Leota's Garden

  “We’re not on the best of terms right now,” Annie said after a long pause.

  Leota felt the girl’s pain. Did she dare pry? What if she asked the wrong question and her granddaughter left? She wanted to offer some comfort, but what could she say that wouldn’t be misconstrued? “Things will blow over in time?” That wasn’t necessarily true. Things had never blown over between Leota and Eleanor. “Would you like to talk about it?” she said cautiously.

  Annie looked at her again, her blue eyes so troubled and filled with pain that Leota’s heart squeezed tight. Oh, Eleanor, what have you done to our little Annie?

  “Mother says I’m like you.”

  “Oh, dear,” Leota said ruefully, and Annie’s face turned pink. The poor girl looked so embarrassed and distressed, Leota was sorry she had said anything. She knew where she stood with Eleanor. The why was not as easily understood. “Why would she say a thing like that?”

  Annie looked down at her clasped hands. “I decided to study art in San Francisco instead of going east to Wellesley.”

  “Are you good at art?”

  She raised her head and looked at Leota, letting out her breath softly. “Mother said if I had any real talent, she would’ve sent me to Paris to study.”

  Leota heard no bitterness, nor did she see any resentment as Annie repeated her mother’s assessment. Oh, Eleanor. Ever the judge and jury. A spark of anger lit inside Leota. “What do you think, Annie?”

  She smiled bleakly. “I may not be as good as I think, but I love it.”

  “What sort of art do you do?”

  “I’ve tried all kinds. I’m not sure where my strengths are yet, if I have any. I did a lot of pencil sketching through high school. The budgets were cut so much, though, that our school could offer only two courses. Art wasn’t a high priority.”

  “What are you going to study?”

  “I’ve registered for a course in art appreciation and another in form. I’d like to try watercolors and acrylics. Maybe in time I’ll know what I’m supposed to do.”

  “It’s not out of the blue. You have a relative who was a commercial artist.”

  “Really? I didn’t know that.”

  Did Eleanor even know? She couldn’t remember if they’d ever talked about relatives long past. “She would’ve been your great-great-aunt Joyce. She was from my side of the family. She died before your mother was born. A few of Aunt Joyce’s things were passed on to me when my mother died. I might have a few of her pictures tucked away somewhere. She made a good living drawing ladies’ fashions and stoves and farm machinery. Things like that. Nothing very exciting. She did a few greeting cards, too, if I remember correctly.”

  “I’d love to see them.”

  “I’ll see if I can find them.” She hadn’t thought about them in years. Where might they be? In her hope chest, perhaps? Or in a box in the attic? How could she get up there to look for them?

  The teakettle whistled. Leota rose and turned the gas off. She poured hot water over the tea bags and set the kettle back on the stove. “Do you like your tea strong?”

  “Any way you’re having yours will be fine,” Annie said.

  Leota dipped the tea bags up and down until the tea was a rich amber. “Sugar?”

  “Plain is fine.”

  A people pleaser. Leota had a feeling Annie liked sugar in her tea, but didn’t want to be a bother. The teacups rattled slightly as she put them on the table, one before Annie and the other on her crossword puzzle. She opened a cabinet and took out a cobalt-blue sugar bowl. Removing the lid, she loosened the sugar inside and set the bowl on the table close to Annie. Opening a drawer, she took out a spoon and set it on the table as well. She couldn’t offer cream—she didn’t have any. Nor did she have any milk. She needed to make another trip to the grocery store.

  When was that young college student coming back? What was his name? Corban. That was it. Corban Solsek. He was supposed to come on Wednesday. Would he? She hadn’t been very nice to him. Stuck-up little twerp. What day was this? Maybe she’d call that nice Decker woman and ask her if she could send someone else.

  “It smells good, Grandma,” Annie said. “Thank you.”

  Leota sat at the table with her granddaughter. She smiled to herself as she watched Annie sprinkle two teaspoons of sugar into her tea. Either she had a sweet tooth or she didn’t like tea. Leota decided the next time she went to the store she would buy a can of that fancy instant coffee, the kind they advertised on television. Whatever the cost. French vanilla. Cappuccino. Double-Dutch chocolate. Something special. And she’d buy the fixings for cookies, too. She wanted to have something nice to offer the next time her granddaughter came to visit.

  Assuming there would be a next visit.

  Leota began to worry. This visit hadn’t even gotten under way and all she could think about was how little time she might have to get to know this girl before she left. She had the feeling that when Annie walked out the front door, that would be the end of everything important. Oh, Lord. Help me! Is she as sensitive as Eleanor? One wrong word and off she’ll go and I’ll never get to see her again?

  God . . . help!

  Annie sat in silence, fighting the fears that were suddenly plaguing her. Had she been right to come? What did her grandmother think of her? Of what she’d said about her mother?

  It was Grandmother who finally broke the silence. “So you’re old enough to be on your own.”

  “Yes. I moved in with a friend from high school. Susan Carter. She graduated a year ahead of me. She’s a lot of fun.”

  “Fun.”

  “Not in a bad way,” Annie said quickly, thinking about the way her mother viewed Susan. Annie didn’t want to give her grandmother the wrong impression. “Susan’s very responsible. She’s taking classes at San Francisco State, and she’s paying all of her own expenses.”

  “What’s she studying?”

  “Right now, she’s classified as ‘undecided,’ but she’ll probably major in nursing. Her mother’s a nurse.” Annie told her about the apartment and the advantages of its location. “I like to run.”

  So that’s why she looks so thin, Leota thought.

  “It’s not that far to the zoo and only a mile or so to the beach,” Annie said. “There’s a jogging path there.”

  Leota seemed to remember something about Annie being involved in sports. Eleanor must have said so, but Leota was embarrassed she didn’t know more. “Were you on the track team?”

  “No. Mother didn’t think it was a good idea for a girl to be a runner, so I was in gymnastics until I was fifteen.”

  “Why did you stop?”

  “I broke my arm in a fall. The injury prevented me from continuing with it.”

  “Ladies didn’t jog in my day,” Leota said, “but I used to walk around Lake Merritt on my lunch hour. I could keep up quite a clip in those days. And I loved being out in the open for a while. I kept my walking shoes in the bottom drawer of my desk at work. It raised a few eyebrows, I can tell you. Not that it stopped me. Things have changed since then. I’ve heard it’s not unusual these days for women to wear tennis shoes to work. Is that so?”

  Annie smiled. “I see ladies in business suits and tennis shoes downtown all the time. Lots of women change into heels when they get to their offices.”

  “Putting all those poor podiatrists out of work,” Leota said with a chuckle.

  Annie relaxed. Something about her grandmother made Annie feel quite at home with her in this small house. The soft gleam of humor in her grandmother’s eyes gave Annie courage . . . made her decide to risk asking personal questions.

  “What did you do for a living, Grandma?” What was the career that had been more interesting than her family?

  “I was a secretary. Just an ordinary secretary.”

  “Did you enjoy it?”

  “I was good at it.”

  “How long did you work?”

  “Thirty years.”

  That would have been long aft
er her mother left home. Perhaps there was something to her mother’s supposition. “Did you work for the same company all that time?”

  “Oh, no. I worked for four different companies altogether. They were all in the same office building, just two blocks away from the lake. One went out of business, but I was hired right away by one of their competitors. When that boss retired, I worked for the gentleman who bought his company. Then that company merged with another. I stayed on and worked for them as well.”

  “Why did you finally leave?”

  Leota smiled slightly. “I turned sixty-five.”

  “Oh. Did they let you go because of your age?”

  “No. I gave them notice two weeks before my birthday.”

  She made it sound as though she couldn’t wait to leave. Was that so? “Did you find the work fulfilling?”

  “Fulfilling? No, I wouldn’t say secretarial work was particularly fulfilling. It paid the bills. And I liked the people.”

  Annie frowned. How was it that someone who was supposed to have loved her work so much would not seem the least interested in talking about it when the opportunity arose? Perhaps it had been the people she had worked for who had been the draw. Had she been involved with someone? Was that what had caused the rift between her grandmother and her mother? It didn’t seem likely. Had Nora known of anything clandestine, she would have said something about it. There had never been any indication that her mother would care about protecting Grandma Leota’s reputation. If anything, her mother would’ve used that kind of information to nail Grandma Leota’s coffin shut.

  “You look so troubled,” her grandmother said quietly. “Is it something I’ve said?”

  “No. I was just thinking . . .” Annie blushed, realizing the track of her thoughts. She was condemning her mother exactly the way her mother had condemned Grandma Leota all these years. What right had she to criticize her mother, even in her own mind? Had she walked in her shoes? Had she seen through her eyes?

  “Dwell on what is true and right and lovely.”

  She rubbed her temple. What is true? What is right?

  “Do you have a headache? I have some aspirin.”

  “No. I’m fine, Grandma Leota. Really. There are just so many things . . .” She pressed her lips together, afraid she would cry. She expected her grandmother to start asking questions the way her mother always did. What could she say?

  Leota sat still and quiet, as though she was waiting.

  Annie felt uncomfortable. She was far more used to her mother’s verbally pounding at her for an answer.

  “Tell me what’s wrong now.”

  “Nothing, Mother.”

  “I suppose you want to quit piano again. Well, I’m not going to let you. Do you hear me? Someday you’ll thank me for making you keep up your lessons. If I left it up to you, you’d quit everything.”

  “Mother, I just need a little time—”

  “You can have all the time you want, right over there on that bench. You can sulk just as well at the piano as you can sulk in your room. Now, go practice! I promised the ladies you’d play at the luncheon. . . .”

  Annie closed her eyes against the voices that wouldn’t leave her alone.

  Leota could see the girl’s struggle. Annie was terribly upset about something. “Why did you come, Annie?” What could she do to help her granddaughter?

  Annie lowered her hands. They were trembling. She put them around her teacup. “I hardly know you, Grandma Leota.”

  Leota longed to respond, to blurt out that she would have had it otherwise. Yet she didn’t dare utter such provocative words. They could be too easily misconstrued. She would not be party to casting blame on anyone, not even on Eleanor, who was at fault. Leota had been the victim of her daughter’s grievances for too many years. Instead, she said very cautiously, “We can remedy that.”

  Annie raised her head and looked at her. Her blue eyes were glassy with tears and misery. She looked so vulnerable, not like a young woman at all, but rather like a little girl who had been badly hurt by someone she loved. Leota recognized that look. Hadn’t she seen it on Eleanor’s face countless times as a small child? Her heart squeezed so tight, she could hardly breathe, let alone say any words of comfort.

  “I’ve missed you, Grandma.”

  Leota gave the softest gasp. She couldn’t speak. It wasn’t that she didn’t have any words; it was that she had too many. Words of love collected over the lonely years. Years before Annie was even born. All the way back to the day she had placed Eleanor in the arms of Helene Reinhardt. Eleanor had cried. Oh, how she had cried.

  And so had Leota as she sat on the bus, going downtown and doing what she had to do.

  Oh, Lord, are You giving me a second chance?

  Something of Leota’s inner struggle must have shown on her face because Annie reached across the small table and touched her hand. Once. Gently. A tentative exploration. Leota wanted to grasp that young, slender, strong hand and hold on and never let go. Instead, she sat silent, unmoving, afraid if she made one sound there would be an unleashing of the frightful grief and hope inside her. It hurt so much. Oh, what a burden hope could be, especially to one so young and obviously encumbered with her own pain.

  “I guess that doesn’t make any sense, does it?” Annie said softly, her voice breaking slightly.

  It made all the sense in the world to Leota. “I’ve missed you, too,” she said finally. It was a terrible understatement, but to say any more and give a hint to the depth of her true feelings might send the girl running. Oh, Lord, she has no idea who I am. She has no idea of the undercurrents and undertows of the past. Poor Eleanor had been in the vortex and never understood. I didn’t want to explain. How could I without destroying all her illusions about her family? Oh, Jesus, let these mild words be enough, but not too much.

  And so they must have been, for Annie raised her head and looked into Leota’s eyes, searching. Then Annie’s eyes warmed and glowed. Closing them, the girl lowered her head, almost as though saying a silent prayer.

  Corban couldn’t believe what the old woman was asking. He’d taken her to the grocery store, where she had purchased brown and granulated sugar, soda, eggs, chocolate chips, and a five-pound sack of flour. Five pounds he had to carry, along with the pound of sugar and other items. She had gone on a real spree this time. She bought a gallon of milk, instead of her usual quart, and a carton of flavored cream. French vanilla. She bought a small box of Constant Comment tea and another of Orange Spice. She even bought two tins of fancy instant coffee, although she almost threw a fit when she saw how much they would cost her. She didn’t let the price go unnoticed by the poor checker. “Three dollars and eighty-five cents for that little can?” she had harped. “That’s robbery! Six ounces, it says right here. What’s the stuff made of? Gold?”

  Corban hadn’t said a word. In fact, he had been touched, thinking she was going to offer him some instant cappuccino after all he was doing for her. He’d even decided to forgive her for the quarter insult from the first visit. He should’ve known better. When they reached the house, she told him she had some ice water in the refrigerator—he looked like he needed some. She even told him he could dampen a paper towel and dab his face. “You’re a little red.”

  Yeah, well, toting two twenty-pound sacks of groceries up the hill could do that to anyone.

  She still wouldn’t ride in his car.

  And then she hit him up for one more chore. “Before you leave, I’d like you to get something down from the attic for me.”

  “Attic?”

  “Yes. Attic. You know, the space builders leave between a ceiling and a roof. The house is small, I grant you, but it’s still big enough for an attic.”

  Gritting his teeth, he suffered through her sarcastic little lecture. “Sure. Whatever.” The sooner he did as she asked, the sooner he could ask if they could sit down and talk for a while. He had some questions to ask her.

  She took a flashlight out of a kitchen drawer
and marched into the living room. Was it just his imagination, or did she actually have more pep in her step today? Standing in the small corridor facing the horrible pink- and green-tiled bathroom and the two small bedrooms in either direction, Leota Reinhardt pointed up imperiously. She reminded him of the Statue of Liberty with a flashlight in her hand.

  “There’s the door.” She gave him a disgusted look. “Well, for heaven’s sake, why didn’t you bring the chair? Did you think you could leap up there like Superman?”

  He wanted to throw her up through the trapdoor to the attic. She could join the other bats that were probably hanging from the rafters. “I thought there might be a ladder,” he said, striving for reason. He knew it was a stupid thing to say even as he said it. She jumped on it like a cat on a mouse.

  “Oh. You want a ladder. Well, you might find one out in the storage shed behind the garden gate. I used a ladder when I pruned the trees. If you want to use it, go get it. Might not be in the best of shape, but it’ll make the climb easier, I suppose. If you can get it into the house.”

  “I’ll get a chair,” he said through gritted teeth.

  Setting it carefully in the little hallway, he made sure it was on solid wood and not on the grated floor heater. It wobbled slightly when he stepped up. He opened the small trapdoor to the attic and stared into the darkness. It smelled of dust and old wood.

  “There might be rats.”

  His heart jumped into his throat. “Have you heard any up here?” He looked down at her.

  “I’ve heard things scurrying around up there at night,” she said calmly. From where she was standing, she was safe from whatever rodent might come leaping from the dark corners. He was the one who would be toast. “But I wouldn’t worry too much, Mr. Solsek. They’re probably more scared of you than you are of them.”

  Was that a gleam in those eyes? Was she making fun of him? His temper rose another notch. Were all old people this difficult?