The Garden of Happy Endings (21 page)

Instead, it was his ex-wife’s name on the screen. “Hello, Lucinda,” he said, perplexed. “Is everything all right?”

“Fine, fine. Nothing to worry about. I just need to talk to you about something. It’s a little delicate. Are you able to talk?”

“Yeah, sure. What’s going on?”

She paused. “Deacon, I’m sorry, but you need to stop writing letters to Jenny.”

He held the phone to his ear, thinking of his sixteen-year-old daughter, whom he had not seen since she was eight. He wrote letters to her about once a month, just to stay in touch, which he’d started doing when he was in prison, grappling with the enormity of his sins. He didn’t burden her with any of that, of course, just sent chatty, sometimes thoughtful letters that he wrote by hand. Reaching out. “I see.” He cleared his throat. “That coming from you or her?”

“It’s her. I know you’re trying to make amends, but she isn’t interested.”

“I see,” he repeated. “Is that … ever?”

“Deacon, I can tell you’ve got your life together now, but some things aren’t fixable. She doesn’t want to know you. She has a father.”

“Stepfather.”

“Father,” she said, more emphatically. “We’ve been married for half her life.”

Standing in the gravelike silence of the field, he croaked, “Right.”

“Isn’t there something in the AA principles about making amends unless it makes things worse?”

“Yep.”

“You can’t fix this. She’s not interested, and I think you have to leave her alone. Maybe someday, when she grows up and has kids of her own …”

He swallowed. “Good enough. I won’t write to her again.”

“Thank you. I hope you won’t take it too hard.”

“Don’t worry I’m not going on a bender anytime soon.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“I know, Lucinda. It’s fine. I’m going to go now. You take care of yourself, all right? Give her a kiss from me, even if she doesn’t know who it’s from.”

“I can do that.”

He ended the connection and held the phone, bending his head blindly. “Damn it.”

“You all right, Deacon?” said a voice. Father Jack.

“Yeah,” he said, but tears welled in his throat, hot and dangerous.

The priest stood there patiently, wearing his black shirt and white collar, a pair of jeans and tennis shoes. “You don’t really look all right.”

Deacon toed a weed, his hands on his hips. “No,” he amended. “But I will be.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Deacon considered. A hole had opened up in his chest, sucking goodness and holiness and light into it, and he knew from long experience that was never a good place to be. Better to talk than try to wrestle the demon into submission on his own. “It’s my daughter,” he said. “Her mother just asked me to stop writing to her.” His voice all but broke on the last syllable, and he looked over the fields, blinking, until his emotions subsided.

“How old is she?”

“Sixteen. Her mother divorced me when she was seven. I don’t blame her. She’d put up with me binge drinking for thirteen years, and just finally had enough.” Again that heat in his throat. Too much. “God damn it.”

Father Jack waited. “Have faith, Deacon. In time, she might come around.”

Deacon cleared his throat. “I reckon.” Rubbing his jaw, struggling to hang on to his dignity, he croaked out, “I can’t talk about it right now.”

“It’s all right. You know where I am if you change your mind.”

“Thank you.” He dropped the phone into his pocket. “What’s on your mind, Father?”

Father Jack paused, and Deacon felt the priest’s eyes on him. After a long moment, he said, “Couple of things. I’ve been wondering
if we need to have an instructional class or two. Talk about the various crops and what they do, so people can make good choices. Maybe something on companion planting?”

“Elsa has organized a group of experts to volunteer here a few afternoons a week, and I’ve printed up some packets to pass out, with particular instructions for various crops, tomatoes and corn and whatnot.”

“Good. I like that. What happened with the chickens?”

“Probably isn’t a good place for them. Too many coyotes coming up the river. We might be able to find some ways to build good coops over time, in a year or two, but that’s beyond the little budget we’ve got right now.”

“Understood. It was worth a try.”

Deacon narrowed his eyes, imagining the coops, the chicken yard, the valuable lessons they would provide for the children—and even the adults—on the source of food. “All in good time.”

Father Jack nodded. In this light his black hair shone like a raven’s tail, the ends too long and splitting into sections like feathers. “Joseph Whitetail wants to drum, and I told him he could do it this afternoon, so give him some space if he asks for it, if you don’t mind.”

“Good man.” He cocked an eyebrow. “Kinda outside the realm of the church to let a Native American drum away evil spirits, isn’t it?”

“He’s an elder, and a lot of the boys respect him.” He crossed his arms. “They need role models other than the gangs. There are some fathers in the homes here, more than other places, but not enough. Still too many mothers trying to raise boys into men on their own. You’re a Big Brother, aren’t you?”

“That I am, but don’t make it anything noble, now. It’s my way of making amends.”

“I’m wondering how to get more men in the church to take up that mantle. Will you think about that?”

“Sure.”

“The last thing I am concerned about is the gangs, about the possibilities of vandalism.”

“Any ideas?”

“A few. I’ve asked the police to make more trips through the neighborhood, but that’s only going to provide a little help. We need to get some on-site, internal protection.”

Deacon raised a brow in curiosity. “Where are you going to raise this force?”

“Haven’t worked that out yet. Maybe recruit some of the homeless or some of the toughs to be the patrol at night.”

“Maybe not the most reliable, Father.”

“Right.” He sighed. “I’m not sure of the logistics, but we need to do something.” He sniffed. “Elsa’s against any kind of guard.”

“Is that right.” He nodded, looking across the field. “Floodlights might help, motion-detector lights.”

“Expensive, though.”

“Maybe not as much as you’d think. How about if I look into it?”

“Do that.”

Across the field trooped the three rascals, as Deacon called them, Mario and Tiberius and Calvin. Mario was the sturdy one, an ox, while Tiberius was an ostrich, all legs and neck and big eyes, taller than the other two by nearly a foot. Calvin was the smallest, but strong. With his streaky brown and blond curls and wide eyes, he was a cheetah, fast and pretty.

Before they reached the men, Father Jack said, “Those gang boys were just like these three, seven or eight years ago.”

“Yep.”

“Elsa wants to find ways to address the gang issue directly.”

“No small problem there.”

Father Jack nodded, arms crossed over his chest. “Hey, guys,” he said to the trio. “No school today?”

“Teacher in-service,” Mario said. “My grandpa’s gonna drum and he said we could help.”

Calvin leapt closer. “I’m going to help him, too! We’re going to chase away bad spirits.”

“And bring good ones,” Mario said. “And we’re kinda hungry, Deacon. Can you take us to get sandwiches?”

He chuckled. “Do I look like Mr. Moneybags to you?”

“Yeah!”

“It’s okay,” Tiberius said in his high, thin voice. “I had a good breakfast.”

“But look how skinny he is!” Calvin protested. “He don’t
need
no food. I’m always hungry! My mama say she don’t know where I put it all.”

“You got a hollow leg,” Deacon said.

Calvin laughed, his back arching, and his missing teeth showing. “No I don’t!”

Deacon bent and knocked on Calvin’s knee, making a plonking noise with his tongue as he did so. “There it is, right there.”

The boys all laughed.

“Tell you what, I’m going to put you to work here, and you can
earn
you some sandwiches, okay? You help me out and I’ll pay you with a trip to Subway. How’s that?”

“Okay!”

Father Jack said, “Do good work, gentlemen. Deacon, I’ll speak with you later.”

He halted when a dog raced toward them, Elsa’s big black retriever, ears flying, mouth wide open in a smile.

Calvin cried, “Charlie!” and the dog bounded right toward him, grazed his leg with his long back, as if to say,
You’re it!
and bounced away again. Calvin hollered and raced after him.

Elsa emerged from the courtyard, as calm as her dog was wild. Her hair was pulled hard away from her face, though no amount of scraping could catch all the curls, and a few sprang free around her forehead and neck. She waved when she saw them, but didn’t hurry.

She was no beauty, yet Deacon liked looking at her. There was
something appealingly healthy and calm about her movements, her easy ways, her small compact body.

And yet, this morning, what he noticed was the way Father Jack did not hurry away after all, but waited, his face carefully blank, as Elsa approached. “Good afternoon!” he said. “You’re later than usual.”

“Long day yesterday,” she said, leaning forward to kiss his cheek. Father Jack closed his eyes, a split second of quiet coming over his face, then stepped back. “How are things going here?”

“Good,” Deacon said. “You here to help?”

“Sure. What are we doing?”

“A little of everything. Fencing, mainly. I promised the boys some sandwiches at Subway if they helped.” He slapped a pair of work gloves together to get the dust out and offered them. “We’d love to have you join us.”

She inclined her head, smiling, almost coquettish, and took the gloves. “You’re on.”

Father Jack lifted a hand and headed toward the church. Deacon watched his stiff back until he disappeared into the courtyard. Of course, it wouldn’t be appropriate for a priest to be jealous, but Deacon would swear that’s exactly what he was.

Curious, he thought. Curious indeed. “Come on, crew. Let’s get to work.”

O
n the way to the church, Elsa had been turning the dilemma of returning to Seattle over and over in her head. She clearly could not desert Tamsin at the moment, but Reverend Tall Pine had been eyeing her church for a long time, and if he got a foot in, she might lose it to him

Could she bear that?

Yet, could she bear to return, still feeling so lost? Even if she could, it would be impossible to leave Tamsin for at least a little while longer.

It was a relief to find Deacon and Joaquin and the boys in the garden, allowing her to avoid introspection. She loved the physical work, loved the feeling of warm sunshine on her head and her hands in the earth. Loved being part of something that felt so healing, when the rest of her life felt so chaotic. The boys raced around with the dog, performed short tasks as Deacon directed, raced around with Charlie some more.

They set up the area for the shared children’s garden, fencing it off with heavy green recycled plastic made just for this purpose. She helped Deacon hold it and he used a staple gun to fix it to posts. It was nice that he didn’t seem to have to chat the whole time, that he was capable of being quiet. She also liked the way he kept an eye on the boys at all times, as if they were his charges. Which in a way, she supposed, they were.

“Father wants us to have a class after the blessing of the fields tomorrow,” he said, fixing a staple to the post. “We can do it after the first meal. What do you think?”

“Is everything really ready for planting?”

“Not yet. We had a couple of setbacks that called for the need of fencing, but it will also help keep animals out, so it’s worth it.” He straightened. “We can have the official planting date moved to next Saturday.”

“If people want to start early, that’s okay, though, right? I think some are chomping at the bit.”

“You know, I’m a little worried about frost. There’s a storm coming in early next week that might bring snow.”

“That’s the kind of snow that soaks the ground in the best way. Good to have the seeds in the ground, right?”

He gave her his amazing half smile. “You anxious to get started, sister?”

Elsa laughed. “Yes. Tamsin and I have mapped out a grand plan for the kids’ garden. We’ll have a garden of our own, too. How ’bout you?”

“Absolutely.” He hauled the roll of fencing down to the next plot and Elsa followed, holding it up for him. “What are you putting in the kids’ garden?”

“We’ll make a teepee of scarlet runner beans at the center, a pretty good-sized one, so they can go inside. Also pumpkins and corn, of course, and some really early crops, like radishes and lettuce, so they get the payoff of seeing things grow and eating them right away.”

“Great idea.” He put her hand on the plastic, which had holes all through it to imitate metal fencing. “What about your garden?”

“I mainly want a fajita garden—tomatoes, onions, peppers. Tamsin wants some herbs. She’s an excellent gardener.”

“Well, she’s the lady of the manor. She’s had the leisure to polish those skills.”

“Lady of the manor? Not anymore.”

He clutched the staple gun,
clack clack clack
, and they moved to the next post. “Maybe not, but that’s who she’s been. I know that type. Debutante girls with all their charities and good works.”

Elsa bristled. “Maybe you’ve forgotten that you’re talking about my sister. My father was a steelworker—Tamsin was hardly debutante material.”

He straightened. “I meant no offense. Just an observation.”

“She’s more than just beautiful, you know. She’s an artist, a good one. She’s very kind, and a good mother, and she loves beauty. She creates beauty in everything she does.”

Deacon’s mouth edged into the slightest smile. “Lady of the manor.”

She rolled her eyes. “Whatever. You’re being a snob, you know.”

“Could be. You tend to know your place in the South.” He pointed to where he wanted her hands on the post, and she followed
directions. “You kind of have her on a pedestal, your big sister.”

“No. I just know her. I’m proud of her. And she’s going through a wretched, wretched time.”