Eyes on the Prize Page 9

  Louise kept eyeing the children. Normally, she would take the little girl by the hand and let the child experience the wonder of pulling a large carrot out of the ground or unearthing a potato, but not today. She just wanted them out of the garden.

  She’d come out to give her plants their daily feeding and discovered the little family entering the garden. She’d hurried after them to run interference between the helpless plants and the children.

  Louise spotted Wendell sleeping beneath the foliage of Jane’s potato plants, just beyond her tomatoes. The toddler let out an ear-splitting screech. Wendell jerked awake and jumped up, then darted away. The little boy saw him, stopped screaming and reached out his arm, his hand grabbing toward the cat, his little body wiggling. “Cat, cat, cat,” he repeated in a rising crescendo.

  Absorbed in her own world, the girl stood and worked her way around her mother to her father. She tugged on his pants pocket.

  “Daddy,” she said in a quiet, conspiratorial voice.

  “Do you use chemical insecticides in your garden?” he asked, ignoring his daughter and son.

  “My sister is in charge of the garden, except for my pumpkin patch,” Louise said. “She uses an insecticidal soap. Purely organic.”

  “Daddy, Daddy, Daddy,” the girl said louder than before.

  He glared down at her, then looked at his wife. She reached for her daughter. In the process, her son wiggled out of her grasp and took off running across the garden as fast as his chubby little legs would allow.

  “Timmy,” she yelled. “Stop this instant!” She took off after him.

  Timmy didn’t stop. He didn’t even slow down. He scrambled up Jane’s tomato trellis and tumbled over the other side.

  “Daddy, look!” the girl demanded, stamping her foot.

  He looked down with an exasperated frown. “What? Can’t you see your brother …”

  She held up a tiny bug and beamed at her father. “I found a yellow ladybug, Daddy. See?”

  “Hmm. That could be a serious problem.” As he reached down for her hand, he turned, stepping on the end of a vine in the process.

  Louise didn’t know which way to turn. Chase the boy or guard her pumpkins. This scientist was so single-minded, he was as likely to damage the garden as his son.

  “Yellow ladybugs are herbivores,” he said. “Whereas most ladybugs eat other harmful insects, such as aphids, the Epilachna borealis eat cucurbits or plants of the gourd family, such as pumpkins.”

  He opened the girl’s clenched little hand and removed a small, yellow bug with black spots. “Well, well,” he said.

  Louise clamped her lips together and resisted the urge to scold the man for ignoring his wife’s mad pursuit of their son. She glanced from the man, whose attention was focused on a tiny ladybug, to the little boy, who was entangled in one of Jane’s trellises. She was glad to see his mother scoop him up, but her relief was short-lived. Screaming and squealing, he wiggled and broke loose again.

  Just then, Jane came through the gate, and Wendell escaped, tearing out of the garden. Louise breathed an inaudible “thank you.” The cavalry had arrived. Jane jumped the rutabagas and caught the child as he fled from his mother. He closed his mouth and stared at his captor. Jane smiled and wiggled her eyebrows.

  “Hello,” she said in a jolly voice. Louise wanted to hug her. The little boy’s mouth turned into a pout. His lower lip jutted out and began to quiver.

  “I have something to show you,” Jane said, and carried him toward the shed.

  “Is she going to spank him?” his sister asked.

  “Oh no. She wouldn’t do that,” Louise said. Janine hurried after Jane and her whimpering son. Disaster averted, Louise turned her attention to Geoffrey. He put the little creature in his palm and held it in place with the tip of his finger.

  He leaned down to show his daughter. “This is Diabrotica undecimpunctata howardi—otherwise known as a spotted cucumber beetle. You’ll notice it has twelve spots on its wings and it’s elongated. This little beetle will go after roots and leaves of corn and cucurbits, like cucumber, squash, pumpkin and melons.” He stared at the pumpkin patch for a few seconds.

  Jane had the little boy under control. He sat by a patch of beets that he was pulling up by the leaves and stems. Jane knelt down beside him, helping him lift the dark purple root vegetable out of the ground. He tugged so hard that he nearly fell backward, but his mother, hovering behind her child, caught him. He lifted the bulbous vegetable, flinging dirt over their heads, squealing with joy. Louise caught Jane’s eye and smiled. Jane gave her a thumbs-up signal.

  “I don’t see leaf damage to your crop, although it’s hard to tell this late in the season. Your leaves have turned skeletal, but that’s normal, I believe,” he said. He stood straight and looked around. “Did you plant trap crops?”

  Louise wasn’t sure she’d heard him correctly. “Trap crops? You mean like a Venus flytrap?”

  “No.” He chuckled. “Perhaps I should speak with your sister.”

  With his daughter in tow, he turned and walked toward Jane and his wife and son. Louise glanced at her pumpkin patch, still intact, and followed him.

  “You have a fine garden, Ms. Howard,” he told Jane.

  She looked up, then stood. “Thank you. I noticed that you’ve been admiring my sister’s pumpkin plot.”

  “Yes. I was wondering—she doesn’t seem to know—if you have purposely planted trap crops.”

  Jane frowned. “I’ve planted repellent crops, like the marigolds, and many of my herbs repel certain insects.”

  “Interesting.” He rubbed his chin with one finger. “This little pest could have wiped out your sister’s pumpkins, your squash and any melons and cucumbers you might have planted. You may have saved them by accident. The idea is to concentrate the insects on certain plants to prevent them from spreading to your other crops. Commercial producers of organic cucurbits often plant a small plot of a desirable species of squash nearby, and the offending beetles will feed on the trap crops and leave the other crop alone. It can be quite effective.”

  Contemplating the little bug in his hand, he stepped over the row of cabbage and followed a pathway to the gate. His wife watched him wander off, leaving her to deal with the two children.

  “Go with your father, sweetheart,” she told her daughter. “And be careful. Don’t step on any plants.”

  “But I want to look for bugs,” she whined.

  “We’ll take a walk later. Go on now.”

  The girl let out an exaggerated sigh. “All right.” She scuffled her feet, raising little puffs of dust as she went.

  “I’m sorry,” Janine said. “I hope Timmy didn’t harm any of the tomatoes.”

  Jane glanced in the direction of one of her tomato plants, now fallen on the ground. “We’re near the end of the season, so we’ve harvested most of the tomatoes. The plants will be fine.” Jane smiled at Timmy. “Thank you for helping me pick these vegetables.”

  Timmy picked up a beet and put it to his mouth, leaving little teeth marks and turning his mouth purple. He made a face, showing his surprise and distaste.

  Jane pulled a carrot, wiped it off thoroughly and handed it to him. “Try this instead,” she said.

  He stared at it with a dubious expression, then reached out and took it from her.

  “Thank you. We’ll leave you alone now, before he gets his second wind,” Janine said. She took his grubby hand. He dropped the rest of his carrot and reached toward Jane.

  “I’ll see you later, Timmy,” Jane said.

  As Janine led him away, he looked back and waved his free hand. Jane and Louise waved back at him.

  “Phew,” Louise said when they were out of range. “I wasn’t sure the garden was going to survive the Kramdens. Poor Mrs. Kramden. Her husband seems oblivious of anything around him except insects.”

  “I noticed that.” Jane chuckled. “I imagine the garden looks like a great playground to a little boy. How did you keep him f
rom climbing on your pumpkins?”

  “I stood guard between the pumpkin patch and the family. I was prepared to fight for my pumpkins if necessary.”

  “I wish I’d seen that.” Jane laughed, then went over and looked down at the flattened tomato trellis. “These vines are so heavy, it’s a wonder it didn’t fall over on its own. Could you help me lift it?”

  “Sure.” Louise got on the other side and they tried to lift the trellis. It was so tangled with vines, they couldn’t make it budge.

  “Guess I’ll have to prune it first.”

  “I’ll get the pruning shears,” Louise said, already heading for the shed, feeling guilty for the damage to Jane’s garden, although how she might have stopped the lightning quick child, she didn’t know.

  “Bring another basket too. We’ll pick what we can salvage.”

  Louise came back, set the basket on the ground and handed Jane the pruning shears, then pulled on a pair of gardening gloves and held the heavy trellis so Jane could get down to the bottom vines.

  Jane snipped off a long runner and held it up. Louise counted seven large tomatoes. Three were pale, but the rest were bright red. “Looks like we’ll have fresh tomatoes to eat,” Jane said. She handed the vine to Louise, who plucked the tomatoes and put them in the basket.

  “I won’t argue with that. Add some eggplant and Parmesan cheese and we’ll have a meal,” Louise said. She loved the summertime when Jane’s garden produced an abundance of wonderful fresh vegetables for their table.

  They worked together until they reduced the tomato vine to a manageable bush and the basket overflowed with tomatoes. Then they propped up the trellis.

  Jane stood back. “That should hold it. What a year. There are still plenty of tomatoes to ripen on the vine.”

  “And a bushel’s worth of work for you in this basket. I’ll help you.”

  “I can’t do them until tomorrow afternoon, but I’d appreciate your help now if you can spare the time.”

  “I can.”

  Jane gathered several large onions from the row where they were toughening in the sun. She picked a few green, orange and red peppers, and added them to a basket of kohlrabi. “We have enough unripe tomatoes to make chutney and salsa. If you’ll take this basket, I’ll get the tomatoes.”

  Louise didn’t argue. The tomatoes were the heavier basket, but Jane was fifteen years her junior and Louise’s back was already feeling the strain of garden work.

  As she lugged the basket of vegetables to the kitchen, she wondered what misguided impulse had prompted her to plant giant pumpkins in the first place. Her special crop was attracting all sorts of unwanted attention. For a moment, she was tempted to cut them loose and end the project. She’d merely wanted to prove to her sisters that she could grow something. She’d accomplished her goal with amazing success.

  Chapter Twelve

  Vera sucked in a sudden, deep breath and looked visibly shaken by her aunt’s appearance. Fortunately, the lady was snoring softly and didn’t witness her niece’s reaction.

  When she had visited Acorn Hill years before, Agatha had been spry and energetic. Alice had expected her to look frail now from the pneumonia she’d suffered in addition to a broken hip and surgery, but the tiny, pale wraith lying in the hospital bed reminded Alice of a dried apple doll that she’d seen at the county fair.

  Vera quietly moved a chair to the side of the bed and sat facing her aunt. She reached over and touched her arm. “Aunt Agatha,” she said in a low voice.

  Agatha’s eyes opened. She stared blankly for a few seconds, then recognition dawned and she smiled. “Hello, dear. I knew you’d come. I’m glad.” She looked over toward Alice. “Who’s that? A nurse? I don’t want another one of those horrible shots. They hurt like the dickens.”

  “That’s Alice, my friend from Acorn Hill,” Vera said. “She’s a nurse, but she doesn’t work here.”

  Alice stepped closer to the bed. “Hello, Mrs. Jamison. It’s nice to see you again.”

  “Have we met before? Oh no. I can’t see a thing without my glasses. Be a dear and get them for me, Grace.” She reached toward the bedside table.

  Vera shot a distressed look at Alice. “I’m Vera, Aunt Agatha, not Grace. That was my mother. She’s not here.”

  “Of course she’s not here. Don’t you think I know that? She died years ago.”

  “Yes. I’m her daughter, your niece, Vera.”

  “Alvera Lorinda Jamison, I know very well who you are. If you’d get those glasses for me, I could see you as well.”

  Vera found the glasses and handed them to her aunt, who fumbled to put them on. She managed, then peered up at her visitors as if examining something strange. “So you’re a nurse, are you?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Come here. I don’t want to have to shout. Those buzzards out there spy on me all the time.” She beckoned Alice with a bony hand.

  Alice moved close, next to Vera, and they both leaned over the bedrail to hear better.

  “They’re drugging me,” Agatha announced in a loud whisper. “They think I don’t know it, but I do and I can’t stop them. I don’t take their pills. I spit them out when they aren’t looking. But they inject stuff in this tube. I pulled the needle out of my arm twice. They punished me with a big shot in my poor hip that stung like a hornet.”

  “That’s probably a vitamin shot to build you up. You’ve been very sick, Mrs. Jamison. You need your strength to get well.”

  “Oh, that’s what they’ve been telling me, but they want to put me away. My nephew’s in cahoots with the doctor and those nurses and the lady that makes me get around with that silly walker thing. Ridiculous.”

  “That’s for your protection, Aunt Agatha. They don’t want you to fall again.”

  She turned a sharp eye on her niece. “Have you been talking to Reginald? Don’t you listen to him. He wants to put me away so he can run the business by himself. I don’t trust him.”

  Vera gave Alice a helpless look. She turned to her aunt and patted her hand. “I came to help you figure out what to do when they release you from here. The doctor told me that could be in a couple of weeks if you keep improving. You have to get stronger first, though.”

  “I know. That’s why I need to get out of here. The food is terrible and there’s a bunch of sick people in here. I don’t belong here. Bring me my clothes and take me home, Alvera.”

  “I can’t do that. You don’t have anyone at home to take care of you.”

  Agatha wiggled, trying to scoot up in the bed. Her hand shook as she reached for the bed controller. Vera found it and handed it to her aunt. Alice went to the other side of the bed and helped Agatha to sit up.

  “That’s better. Now you listen to me, missy,” she said, shaking her bony finger at Vera. “I don’t need someone taking care of me. I’ve managed on my own for years and I don’t intend to stop now, so don’t go listening to that rapscallion nephew of mine or that charlatan who calls himself a doctor. I know what’s best for me.”

  Vera sat and took her aunt’s hand. “I came to help you, Aunt Agatha. I’m on your side. Sometimes circumstances in our lives change and we have to make the most of them. You’ve been through that before. I’ve always admired your flexibility and your strength, no matter what happens.”

  Agatha’s eyes became watery and her hands shook. “This time is different. This time I don’t have control. Help me, Alvera. Don’t let them put me away. Promise me.”

  Vera took a deep breath. “I won’t lie to you, Aunt Agatha. You don’t have a lot of options. You can’t go up and down your stairs like you used to. I won’t let them make any decisions for you without your consent. That’s all I can promise.”

  Agatha stared into her niece’s eyes for several seconds. Then she nodded. “I know I can count on you.” She patted Vera’s hand, then looked up at Alice. “I hope you aren’t here to convince Alvera that the doctor is right.”

  “I’m here to support Vera and that means
I’m here to support you, Mrs. Jamison.”

  She nodded. “I hope you’re staying at the house and not at some expensive hotel.”

  “We already went to the house and we’re airing it out. We’ll be in the bedrooms in front next to your room,” Vera said.

  “Good. That house needs to be lived in.”

  “You have a beautiful home, Mrs. Jamison.”

  “Quit calling me that. It makes me sound old. Call me Agatha. Now where’s my Bible. My eyesight isn’t so good anymore. I want you to read to me. Reginald’s too busy to spend time with an old lady.”

  Vera found the worn, black Bible on the bedside table. She opened it to a lacy bookmark in the middle of Psalms and read, “Have mercy on me, O God, have mercy on me, for in you my soul takes refuge. I will take refuge in the shadow of your wings until the disaster has passed. I cry out to God Most High, to God who fulfills his purpose for me. He sends from heaven and saves me, rebuking those who hotly pursue me; Selah. God sends his love and his faithfulness.”

  A soft, even humming sound came from the bed. Vera stopped. Agatha had fallen asleep with a slight smile on her face. “Psalm 57:1–3,” Vera finished. She marked the page and put the Bible on the table, then removed Agatha’s glasses and leaned over and kissed her softly. “Sleep well, Auntie.”

  They tiptoed out of the room and closed the door quietly behind them.

  The following morning, Vera and Alice attended services at Shelton Cove Community Church. It reminded Alice of Grace Chapel. The freshly painted white clapboard building looked old. She loved the traditional designs on the stained glass windows, the tall steeple and the chimes that rang to announce Sunday services.

  As they walked inside, she noticed a few differences. Tall, shiny brass pipes extended up the front wall on each side of a large cross. The organ sat off to one side and looked new. Plush, dark green carpet felt luxurious underfoot and absorbed sound. As a result, the sanctuary seemed hushed and peaceful. The pews were padded with thick, dark green cushions.