Love in Bloom (18 page)

“What about the police department, though?” Lily asked, straightening. “I heard they were worried about layoffs, too.”

“More layoffs, you mean,” someone said. “They’ve already cut to the bone.”

“Yeah, and the Fire Department is all volunteer now,” someone else said.

“Even the ambulance is staffed by volunteers from the clinic,” Tate revealed.

“Man, Randall’s plant closing down really hacked the heart out of this town,” Kenneth muttered.

“No,” Pastor Garman insisted, rising from a stooped position. “No, the heart of Bygones is strong. Look around you. This garden is evidence of that.”

Murmurs of agreement went around the plot.

“The real trouble started when Randall’s wife divorced him,” someone said.

They all glanced around guiltily at that, as it smacked too much of gossip. Yet Lily sensed truth in the statement.

Wendy Garman sighed and said, “Divorce is a terrible thing, no matter how bad the marriage, but Hugh is right. The heart of Bygones is strong and vital. What we’ve done here, what the SOS Committee has done, what the newcomers have brought to us is all proof of that.”

“I agree,” Lily said, shaking off her work gloves.

Tate did the same and reached over to take her hand in his. “Me, too.”

Coraline stripped off her gloves and grasped Tate’s free hand. “Same here.”

One by one the workers gathered around, linking hands there in the light of the rising sun, their feet planted among the rows and hillocks of the garden that the community had come together to make. Hugh Garman cleared his throat.

“Let us lay our hearts before God,” he said quietly, bowing his head.

Lily watched as everyone present followed suit, including, after the slightest of hesitations, Tate. Lily felt rather than heard his gulp, and his hand tightened almost painfully on hers, but he joined the others as Hugh led the group in spontaneous prayer for their community. Hugh was brief but eloquent, asking for God’s will to be done, for wisdom and guidance and blessing, for love and kindness to abound, for needs to be met and for their beloved little town to be saved if at all possible, before closing in the name of Christ Jesus. Amens wafted softly upon the morning air, and a sense of peace settled upon the garden.

Coraline gave Lily a beaming smile and hugged Tate, who seemed uncomfortable. Others also embraced. As Lily and Tate returned to work, Josh Smith came and pulled Coraline aside. Lily heard him ask if anything could be done about reopening the Randall plant. They went off to talk about it. If Tate seemed a bit troubled and withdrawn, Lily told herself that it was understandable.

To her mind, he fought a battle on two fronts now. He fought for Bygones and for his own spiritual health. She wasn’t sure that he realized it yet, but she knew it and so did Coraline. She suspected that on some instinctive level even Isabella knew, and Lily suspected that God had used the crisis in Bygones to reach Tate, to show Tate that He was still active in the lives of His children. Lily prayed that, whatever happened, God wouldn’t let Tate leave the field of battle until his personal war was won. She told herself that she would be happy with that. She just had to remember that Tate was not for her, no matter what her silly heart might say.

Now all she had to do was get through a birthday party without making a complete fool of herself over the man.

* * *

The hamster escaped midway into the party. One might think that an orange hamster in a miniature lime-green tutu would be easy to spot, even if it could nestle comfortably in the palm of an adult hand, but the dress-up box had been overturned and the girls had strewn boas, scarves and lacy shawls in all directions while outfitting themselves for tea. They loved playing dress-up, especially as they were allowed to put on play makeup and paint their nails, or rather, have their nails painted.

Lily did the actual painting, while Tate did his best to apply the teensy nail appliques, peeling them from their paper backing with tweezers and placing them carefully on tiny wet fingernails. Often the fingers growing those nails were weighted with costume jewelry, enormous rings made of cheap paste and brilliant colors. The girls giggled, gestured wildly, called each other “dahling” while waiting for their nails to dry, and neglected the hamster because its silky fur stuck to their wet nail polish all too easily, hence the ease of its disappearance.

Ginny took advantage of the crisis to insist that the girls clean up the mess they’d left behind them. Ten little girls in elaborate dress, toy high heels and party crowns, scurrying about and tossing leftover bits and baubles into, or at, a box, was as near complete chaos as Lily ever hoped to experience. Tate stood in the midst of it all, obviously afraid to move for fear of squashing something or someone, while Isabella choked back tears and repeatedly called, “Spunky!” as if the hamster would come to her.

Peter Bronson spied the little fellow, burrowing between the tan leather sofa cushions. In the short time that the small rodent had been missing, he had managed to chew a hole in a throw pillow and gnaw on the wood handle of a purse from the dress-up box. Tate consigned him to the safety of his habitat, which had taken pride of place on the coffee table in the living room. A relieved Ginny herded the girls into the dining room, where she had laid a lacy table with plastic dishes and a pretty bowl of floating roses, courtesy of Lily.

The girls could hardly wait to enjoy the luscious “cake” fashioned by the Sweet Dreams Bakery. Created of petit fours iced in pink-and-yellow fondant and decorated with delicate white flowers and elaborate letters, the individual cakes were placed in a checkerboard pattern that spelled out, Happy Eighth Birthday, Isabella! Tate lit the candles and everyone sang before Isabella blew out the candles in one great puff of breath, but then she asked to have them lit again so she could make a second wish. Tate shrugged and lit the candles again.

Isabella closed her eyes tight and blew out the candles once more. Everyone applauded. Ginny shook her head and began serving tiny sandwiches and cups of “punch tea,” while Lily scooped ice cream and separated the little cakes onto plates. After a very giggly meal, Lily read a picture book about a tea party to the girls in Isabella’s bedroom while Tate and Ginny set up several games in the living room and Peter started cleaning up after the tea party.

By the time the games were done, the girls had, of necessity, divested themselves of their costumes. Peter dutifully packed away the dress-up box, while Ginny put out small bags filled with party favors. Then they all sat down as Isabella opened her gifts. They were, as Tate had hoped, simple items having to do with the hamster: balls and wheels and a funny little swing, a mirror so Spunky could keep himself company, a hamster hat and hamster shoes and, best of all, a book about hamsters.

Isabella declared it “the best of all birthday parties ever.”

The girls’ parents proved prompt in picking them up, which was a good thing, as Peter seemed to have reached the end of his endurance.

“I am going home to take a nap,” he announced, getting up off the sofa. He hugged his granddaughter and trudged out of the room.

“Lily,” Ginny said, “I don’t know what we would have done without you today.”

“Oh, that’s kind of you, ma’am. I enjoyed myself.”

“Not as much as Isabella enjoyed you.” She kissed Tate’s cheek, hugged Isabella and followed her husband out.

“She’s right,” Tate said. “You were a huge help. Thank you.”

“Thank you, Lily,” Isabella echoed, hugging her.

“My pleasure entirely. By the way, I haven’t given you my gift, yet.”

Isabella drew back, her penciled eyebrows aloft. “Oh, boy, another gift!”

“It may not be what you’re expecting,” Lily said, moving around behind the easy chair where she’d stowed the gift bag. She brought the big pink bag forward and handed over a card that she’d bought at the grocery store. The card had a drawing of roses on the front but no verse inside, so Lily had hand-printed, “Roses for a little beauty. Happy birthday, Isabella. Love, Lily.”

Isabella read the card aloud then delved into the bag and brought out a dark green plastic pot filled with dirt and several thorny sticks supporting tight green pods. Clearly puzzled, she blinked at Lily, who chuckled.

“It’s a rosebush. It will have pink roses. Those are the buds.”

Isabella gasped. “It’ll grow roses?”

“That’s right. Lots of them, or so Kenneth says. It’s not the very best time of the year to plant them, but I brought special soil and feed, and he says that if we follow the directions, this type should make lots and lots of roses by next spring. There’s a little booklet in the bag telling all about it.”

Isabella eagerly dug into the bag again and sat with Lily to go through the booklet, poring over the photos and directions.

“Will there be butterflies?” she asked breathlessly. “This photo shows butterflies.”

“I suppose the blossoms will draw butterflies.”

“Oh, I hope there’ll be jillions of butterflies!”

Lily laughed. “That would be fun, wouldn’t it?”

“It was one of my wishes,” Isabella confessed softly. “I wished for butterflies.”

Lily exchanged looks with Tate, who said, “I’ll get a shovel and watering can. Why don’t you let Lily help you wash your face and hands and meet me out back?”

Because the potting soil and plant food were in the bed of Tate’s truck, that seemed like a good plan. He went out to the garage. Lily helped Isabella scrub off the play makeup and birthday cake, then they carried the rosebush and the booklet out the back door. Tate was ready with the shovel, having placed the watering can on the stoop.

“Let’s take a look around,” he said, “and decide where you want to plant your rosebush.”

“I already know where I want to plant it,” Isabella announced. “Where I want the butterflies. At Mama’s place.”

Lily watched Tate’s face drain of color and expression.

“Please, Daddy!” Isabella pleaded. “The flowers we leave there always die, and other people plant things, don’t they?” He nodded jerkily. “Mama would see them when she looks down from Heaven,” Isabella went on, “all the roses and the butterflies. She would like that, wouldn’t she? Pink roses and butterflies?”

This wasn’t at all what Lily had intended, but she couldn’t very well intervene. The plan all along had been to allow Isabella to choose an appropriate spot for the rosebush. The last thing Lily wanted to do was remind Tate of his loss, but what spot could be more appropriate for Lily’s rosebush than her mother’s grave? All Lily could do was look away from the naked pain on Tate’s face. He gulped and cleared his throat.

“Yes,” he said thickly, “your mother would like that. Very much.”

Isabella let out a happy sigh. “That was my first wish, butterflies for Mama.” She grabbed Lily’s hand. “Thank you, Lily. You gave me my wish!”

Lily managed a smile, but she could barely glance at Tate.

“You, uh, mind helping us do this?” he asked her. “Then I’ll take you home.”

Lily squeaked out, “I don’t mind.”

“Let’s load up,” he said tersely, snatching up the watering can.

Lily walked Isabella into the garage and helped her climb into the backseat of the truck. While Tate stowed the shovel and watering can in the bed of the pickup alongside the bags of potting soil and plant food, Lily belted Isabella into her seat and then did the same for herself. Isabella insisted on holding the rosebush in her lap. Tate slid behind the steering wheel, started the truck and backed it out of the garage.

They drove in silence to Bygones, turning west onto Church Street from Granary Road. Tate steered the truck past the church and on through town to a shady glen about a half-mile outside the city limits. The wrought-iron gate that arched over the graveled road into the cemetery gave two establishment dates, 1870 and 1970. Lily surmised that the cemetery had been moved from its original site, probably next door to the church, to this beautiful place when it had outgrown its space in town.

Eve’s grave lay on a small rise, marked at one end by a pink granite bench and on the other by a matching headstone, identifying her as a beloved wife and mother who had left this life too soon. Isabella read her booklet and picked the south side of her mother’s headstone for the rosebush. Grimly Tate dug the hole to the required specifications. Lily opened the plant food and dumped it into the hole, then covered it with the prepackaged soil. Together Tate and Isabella gently removed the bush, dirt and all, from the pot. They placed the entire thing into the ground, covered the lump of dirt with more of the potting soil and then with soil that Tate had dug out of the hole. While Lily and Isabella gently packed the soil around the plant, Tate went to a hydrant and filled the watering can, then he came back and helped Isabella water the ground all around the bush.

“We have to come back every day and water it unless it rains,” Isabella told him.

“We will,” he promised.

Father and daughter stood side by side and stared at their handiwork for a long time, while Lily stood next to the bench and silently prayed that the bush would flourish with so many blooms that the canes would bow before the heavens and butterflies would paint the skies.

“A wish is like a prayer when you say it to God, isn’t it?” Isabella asked softly. No one answered her, but she didn’t seem to require an answer. She looked up at her father then and said, “I have another wish. Remember?” Tate looked down at her, and she softly said, “I wished my daddy would go to church with me on my birthday.”

Lily reeled back a step, but Tate did not move a hair for the longest time. Then suddenly he turned and strode for the truck, bending to snatch up the shovel and watering can in mid stride. Isabella ran to Lily and clasped her hand.

“It’s not really my birthday yet,” she said hopefully, so obviously seeking reassurance that Lily could have wept. In fact, Lily felt perilously close to tears.

“Sweetie,” she said, sitting down on the bench, “God is not Santa Claus. He does answer our prayers, depending on what is best for us. Sometimes He says Yes, and sometimes, No, and sometimes, He just wants us to wait for a while. Sometimes, though, what we want depends on someone else, someone other than God. In that case, free will applies. You see, God won’t make any of us do what we don’t want to do, even if we should do it and it’s good for us. He might make us awfully miserable for not doing it, but He’ll wait for us to do the right thing.”