Mulch (3 page)

Janie had the car door half open when she turned to Louise. “Mother. One more thing.” She only called her Mother when she wished to clothe one of her overarching criticisms with respect. “I don’t mean to be rude or anything, but Dad would never have got us lost like that.”

Louise removed the key from the ignition and turned to look squarely at her daughter. The youthful dress had given up the fight and submissively turned with her. Louise reflected what a beautiful girl Janie was. Expressive eyes large and blue like her father’s, but with dark lashes and eyebrows like Louise’s. Long, tawny hair. A figure just ready to bud. So why did she feel like giving her a good slap in the face?

Janie leaned over and kissed Louise on the cheek, resting a gentle arm around her mother’s neck like a softly placed garland. “On the other hand, Ma, you’re fun to be with, and don’t forget that. Some mothers are really boring.” She was gone from the car and sauntering over to the movers. “Hi, guys,” she said as if they were old friends. “Been here long?”

Louise sat quietly in the car, head bowed. Then she slowly got out and closed the door and leaned against it. She took a good look. Her eye traveled from the top of the hundred-foot forest trees down to the understory of dogwood and shrubs, lit from above with dappled sunlight. The only clues to a house in there were the glints of sun slanting off the panes of large
glass windows. Forgetting the heat and aggravation of the trip here, she stepped under the canopy of the trees for a more intimate look.

Once her eyes adjusted to dim light, she could see the rangy house—even lower-slung because of the placement of the studio addition close by the front door. A pergola of weathered gray twelve-by-two timbers connected the two buildings and formed a handsome overhang for the front path. She couldn’t believe this was all theirs.

As she came closer, her imagination went to work and began filling in the empty spots in the landscape.

The pergola was bare of plantings. A pleasant picture of an Italianate walkway with hanging clusters of grapes invaded her mind. She would put Concord grapes upon it, once she tested with Bill’s light meter to see if there was enough sun to grow them.

Her gaze traveled to the front of the studio. It cried out for something. Almost instantly, she knew: A group of native rhododendrons, with their delicate, clawlike pink flowers, belonged there. Then, she would place a small grove of amelanchiers—their silvery bark echoing the color of the pergola—on the other side for balance.

She took in a deep breath. The air was moist and aromatic, redolent of gently rotting leaves. She smiled, enthralled with the place, and continued her way toward the trellised path, not noticing a stubby azalea bush in her way. When she tripped and fell, she found the forest floor quite soft, and for a millisecond longed to just lie there and take a rest. Instead she rose, absently brushed off her wrinkled blue dress, and ambled on until she reached the stone walk.

It was the kind of walk she had dreamed of as a child. A wet spring and summer had caused green moss to grow on the edges of each flagstone, making it into a path straight out of Hansel and Gretel. She could just picture it edged with groupings of narcissus, dog-toothed violets, parasol-shaped mayapples, and maybe a jack-in-the-pulpit or two.

But an uncomfortable feeling was beginning to creep into her consciousness: The price tab on her imaginary gardening improvements was growing. With a twinge of guilt, she promised herself at least she could cut costs by forgoing expensive bulbs. Instead, she would buy them in those big bags. With just one exception. She just had to have some of the rarer Hawera narcissus, with their distinctive yellow trumpets.

She gratefully sank down upon a tree stump, for it was hot here in her forest. The possibilities stretched on and on. Down a bit from the amelanchiers—they were now permanently placed in her mental blueprint—and not too far from the path, she would create another peaceful oasis. This one would have plantings of witch hazel, hellebores, and snowdrops, to delight passersby with their flowers in the last days of winter. And when fall came, the same area would be carpeted with the blue flowers and wine-colored leaves of plumbago….

“Ma!”

At first, Janie’s call didn’t quite register. Then the girl found her, sitting on her stump. She reached down and grasped her mother’s arm as if she were a prisoner who might try to escape. “Now, Ma”—her daughter’s voice was softer now, as if talking to someone on another planet—“the men have been waiting to talk to you out at the truck before they start unloading.” The teenager was flushed with heat and her
eves were wide with embarrassment. “What’re you doing, anyway? You look like you’re in a trance.”

“Sorry, darling,” said Louise, brushing her long hair away from her face. “I was just dreaming.” She waved her arm to encompass the woods around them as they walked toward the moving van. “Just look at this place.”

“Yeah, like I said, billions and billions of trees, but knowing you, you’ll plant more.” The girl turned and faced her mother, hands on her hips. “Just remember, don’t dip into my college funds to pay for them.” Then she danced away ahead of Louise, throwing back, “Just kidding, of course!”

The leggy teenager ran forward and bestowed a big smile on the moving men. They had been waiting in the hot sun of the cul-de-sac for nearly an hour. Now they were stirring impatiently around the truck, like a bunch of hornets around a nest. “Here she comes,” called Janie, “all ready to answer your questions.”

To Louise, it sounded as if the girl were doing a selling job on her, the message being, “This person isn’t really the dingbat she appears to be.” That’s what it was, all right. For Janie continued: “And don’t you worry a bit: You’ll find she’s really a very efficient woman.”

When Louise first entered the house, it was like another world. Silent. Bare. Beautiful, but bare. A strange house—all windows and wood floors. Not much substance. Could they really
live
here?

Janie was ecstatic.

“Wow, what a fireplace! What a great brick wall!” she
cried, giving it an affectionate pat. She loped around the living room, then made a quick circuit of the house, returning quickly to her mother.

“I love it!” she cried, and gave Louise a big hug. “And to think it’s ours forever. It’s so
totally
modern, but my room even has a
nook.
You and Dad did real good.”

“I’m glad you like it, dear.”

The movers had formed a procession outside the front door, each carrying a dining room chair. Joe, the foreman, a giant of a man, introduced the three helpers. One was a young man. Two were older men with nicotine-stained fingers and stringy muscles who looked as bone-weary as old camels. One was limping a little, she noticed.

As they brought each piece, Louise and Janie told them where to place it. They followed a plan of the house that identified where everything was to go. Louise had made it to scale and photocopied it so that she, Bill, and Janie each had a copy. She noticed Janie was timing it so she could direct the young man with whatever he was carrying.

In less than an hour Bill arrived. He looked handsome in his business clothes, clean-shaven, crisp, every blond hair in place. He was carrying a paper bag of sandwiches and drinks for their lunch.

“Good, you’re home,” said Louise. Her smile was tight. “We missed you on the ride here.”

He took off his suit jacket and placed it on the counter, then kissed her lightly on the forehead. “What’s the matter … couldn’t you find it or something?”

Louise crossed her arms over her chest. “As a matter of fact, we did have a little trouble. Is that so strange?”

He came over and held her by her elbows. “Honey, don’t get mad at me. It’s moving day; we can’t afford to spend any energy on emotions.” The blue eyes twinkled. He gave her a little peck on the lips and moved his body so it touched hers. “I’m getting inside your iron cordon,” he warned, grinning.

“Don’t try to co-opt me, Bill Eldridge. A person and their emotions are not easily separated.” But she smiled and hugged him. “Honey, I love the house, and the woods—the woods are magical. Thank you so much.”

At that he kissed her lingeringly on the mouth, until she wished time could telescope and they could just forget the next six hours or so. Finally, he broke away. “And now to our favorite task—moving in.” He rolled up the sleeves of his white dress shirt and pitched in beside her and Janie, putting things in place as fast as the movers could bring them in.

By early afternoon, the job was well on its way. She and Bill were tiring but holding up; Janie had taken off somewhere. Louise was beginning to feel better. She found it exciting to see how well their antique furniture looked, juxtaposed against the modern lines of the house. “I’m beginning to like it,” she told Bill, her eyes shining.

“Wait until we hang a few pictures. It will be as if we never moved.”

She passed by the recreation room and saw the youngest of the moving crew working there on his own. Tall, muscular, but hardly more than a boy. He was pounding together the Charleston bed that doubled as a couch. Out of the fatigue that had already settled in on her she still noticed an inescapable fact: The young man was beautiful. Brown, wavy hair and brown eyes. Why on earth was he in the moving business?

She stood tentatively near the door. “Earl. It’s Earl, isn’t it? I just was curious…. How did you happen to get into this, uh, moving profession?”

He looked up at her from his kneeling position, and the dark handsomeness of his face startled her. The knowing eyes, the shadows behind his high cheekbones—a little American Indian in his past? “It’s hardly what you’d call a profession, now, is it?”

“Well, maybe not.” Louise looked down at her white tennis shoes, then back at the handsome young man. “You just seem so young, so …”

Earl set the hammer on the floor, rested his forearm on his knee, and looked up at her. Softly, he said, “Something happened. Last year, when I was seventeen. My dad died after an accident. Fell off a ladder. I was going to go to college, but I’m doing this instead for a while. Money’s good.” He grinned. “I just hope I don’t strain my back. I discovered right away this business makes cripples out of good men.”

Louise crouched down on her haunches, and her blue skirt puffed out around her. She was on eye level with him. “I bet it does … all this heavy old furniture. But couldn’t you piece together something … there are all sorts of tuition grants and work-study programs. Then you could start school with your friends.”

“Well, ma’am, you’ve heard of families running out of health insurance, and racking up great big bills at the hospital? We’re one of those families. We owe ‘em about a hundred and fifty grand for taking care of my dad when he was dying.” He looked down. He gracefully picked up his hammer. “Didn’t
save him from dying, but sure was expensive. My mom
is
the type who takes bills seriously.”

Louise rose up slowly. “That’s such a shame….” She heard the other movers approaching. “I know you want to get back to your work. Nice to talk to you.” She smiled at him. He had an odd expression on his face. Then she forgot Earl and went to find Bill, to see what the next task was on this moving day.

Joe, the foreman, big, bald, sweaty, and satisfied, sat at the dining room table with Louise and Bill, his giant forearms cuddled protectively around a cold Michelob, a swath of papers in front of him. Around them stood large, opened boxes spewing wrapping paper. It was the time for settling up. Joe, however, was in no hurry.

He leaned back and took a pack of unfiltered cigarettes from the limp pocket of his shirt. Then, thinking better of it, he put them back. He regarded Louise and Bill with a challenging look. “There’s one thing about you guys I wanna know,” he said. “I wanna know how you guys learned how to move so good. You’re like professionals.”

Bill smiled ruefully. “That’s because we’ve had so much practice.” He looked at Louise. “Right, honey?” She nodded agreement.

Joe’s assistants, Earl and the two older men, lounged in the kitchen doorway, drinking their beers but eyeing an open bottle of Weller’s bourbon glowing dark amber on the antique pine table.