The Peculiar Miracles of Antoinette Martin: A Novel (9 page)

She leads me to my bed and eases me onto it. She cradles Antoinette in one arm and me in the other. As Antoinette settles into her grandmother’s arms, blessedly silent, I realize I will never be the kind of mother I want to be.

Chapter Five

Lily left Covington before sunrise. After 111 minutes on the road, she reached the outskirts of Redbud, Kentucky. The town was named for the trees that grow wild over the hills, making the air in early spring smell sharp and sweet.

It had rained last night, and the grass was still wet. The road was narrower than Lily remembered, and as she rounded a bend her tires slipped onto the gravel shoulder. An unwanted thought pushed through her mind: traffic fatalities were the leading cause of death for people ages eight to thirty-four.

She eased off of the gas pedal and positioned her hands at nine and three o’clock on the steering wheel. Her knuckles were white, but she didn’t loosen her grip. She hunched her shoulders to loosen the knots between them.

Around her, white-plank fences stood in front of houses tucked into the hills. Puffy white-flowered Bradford pear trees dotted the landscape. The trees were invasive, able to grow anywhere, including the thick Kentucky soil. They spread like the honeysuckle in the woods behind Eden Farms, but Lily liked them. There was something to admire about a species that planted itself anywhere, even if it wasn’t wanted.

The road widened slightly as it turned into Main Street and ran past Cora’s Italian Restaurant, past the Bakery Barn, and Teelia Todd’s shop, Knitwits. Lily passed the library with its Georgian columns making it look as if it belonged in a grander town. The farmers’ market sat across from the library, taking up an entire block.

Redbud was known for Eden Farms’ flowers, and in two hours the market would be full of daffodils and hyacinths, the air thick with their scent. Moms in baseball caps would meander through the aisles, towing toddlers behind them.

On impulse, Lily turned into the lot and parked in front of the Eden Farms’ booth. It still anchored the market the way it had when she was young.

Teelia Todd’s booth stood across from theirs. She sold hand-spun alpaca yarn. Her husband had died when Lily was in kindergarten, leaving Teelia to raise their son, Deacon, alone. On cool days, Teelia would bring one of her alpacas, Frank, to the market with her. She’d loop his lead line around a beam where he’d nuzzle everyone who passed.

Lily smiled at the memory as she walked to the Eden Farms’ booth. She ran her fingers over the rough wood planks. The years fell away, and she was sixteen again, sitting on a metal stool, surrounded by cut sunflowers and hydrangeas, fanning herself with a folded price list.

Rose was supposed to help, but she usually snuck off before the day got too hot. “I’m out of here as soon as I finish school,” she’d say. “Who wants to spend their life pulling weeds and spreading manure?”

Lily tried to explain the peace she felt sitting in the booth, answering questions about which flowers tolerated the heavy Kentucky soil, or why a blast with the garden hose was the safest way to get rid of Japanese beetles, but Rose never understood.

Flowers were predictable, like numbers. Black spots on rose leaves indicated a fungus. Prune the damaged leaves, apply a fungicide, and the plant should survive. Brown hosta leaves meant the plant needed more shade or water. Move it to a shady spot or increase the waterings and it would be fine. Plants spoke a language she understood. To those who paid attention, they revealed whether they needed more phosphorous or nitrogen, less water, or a good soaking with the hose.

A large pickup truck rumbled past. In only minutes, the lot had started to fill with the farmers and artists who had booths at the market. Looking out across the market, she pictured it full. Handmade soaps. Chocolate-dipped strawberries. Hand-harvested honeycomb. Teelia’s booth stuffed with yarn.

Lily wanted to settle onto the metal stool behind the Eden Farms cash register, but Rose was waiting at home, and although Lily’s heart hammered nervously against her ribs she longed to see her sister.

A white truck, its bed filled with yellow snapdragons and pansies in rainbow colors, slid into the parking space next to hers. Lily dipped her head, letting her dark hair fall like a screen across her face.

“You’re early. The market doesn’t open for another two hours,” a man said.

Even with her back turned, she knew that voice. Her heart raced and her cheeks flushed. She looked up as Seth Hastings stepped out of the truck, his unruly brown hair already streaked with summer gold.

Seth wasn’t handsome. His cheekbones were too sharp, and his forehead too broad. His dark eyes were framed by thick brows, and he was almost too tall. As a child it had made him look awkward. But now, as Lily studied him, she saw that he had grown into his body.

She flashed to an image of him at seventeen, lanky in a teenage boy way, supporting his weight on his arms as he rose above her. Despite the crisp breeze, her whole body flushed. She had no idea he was in town.

“Lily?” He frowned, looking surprised to see her.

Years ago, talking to Seth had been as natural as breathing. Now, seeing him made her mute, and she started counting. She was on six when he leaned in and hugged her. His arms were stiff, and the hug seemed more out of obligation than anything else, but without thinking she gripped him tightly. His hair still smelled like strawberries and summer.

“Sorry,” he said. He pulled away and ran his hands through his hair. “I didn’t mean to—”

She wanted to look away but couldn’t. His hair was longer now. It brushed his shoulders, curling up around the edges. The look softened him, lessening the air of seriousness he had as a boy.

“It’s like time stopped,” he whispered, “and you’re still seventeen.”

His comment caught her off guard, and she laughed. “You know how to flatter someone, don’t you?” She was thirty years old. Her hair might still be long and brown, her eyes might still be moss green, but when she looked in the mirror, there were tiny lines around her mouth and a melancholy look in her eyes that hadn’t been there when she was younger.

Seth tilted his head. “No,” he said. “You’re the same. But why are you at the market instead of the house?” He seemed to have recovered from the initial surprise of seeing her, and he took a step back, putting some distance between them.

That’s when Lily noticed the Eden Farms’ logo—a nodding lily—on his truck door. The same thing was on his green T-shirt. “You’re wearing an Eden Farms’ shirt,” she said, shock coloring her voice.

“Rose didn’t tell you?”

She shook her head. “I didn’t even know you were in town.” She had been so startled at seeing him again that until now she hadn’t wondered why he was here. “Shouldn’t you be heading up a church or off saving the world?”

“Yeah. That didn’t work out so well.” He shrugged and pulled his hand through his hair again. She recognized the gesture. He was nervous. “Round peg in a square hole and all. They didn’t take my questioning the tenets of the faith as well as you did. I should have been sure of God’s existence before entering seminary instead of hoping seminary would prove his existence to me.” One corner of his mouth quirked up.

“Did it?” Lily asked.

He shook his head. “I didn’t figure that out until after I came home and bought into Eden Farms. Spending time with Antoinette helped me realize that he exists, even when I can’t feel his presence.

“It’s funny, I used to think my messed-up life was proof that God didn’t exist. But when I finally found him, it was because of a little girl whose life was more broken than mine had ever been.” He shrugged and smiled.

A familiar anxiety prickled along Lily’s spine as he spoke of Antoinette. “She sounds special,” she said, resisting the urge to count.

“She is,” he said. “Between Antoinette and working on the farm, I feel . . . settled. Like I’m where I’m supposed to be.”

Lily had signed over her share of Eden Farms to Rose years ago and no longer had a say in what happened there. So why did it feel like a betrayal to know someone outside of the family owned part of it?

An even worse feeling arose. Why hadn’t Seth called her when he left seminary? Going to school had been his reason for ending their relationship. Why didn’t he try to resume it once he was no longer in school?

She drew the inevitable conclusion: his feelings for her were not as strong as her feelings for him. At the thought, her knees wobbled.

Stop it
, she told herself.
Focus on Rose. Coming home is complicated enough without dwelling on the past.

The pansies in the truck bed caught her eye. Getting her hands dirty always helped her calm down. “Need some help?” She pointed at the flowers.

Seth raised his eyebrows as if he had expected her to say something else. “Sure,” he said. “We can set these out, and then I’ll ride back to the farm with you.” He paused as if he had misspoke. “That is, if you want me to.”

Lily took a deep breath and counted to eight.
You can handle running into an old boyfriend
, she told herself. Seth was just someone she used to know. Nothing more. Besides, seeing Rose again would be easier if she wasn’t alone.

At her nod, he dropped the tailgate and took a pair of gloves from his back pocket. She shook her head when he offered them to her. “You know what to do?” he asked.

“I haven’t been gone that long.” She grabbed a flat of yellow pansies. Dirt spilled over the edge, coating her hands. She slid the flat onto a metal rack behind the counter and wiped her hands on her jeans, leaving behind a smear of mud.

Seth worked fast. There was a rhythm to the way he walked over the curb and grabbed flats from the truck, as if he moved to music Lily didn’t hear. They didn’t speak as they worked, but then, they never had. Between the three of them, Rose was the one who always had something to say. Without her, a soft silence stood between them.

When they shoved the last of the pansies into place, Seth tugged his gloves off and stuffed them in his back pocket. “I’ll drive you back to the farm if you’d like,” he said.

His tone was formal, and despite her resolve to ignore their past, she felt something small and bruiselike form in the center of her chest. She looked down at her hands so he wouldn’t see the hurt in her eyes. Dirt from unloading the pansies was trapped under her nails. She focused on it as she climbed into his truck. They could return for her car later.

Seth took a deep breath, then blew it out. “I should have handled things between us differently,” he said as if reading her mind. He started the truck and drove out of the market. “I didn’t want to hurt—”

Lily held up her hand, cutting him off. “Tell me about Antoinette,” she said as she rubbed her hands together. Dirt was everywhere. Under her nails. In the creases of her palms. “Is it bad?”

For a long moment he didn’t respond. They drove a mile before he said, “It’s not bad. She’s different. She can’t speak. She communicates by touching or pointing to what she wants. But she’s smart. Rose taught her about art. I play for her. Mozart and Handel mostly.”

“You still play?” Seth’s father had taught him how to play the violin. It was one of the few things they shared. Lily remembered summers in the flower fields, sitting at Seth’s feet as he played. Even scales were beautiful in his hands.

Seth nodded. “Antoinette connects with music and art. She spends hours staring at Rose’s art books. If you ask her to find a certain painting, she’ll page through the books and locate it in seconds.”

The image he described didn’t match the child Lily remembered. Antoinette had been almost four years old when Lily last saw her. It was during the funeral for their parents. Antoinette flapped her hands in front of her face the entire time. Then she bounced up to the rosewood coffins and banged her hands against them until Rose pulled her away.

“Did the doctors ever diagnose her?” Lily asked.

“No. At first, they thought it was autism, but that never fit. She’s affectionate. Sometimes when Rose holds her, Antoinette sinks into her as if Rose is her whole world.” He glanced at Lily. “It’s like she’s locked in her body and can’t get out.”

“And Rose?” Lily knew the statistics. Rose should have died already.

He tightened his grip on the steering wheel. “It’s bad.”

Lily’s stomach twisted. She stared at the land rushing by.

Too soon, they left town and passed Seth’s place. His family owned the twenty acres bordering Eden Farms. A white-plank fence marked the property line.

Before she could blink, they were at the white sign with black scroll lettering:
EDEN FARMS, FLOWERS
. The shoulder dipped slightly. Honeysuckle and scrub brush grew along the side of the road, but several feet of land was cleared on either side of the farm entrance.

Seth turned in, and Lily noticed a locked black iron gate in front of the driveway. “What’s that about?” she asked as Seth pressed a button on the remote clipped to his visor, and the gate swung open.

“Antoinette wanders off. When she was six, I found her walking down the main road. After that, Rose installed the gate.” Seth punched a button and it closed behind them. The oak and birch trees arching over the drive had budded. Soon they would leaf out, shading the way to the house.