
“I loved gardening,” Grandma Leota said, gazing out at the back. “I spent hours out there.” It had been a place of refuge. She had started when she first moved into this house with Mama Reinhardt. Mama didn’t want her in the kitchen, and she hadn’t felt comfortable sitting in the living room with Papa Reinhardt, reading the paper or some book. So she had taken on the responsibility of the victory garden. She had gleaned knowledge from neighbors who would give her cuttings to start in jars or seeds to start in egg cartons. She had loved watching things grow and had been surprised and delighted to find she had a green thumb.
“Now, you can’t tell that anyone ever spent time out there.” Enough of that, Leota told herself. The last thing a young person wanted was to visit an old person who did nothing but complain. “I found Great-Aunt Joyce’s drawings. Some of them are just advertisements . . .”
They went into the front room where Leota had left the portfolio on the dining room table. Annie untied it carefully and opened it. The first picture was an advertisement for a coffee grinder. There was another of a cast-iron woodstove for the kitchen. Another was of a farm wagon, still another of some kind of farm machinery. There were advertisements of lawn chairs and china cabinets, tooling and buggies, lanterns and sleds. Pretty soon the table was covered with pen-and-ink drawings on paper yellowed by age.
“These are wonderful!” Annie said, looking from an advertisement of a man’s watch with its chain to a book cover. Fairy Tales and Funny Frolics, proclaimed the sheet with a girl sitting beneath a gnarled tree trunk watching a grasshopper dressed in a tuxedo and holding a lantern. Setting it aside, Annie lifted another drawing of swirling leaves and flowers and shapes with Menu printed in black, Gothic letters.
“Look at these beautiful borders, Grandma Leota,” Annie said, admiring several large sheets that had samples ranging from grape leaves and grapes to intricate Celtic knots and Moorish designs. One looked like latticework with climbing roses. One sheet was a drawing of a lady in Victorian dress, standing amid sunflowers. The picture was bordered by trumpet vines and flowers with Sensible Holiday Gifts printed almost primly beneath. Annie studied a page with the letter H in all sorts of styles, from the simplest block to the most ornate style.
There was an advertisement for a rocking chair with elaborate arms, a wooden frame, and cushions that looked like tapestry. Great-Aunt Joyce had experimented with people as well, doing numerous drawings of men and women wearing everything from work clothes to wedding attire.
“I love this one.” Annie held up an ink drawing of a woman sitting on a piano stool. She was wearing a high-waisted, floor-length dress with puffed sleeves. Her back was turned so that you could see the elegant curve of her neck and her hair drawn up into a bun. Soft curls escaped at her temple. Her hands were poised as though she were about to play a piano that was not there.
There were sheets of animals. One page was a study of a workhorse wearing blinders—front right, front left, straight on. Another was a study of a milk cow—standing, walking, grazing. Annie lifted and observed page after page of machinery.
“Her bread and butter, I think,” Leota said, thinking they were probably not very interesting. But Annie’s eyes widened.
“They’re amazing, Grandma. Look at the detail! Every nut and bolt. I could never draw like this.”
“Never say never.”
“Oh, my . . .” Annie said, lifting one from the dozens. It was a pen-and-ink drawing of a flowered rug, so detailed it looked like a black-and-white photograph.
“Her real interest comes through in the pictures toward the back.” Leota sat at the end of the table and watched her granddaughter’s face. Annie loved everything she was seeing. Her pleasure gave Leota pleasure as well.
Annie lifted the thin sheets of paper carefully and found page after page of buildings: a simple country church, a cathedral, a three-story Victorian house with a veranda, a four-story brick office building, a tree-lined street with quaint shops, an adobe mission, a Queen Anne cottage with a rose arbor and picket fence, a log cabin, a lean-to in the redwoods with a fire blazing. All in pen and ink. All drawn with the finest details. Roses on a lattice. An upstairs stained-glass window. A bird on the porch rail. The cross on a steeple.
“Mother never mentioned Great-Aunt Joyce at all,” Annie said.
“Eleanor probably—” She stopped and then corrected herself. “Your mother probably didn’t know anything about her. We never talked about my side of the family.”
Annie glanced up in surprise. “Why not?”
“Were you close to your mother, Grandma Leota?”
She thought it a strange question. Close in terms of proximity or affinity? What did it matter? “My mother died when I was twelve. I remember very little about her other than she was ill for a long time.”
“What about your father?”
“I didn’t see very much of him. He was in the Merchant Marines.”
Annie forgot all about the drawings. “What happened to you after your mother died? Where did you go? Did you have any brothers or sisters? Any relations?”
The questions came so quickly, Leota didn’t know where to start. Or whether to talk about it at all. She thought for a moment.
Annie blushed, looking uncomfortable for the first time since her arrival. “I’m sorry, Grandma. I didn’t mean it to sound like an interrogation. It’s just that I know so little about you.”
“I don’t wonder,” Leota said sadly, then added quickly, “but there’s not much to tell. I had an older sister. She died of consumption in her early twenties. And I had a brother who went to sea like my father. He was fifteen when he left. I never heard from him after that.” She frowned slightly. “Strange. I haven’t thought about him in so many years . . .”
“What happened when your mother died?”
“One of the ladies from the church took me in. Her name was Miss Mary O’Leary. Irish as Irish comes.” She gave a soft laugh, closing her eyes as the memories surged sweet. “Oh, I haven’t thought about her in years.”
“Were you happy with her?”
“Oh, yes. She was very robust, very healthy. She loved to take long hikes in the hills on Saturdays. I think she did it at times to wear me out. She kept me too tired to get into mischief.”
Annie laughed. “Were you prone to it?”
“On occasion. I pulled a few pranks in my day. Miss O’Leary taught at the high school. She made sure I settled down enough to complete my education. I did very well under her tutelage.” She smiled. “Or else.”
“Did you go to college?”
“Oh, mercy, no. There was no money for a venture like that, and very few women went to college in those days anyway.”
“Do you wish you could’ve gone?”
Leota felt pulled back to those days when her future had stretched out like dawn on the horizon. Life was full of possibilities. It was an unfolding adventure, something new around every bend in the road. “I wished for many things. I wished for more education. I wished for home and family. I wished for travel.” She smiled at Annie. “Wishing doesn’t cost anything.”
“Do you still wish for things?”
“Not as much. What I wish for now is far different than what I wished for when I was young.” Reconciliation. Oh, yes, Lord, I wish for that with all my heart. Yet, Leota knew she might as well be wishing for the moon where Eleanor was concerned. Reconciliation wasn’t in her daughter’s vocabulary. She had all the stubborn pride of her German ancestry. God help her.
Leota didn’t want to follow those thoughts further and decided to change direction again. “Maybe you have Great-Aunt Joyce’s talent.”
“I can only dream of such a thing.” Annie gazed at the drawings she had spread across the table. “They’re so good.”
“Of course, they are. These are the drawings she kept in her portfolio. These are the best of her work, probably the pictures she was most proud of doing. Keep in mind there’s no way of knowing how many she threw away. She must have had years of practice.”
Annie smiled at her. “I hadn’t thought about that.”
“People don’t usually think about those things. They look at a van Gogh and stand in awe. Most people never know about the years and years of painting he did, and that he sold only one painting while he lived. They read about the millions a museum will pay for one of his paintings, and yet van Gogh died a poor man.”
“You know some art history.”
Leota chuckled softly. “I know a little about a lot of things.” She tapped a drawing. “Besides that, Annie, this may not even be the kind of artwork you’ll do.”
Annie looked dejected. “I have no idea what kind of work I’ll do.”
“Why should you know? You’re only eighteen.”
“I should have some idea.”
“Well, you do. You’re going to study art. You’ve just started down that road. Enjoy the landscape while you’re going. The signposts will come soon enough.”
They talked about the pictures. Leota favored the drawings of people, while Annie was fascinated by the elaborate designs and borders. She said she wanted to sketch them so that she could experiment with colors later. She said she could imagine swirls of vibrant colors, reds flowing into oranges and yellows, deep indigo blues to purples and lavenders streaked with sparks of gold.
Leota watched her face and saw the wonder there. Oh, she’s so young, Lord. Don’t let life stamp out that light in her eyes.
“You can tell a lot about a person by what they draw,” Annie said. “She loved people and architecture.”
“What would you draw?”
“Flowers.” Annie smiled up at her. “I’d love to paint an English garden someday.”
Leota sighed, stricken with regret. No wonder Annie remembered the backyard.
“What’s the matter, Grandma? Did I say something wrong?”
“Not at all. It’s just that I wish you’d seen the garden a few years ago when it was all I had hoped it would be.” Afraid her granddaughter would see the sheen of tears building, she rose stiffly and headed for the kitchen. “I’ll warm up our lunch.”
They ate Chinese food together at the kitchen table, with the sounds of children playing in the backyard next door. Leota thought about the sparrow the children had buried and the flower plucked between the slats of her fence. Maybe Annie would come and put a flower on her grave. There was some solace in that thought, for it carried the hope that someone would care when she passed on.
Annie picked at her food and gazed out at the backyard. Leota wished she hadn’t said anything about the garden. Yet she couldn’t help thinking about how Annie would have loved it a few years ago when it had been in its glory. Everything had come together in a blaze of color that was a wonder to behold. But Leota had been the only one there to enjoy it.
Was that when she lost her desire to work in the sunshine? Had it been the grief that no one cared enough to come and see the work she had done and how it had turned out? It was the last Easter she had invited her children to come for dinner. It was the last time they had told her they had other plans.
The sorrow came up inside her, and it took all her determination to press it down again where it wouldn’t break through and show. If it did, Annie might never come back. Why would she want to spend time with a maudlin old woman who couldn’t let go of the hurts of the past?
“Mother never let me work in the garden,” Annie was saying. “She didn’t want me interfering with Mr. Tikado’s work. She said he had planned everything to have a certain effect and planting other things would only spoil it. And with piano lessons and gymnastics and school, I really didn’t have much time left over.” She turned her gaze from the window.
Leota looked into those clear, blue eyes and saw the hurt in them. “I’ve spoiled your visit. I’m sorry, dear.” What more could she say?
Annie’s eyes filled with tears. “You didn’t spoil anything, Grandma. I was just thinking of all the times we could have come to see you and didn’t. It wasn’t right. It isn’t right. Mother is . . .” She pressed her lips together and looked away again. Leota saw her swallow and felt the girl’s pain as though it were her own. “So unforgiving,” Annie said finally.
Leota caught a glimpse of Annie’s fears. She wanted to be able to reassure her that Eleanor would forgive her for her rebellion, but she couldn’t be sure. She didn’t want to offer false hopes to this hurting child. Eleanor had proved intractable where her mother was concerned. Might she be the same way with her own daughter? What a terrible loss that would be.
“I wish I understood my mother.”
And I, my daughter.
Annie put trembling hands around her coffee cup and stared into it for a moment. When she raised her head, Leota saw the desperate unhappiness there. Had she been covering it up for her sake? “I need to know,” Annie said softly. “What does Mother hold against you?”
Leota sighed. “I’ve thought that over for years, Annie. She’s always said I didn’t care about her or her brother and that I was a bad mother.”
“Did . . . did you care?”
Annie spoke so tentatively, Leota pitied her more than she pitied herself. “I cared very much, and I was the best mother I could be under the circumstances.”
“What circumstances, Grandma?”
“What life hands you.” She didn’t want to talk about it. She couldn’t give all the details without putting others in a bad light. And she didn’t want to be put in the position of defending herself against her own daughter. What good would that do? It would only put Annie in the middle of something she couldn’t fully understand. It might make Annie feel ashamed, too. There were so many things that came into it, things Leota had never told Eleanor. Some things were best left unspoken.
Weren’t they?
If only Mama Reinhardt had known everything from the beginning, then things might have worked out differently. She hadn’t known, and her careless words had cost so dearly. Leota thought of the poor old woman in her later years, wanting to make up for earlier mistakes and knowing it was too late. The darkness had triumphed, it seemed, and no amount of light had been able to dispel it. So far.
“I didn’t know. He didn’t tell me . . .”
“I know, Mama. And I couldn’t. It’s done now. Let’s put it behind us.”
This is the way it would always be. She had accepted that.
Eleanor was descended from strong German stock. Her blood was a blessing and a curse. Oh, God, why couldn’t her strength have been channeled elsewhere than into her resentments and endless disappointments? What would it take for Eleanor to see the truth—all of it—and finally purge herself of bitterness? Leota was weary of the battle. Too much time had passed for things to be undone and put to rights.
Leota had almost given up hope of anything changing until Annie came. But she couldn’t burden her granddaughter with her dreams. She had the hope of her salvation and that was enough. Death would come, and the pain would stop.
Annie reached over the table and took her hands, startling her from her grim reverie. “What if we brought it back?”
“Brought what back?” Leota’s thoughts were stumbling over the past, searching for other avenues she might have taken. Why? It was too late. You couldn’t relive your life or change the course of it.
“The garden, Grandma. What if we worked together and made the garden what it was?”
Leota’s heart leaped, but only for a moment. It was sweet of Annie to suggest it, but the girl had no idea what she was saying. Leota had been cast out of the garden five years ago by old age. Her joints had ached horribly from arthritis. She had become dizzy in the warmth of the afternoon sun. On fall days, even two sweaters hadn’t been enough to ward off the chill that seemed to set into her bones. She had finally come into the house one day, taken off her work gloves, and thrown them away. What was the point of all that toil when she was the only one around to see the result? And it made her sick anyway . . .
No, it was too late. She shook her head at the impossibility of the task. Annie couldn’t know. She couldn’t even guess the work that went into making a garden flourish.
And yet . . .
Hadn’t that been her dream over the years? To work in the garden with her children and grandchildren?
No, she must be sensible. It was only kindness that had made Annie offer. “I’m too old.” She couldn’t climb a ladder to prune trees or turn the soil. She couldn’t work on her knees anymore. If she got down on them, she’d never get up again.
“You have the knowledge, Grandma, and I have the strength. You could tell me what to do.”
She saw the eagerness in Annie’s eyes, an eagerness no doubt born of ignorance. “It takes time, Annie. You have school and work and friends. You have your own life.”
“I want to spend time with you.”
“You’re welcome here anytime, dear. Don’t think for a minute you have to work to be welcome.”
Annie searched her eyes. “Couldn’t we try, Grandma?”
“Well, I don’t . . .”
“Please.”
Leota weakened. She looked out the window, remembering how the garden had once looked. Then her vision cleared and she saw all that needed to be done. “Not today,” she said finally, weary and depressed. “We’ll talk about it next time.”
Next time Annie would have had time to think things over more carefully and realize she had better things to do.