When her hand began to cramp, Annie set her sketchbook and pencils aside and went into the kitchen to start supper. She found a bowl in one cabinet and seasonings in another. She mixed a meat loaf. After washing her hands, she turned on the oven and searched through the lower cabinets for a baking dish. Pressing the meat loaf into it, she slid it into the oven. Washing two red-jacket potatoes, she put them in a pot of water and set them on the stove to be turned on later. She would slice and steam the zucchini while the potatoes were boiling.
The telephone rang. Annie stepped into the doorway as her grandmother answered. Turning away, she took two plates and silverware out and set the small kitchen table for two.
“Annie!” her grandmother called. “Would you mind if Corban came by for a while this evening?”
“Supper will be ready in an hour, Grandma. There’s plenty for one more.” She waited a moment and stepped into the doorway. “Did he say yes?”
“He’s on his way.”
Annie added one more setting to the table, two more potatoes to the pot, and went to join her grandmother in the living room. She sat cross-legged on the couch and set her sketch pad and box of pencils on the side table.
“I didn’t intend to sleep so long.” Her grandmother moved as though to work the kinks out of her shoulders and back. “I’m not much company for you.”
“I enjoy your company, Grandmother, awake or asleep.”
Leota lowered the chair so that her feet were on the floor again. She pushed herself up, stood for a moment, then began stepping from one foot to the other.
“Are you all right, Grandma?”
She marched slowly in place. “I’m at that age when I have to get the circulation going before I take any long treks.”
“Where are you going?”
“To the bathroom. Then to the bedroom for a sweater.”
“I can get your sweater for you.”
“I know you can, but I’ll get it. If I don’t move around a little bit, I’ll grow right into this chair and have to be buried in it.”
The thought made Annie shudder, and she pushed it away quickly. No point in getting morose. Grandma was going to be around for a long time.
Annie greeted Corban at the door when he arrived. “Good evening, Mrs. Reinhardt,” he said formally as he entered the living room.
“I think we’ve known each other long enough now that you can call me Leota,” she said from her chair. “Where’s your notepad?”
“I left it in the car.” His mouth tipped ruefully. “You seem to clam up when I have it in my hand.”
“How does your girlfriend feel about you spending your Friday evening over here with me and my beautiful granddaughter?”
“Grandma—”
“Ruth’s in the city with some of her friends.”
“Girls’ night out?”
“There’s a march tomorrow morning. A political demonstration. They’ll be in the front lines.” He didn’t look happy about it.
“Dinner’s ready, Grandma,” Annie said, hoping to save him from explaining further. Corban helped her grandmother from the recliner.
“You’re learning,” Leota said, smiling up at him. Annie saw he was put off by the compliment. So defensive. Lord, what can we do to soften his heart and help him relax enough to show himself? He’s like a box turtle, pulling in tight, waiting for the hammer to fall. Annie followed them into the kitchen. When they were seated together, Leota looked at him. “Would you like to do the honors?”
“Honors?”
“Pray.”
He blushed to the roots of his hair. “I don’t pray.”
“Don’t or won’t?”
“Religion’s never been a part of my life.”
“It hasn’t played a big part in mine, either. Faith, on the other hand, is everything.” Grandma held out her hands. Annie reached across the table to Corban so they joined hands in a circle. Corban looked decidedly uncomfortable but resigned. Grandma Leota lowered her head. Annie did likewise, closing her eyes.
“Father,” her grandmother said solemnly, “bless this food to our bodies’ use and bless the hands that have prepared it for us. And help us, Lord Jesus, to minister to this poor heathen boy. Amen.”
Annie pressed her lips together, trying not to laugh. Her gaze flickered to Corban, whose face was even redder.
“Thanks,” he said grimly.
“You’re welcome.” Her grandmother spoke without the least hint of humor. She offered him a bowl. “Squash?”
Rain pattered the roof as the three of them ate together. Grandma Leota paused and looked out at the backyard. “That thing looks good out there. It’ll be the only color until spring.”
Corban glanced over. His brows flickered. “Well, that’s certainly . . . different.”
Annie didn’t know whether that meant he liked it or not, but it didn’t worry her. “More meat loaf, Grandma?”
“No, thank you, dear. I don’t usually eat this much. I have to watch my girlish figure, you know.” She gazed out the rain-slicked window. “There are quite a few bare spots left for you to fill, Annie.” She smiled at Corban. “And you, too, if you’ve the imagination for it.”
“Fill with what?” he said.
“Whatever you have to offer.”
Corban looked out at the yard and back at them, obviously at a total loss.
“I was thinking about bowling balls,” Annie said.
“What are you talking about?” Corban sounded faintly frustrated.
“Bowling balls,” Annie repeated. “They come in all colors. I bought two a few weeks ago at a garage sale. One yellow, one marbled pink and red.”
“What for?”
She shrugged. “Oh, I don’t know. They were pretty and didn’t cost much.”
He gave a gruff laugh and speared a piece of potato. “Sounds like shifting junk from one place to another.”
“For heaven’s sake, Corban!” Grandma scowled at him. “Weren’t you ever a little boy?”
Annie sensed her grandmother was coming to her defense and was touched. “I’ve been thinking they might look interesting in the garden. Are you game?”
“You do whatever you want out there, honey. That garden is more yours than mine now.”
Alarmed, Annie put her hand over her grandmother’s. “It’ll never be mine, Grandma. That’s your garden. I won’t change anything if you don’t want—”
“Nonsense. Hush now, and listen. A garden is only yours as long as you seed, weed, cultivate, water, and prune. A garden needs lots of tender, loving care. You go out there and enjoy it. The Lord knows it’s been neglected too long. Just watching you work and put yourself into it gives me pleasure past describing. So you go ahead and bring the bowling balls and anything else you want.”
Annie bit her lip, feeling the ache grow. Was her grandmother giving up? She didn’t want to take over the garden. She wanted to come alongside her grandmother so they could enjoy it together. She had so much to learn. There were so many things her grandmother could teach her. Oh, Lord, give us time. Please give us time.
Grandma Leota patted her hand. “Don’t look so distressed, Annie.” She gazed out the window once more. “It never belonged to me anyway. I had so many hopes and dreams while I was out there.” Her hand tightened slightly. “It’s lots of work. You don’t realize at first. You have to soften the soil with hoeing and fertilizing. Then you plant the seed and water and weed, all the while watching and hoping for growth. Then you have to protect the seedlings from vermin, and prune when things grow too fast and wild. Sometimes they get away from you altogether. Sometimes they die, and you don’t know why. But then others flourish, so that everyone can partake. That’s the whole point, don’t you see? Bearing fruit. Carrying the sweet aroma . . .”
Her eyes grew moist. “Those trees back there that you two worked on should bear fruit this year.” She let go of Annie’s hand. “If they don’t, cut them down.”
Annie’s heart ached. There it was ag
ain, the feeling that her grandmother was speaking less about what was outside the window and more about what had gone on inside the house. The tears pricked, hot and heavy. She felt Corban looking at her, perplexed. Did he feel nothing about what Grandma had just said? Or was it that he just didn’t understand? “Did Grandpa like gardening, too?”
Her grandmother blinked and looked down at her plate. “There wasn’t much of a garden when he went away to war. Mama and Papa Reinhardt started it, but everything Mama planted withered and died. After I came to live with them, the outside chores fell to me. And it seemed I had a knack for gardening. After a short while, it was no chore at all because I loved being out there in the open air and sunshine. Right from the beginning, that garden became my place. I worked all day, you see, and when I’d get home . . . well, the garden was a refuge where I could work out my sorrows and frustrations and have joy poured back into me.”
“Did Mother help you?”
“Sometimes Eleanor would come outside. I hoped she’d love it the way I did, but she never seemed to take to it. She became very close to your great-grandmother, you see, so she stayed inside most of the time. Eleanor was just a baby when I moved in here, and Mama Reinhardt took over rearing her and your uncle George when I went to work. Mama Reinhardt never approved.”
Corban pushed his plate aside and leaned forward on the table. “Approved of you, or of you working?”
“Both, I suppose. She didn’t understand. Those were hard times. Our country was at war against Japan and Germany. Papa and Mama Reinhardt were German immigrants, both with thick accents. It didn’t matter so much with Mama—she wouldn’t have worked outside the home anyway. But no one would hire Gottlieb Reinhardt. He was a professional man, an engineer, and it hurt his pride terribly to be looked upon with suspicion. He never talked about the discrimination. It’s not like today when everyone is shouting about being discriminated against, but it was a blow to his honor and integrity. He wasn’t angry; he was ashamed. Mama didn’t know about any of this until years later.”
“How could she not know, Grandma?”
“He was a very quiet man, honey. He didn’t whine or complain. Every morning he left the house and stayed away all day, dipping into savings when no paychecks were forthcoming. She thought he was going to work. For months he would look for a job, pounding the pavement, knocking on doors, offering his experience and knowledge. After a while, he gave up. He would go down to Dimond Park and sit on a bench and read.”
Annie saw the tears in her grandmother’s eyes.
“He was too proud to tell Mama Reinhardt no one wanted to hire a German. They were both naturalized citizens, not that it mattered. People were afraid and suspicious.” She smiled sadly. “I didn’t know until a few weeks ago that they had their citizenship. I found their papers with some old letters.”
“So you moved in with Great-Grandma and Grandpa to help them out financially?”
“Oh, I wasn’t so high-minded and altruistic as that. I needed help myself. Papa was worried they were going to lose the house. He wrote to Bernard about the situation, hoping his son could help him. Bernard wrote to me. I was barely making ends meet by myself, and Bernard thought this was an answer from heaven for all of us. He thought it would be a good way for me to get to know Mama better, too. And I would have someone to watch over George and Eleanor so that I could get a job and help out until Papa found something. There were plenty of jobs with so many men gone. Just none for Germans, you see. So I came to Papa and talked with him about it. Papa said to move in with them, and I did. I found employment that same week.”
“And that didn’t hurt his pride?” Corban looked skeptical.
“Papa knew I’d worked before marrying Bernard. In fact, I’d worked much of my life, just as most people did back then. He didn’t tell Mama the full situation, and it wasn’t my place to do so. Things were bad enough between Mama and me without my rubbing her nose in the fact that I was the one paying for the roof over her head. She had been against Bernard marrying me in the first place. I was trying to keep peace, not declare war. Mama Reinhardt didn’t know what was really going on until Bernard came home from the war. And by then, it was too late.”
“Too late?” Corban frowned. The words hung in the air.
“For the children. I’ve had a lot of years to think things over, and I know most of our troubles go back to that time.”
Annie felt her grandmother’s pain. She took her hand between her own.
Her grandmother looked at her sadly. “It was unfair, really. You have to see Mama Reinhardt’s side of it. All during those war years while I was working, Mama Reinhardt didn’t know I was turning the money over to Papa. She just thought I didn’t care about my children. She thought I was just looking for a way to pass George and Eleanor off on her so I could have a carefree, fun-filled life of my own while Bernard was off fighting the war. Papa never told her otherwise. He was too proud, I guess. Too hurt. Too ashamed. The damage was being done to the children more than anyone, and I didn’t fully understand. I was caught up in my own resentments and frustrations. Mama Reinhardt loved George and Eleanor in her own way, but she said things, hurtful things about me. And being so young, they believed everything.”
She sighed. “I look back now and see that all my actions seemed to make it look like I didn’t care about them. I did work all day—five, sometimes six, days a week. Then I’d go to church on Sunday. It wasn’t the denomination Mama and Papa had belonged to in Germany, so Mama would stand in the bedroom doorway and tell me I was going against everything Bernard would want.”
“Was that true?”
“Of course not, but it was what she thought and it made things difficult on the children. They were spending so much time with Mama, their loyalties were being pulled toward her. And I made it worse. I held my tongue most of the time and nursed my grievances against her. Thankfully, I had a good friend. Cosma. She was a dear. We worked together. Her husband was in the service, too. Sometimes she and I would volunteer at the USO. We’d serve coffee and cookies and dance with the soldiers.”
She shook her head. “I’ll never forget one night when Mama Reinhardt waited up for me. She called me names in German. I didn’t know what they meant, but I saw the look on her face and heard the tone of her voice.” She gave a soft, humorless laugh. “I lost my temper and called her an old battle-ax. She said she was going to tell her son everything about me when he got home, and then I would be out of her house. Papa was up from bed by then and got between us. I thought he’d tell her the situation then. I hoped and prayed he would.”
“But he didn’t,” Corban said, his eyes dark.
“Not entirely, and I didn’t dare.”
“Why not? She deserved it.”
She shook her head slowly. “When you smash someone’s pride, Corban, you make an enemy, not a friend.”
He shrugged. “She was already your enemy.”
“Papa wasn’t. He was on my side. That might have been part of Mama’s animosity. He said he couldn’t tell her yet, but he would. I knew it was best to leave it to him and wait.”
“Did he tell her?” Annie’s heart ached for all her grandmother had endured.
“Eventually.” She pushed her plate away. Annie saw that her hands were trembling. “This is so difficult. You’re only hearing things from my side, and I can see you taking offense for me, but things are never so simple. You must try to understand and not hold anything against Mama Reinhardt.” She reached out to pat Annie’s hand. “She’s family, you know. Her blood runs in you, as well as mine. Think of it from her side. I was unlike anyone she knew. I was very independent. Very modern. Very American.” She smiled sadly. “She was against your grandfather marrying me because of that. She thought Bernard would be happier married to a girl more like those from their homeland.”
Leota laid her supper utensils on her plate. “I think when I moved into her house, she was convinced I would try to take over everything. So she fought me from
the start. She didn’t want me cooking or cleaning or doing anything in the house. When I went off to work, that just verified what she thought about me. I didn’t understand her any more than she understood me. She had difficulty with English. In fact, she and Papa spoke German to one another most of the time. I just stayed out of her way as much as I could. It’s pretty hard to do in a small house, so I worked in the garden. I thought it would give them time alone together, and I hoped it would give me time alone with my children.”
“But it didn’t work out that way.” Annie knew her mother hated gardening more than anything else. And now she knew why. Mother had never understood that Grandma Leota was extending an invitation to her. She’d always referred to the garden as a place of labor rather than a labor of love.
“No, it didn’t work out that way. Things seldom happen the way we plan.”
“What happened when your husband came home from the war?” Corban said. “Did he get everything straightened out?”
“We had a whole new set of problems.” She held out her hand for his plate. “You’re finished?”
Annie saw how her grandmother’s expression changed subtly. Grandma Leota didn’t want to talk about Grandpa Bernard. The pain was all too clear in her eyes. Memories too painful for tears.
Corban must have seen it, too. “Yes,” he said slowly and handed her his empty plate. “Best meal I’ve had in a long time.”
Annie was thankful he didn’t press her grandmother with more questions. She smiled at him when he glanced at her.
Grandma Leota took his utensils and put them on her plate. Then she carefully slid his plate underneath her own. She held out her hand to Annie. Annie didn’t want her to stop talking about the past; she needed to know everything in order to understand her mother. “Were you ever able to make peace with Mama Reinhardt, Grandma?”