The Naked Gardener (19 page)

We roiled around in the eddy for a few seconds and then paddled our way clear to let the others come up behind us. Erica and I both looked back to see the other canoes flying down the falls, Roz and Valerie first, paddles held high, not even trying to steer their way to safety. Then came Hope and Charlene with high pitched squeals, cascades of foaming water thrashing their canoe from side to side.

“Paddle,” I yelled at them but they couldn’t hear me anyway over the booming falls and then they had landed too and I could hear them, screaming with excitement.

“Holy shit,” Roz yelled.

“What a ride,” Valerie echoed.

After the yelling, they began to laugh and laugh. Erica joined the laughter and I heard Hope yell “Yay for us!” and none of us noticed above, hovering in the air, propellers whirling, a helicopter with a TV logo on its side and a news photographer inside leaning way out with his long lens pointed in our direction. The headline in tomorrow’s paper would read:
Naked Painted Ladies Take Trout River Falls
and it would be all over the internet and someone who was shooting video of the flooded bridge would turn his cell phone at us and we would forever exist as a footnote on YouTube.

We all raised our paddles in triumph. The current carried us down a little ways until I realized we might overshoot the pickup point at the town dock and yelled to everyone to follow us. Erica and I paddled over to where the river had crested and receded and the put in below the bridge was just barely accessible. We paddled for it. Saw Will and Maze standing ready to catch our canoes. Saw others also, milling around. Cars and vans parked by the roadside. People just looking at the river. People pointing up. More people than had come to town in years. I looked over to where they were pointing and only then realized the bridge, or what was left of it, was half mangled, timbers hanging over the water. Other huge old timbers hung in the air like sticks. The old wooden frame broken in places but in others as intact as ever. Incongruous. Sad. Yet awesome in a strange way. The water had been so high at one point that it had engulfed the falls and simply rolled along as if the underlying boulders were not even there. The power of water. On each side, a police cruiser was parked perpendicular to the bridge so no one could approach it. Debris piles had collected high up on the banks where the water had peaked and receded. It had been some flood. One for the record books I would later learn. A freak line of storms that no one had expected.

We pulled up and the men grabbed the bows and hauled the canoes from the water. We stepped out and I looked back at the falls to see where we’d been. My legs were shaking. I was wet and some of the paint had melted on my arms leaving streaks and blotches of color that made me look like some living Jackson Pollock.

“God love us that was exciting,” Erica at my side. “I’m ready to do it again. Anytime.”

Maze and Will were hauling the other canoes out now. It was hard to hear what people were saying with the roar of the falls drowning out all but the closest voices.

“What is that helicopter doing?” I asked Erica. She turned to the crowd and people pointed to the bridge. A lot of them were talking at once and then we realized they were also pointing at us. And the helicopter was hovering just above us again. I saw a large camera lens pointed at Erica and me.

“Oh Lord,” she said. “They came to cover the flood and the bridge collapse and now they’re shooting video of us.”

“There’s nowhere to hide,” I told her. And then Roz and Hope were at our side.

“I’m going to lose my job at the church,” Hope whispered in my ear. “If the minister sees this on the news.”

“I’m sorry. I had no idea this was going on.”

“It’s not your fault. But I wish I could find a towel or something.”

“Just don’t take off your life vest,” I suggested. “They’ll just think you’re wearing a bikini. It
is
summer after all.”

“Screw that,” said Roz and tore off her life vest and grinned up at the camera.

I took her arm and whispered, “I meant what I said. I’m going with you to the doctor. I’ll pick you up. Call and tell me when.” She nodded and we hugged briefly, our painted colors blending for a second.

“You scared the crap out of me,” Maze appeared through the crowd. “I think you’re going to make the nightly news.” He pointed to the helicopter and the vans above the put in. People were approaching us. People with TV cameras and microphones, dressed in city clothes, looking very determined.

“Let’s get out of here,” I said to Maze.

“Good luck,” he told me.

Will was just helping Valerie out of the last canoe and as I worried about having to face these news types, painted up as I was, they wafted right past me and converged on Valerie.

That’s what it means to be beautiful.

The thought stuck in my head and I grabbed the canoe and started to haul it up to the car with Maze carrying it from the bow. After we got it tied on top of the car rack, I turned to Erica, who was helping Will with the other canoes.

“Well?” I said, eyebrows raised.

“What a thrill,” she hugged me. “And thank goodness they’re focused on Valerie.”

“We’ll talk,” I told her. “I’ll call you.”

“You’ll come to the council meeting Thursday,” she said. “I’m going to bring our plan up for a vote. We don’t have time to wait.”

“Me? But I’m an outsider.”

“Not any more,” she patted my arm. “You’re a landowner and a taxpayer. You have to come. We need all the support we can get. And bring him along.” She pointed up to Maze who had started the car.

I waved to Roz and Charlene, carrying the third canoe up the put in ramp to the street where Will had parked. They yelled to me, “That was the most exciting thing we have ever done.” I stood there for a minute and watched Valerie talk to the reporters before Maze waved me into the car and we pulled away, leaving the falls behind us. I wanted to tell Maze about the ride down the falls. About the storm and the trestle and the trout and everything. Wanted him to be happy to see me, to put his arms around me and kiss me and say how proud he was that I had landed us all safely. But he was grim and silent and I kept it all to myself.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

THE COUNCIL MEETING

I thought of it on my way to buy toilet paper and shampoo. We ran out of both just after my return from the river. And Maze had a call from his department head at the university. They wanted him to come down to Virginia for some meetings so he’d taken a plane from Burlington back to Charlottesville. He would be gone a week which meant he would not be coming to the council meeting. I was left with the old wreck of a pickup we used to haul plants, manure, and lumber.

I took the long way over the mountain to a grocery store and found myself heading toward Trout River Falls from the north, a way I had never gone. With the bridge out, I couldn’t cross the river there but something pulled me and I found myself driving slowly by the long paved drive that led to Mrs. Ward’s house. I had only seen it from the river and tried to imagine the front entrance. We had left a lot of gear in her shed. I wondered if Lewis worked every day, if the shed was locked, if I could just stop in without a call first.

The driveway was flanked by two granite pillars, with the name Ward carved out of a slab on each one. Tall sugar maples, planted decades before, stood majestically on either side of the pillars. I could see years upon years of tap marks where the trees had given up their sap for maple syrup. The drive wound in a curve and I followed it, wondering when the house would appear and if I would be turned away by anyone.

As I pulled around the curve the driveway straightened and ran to a huge circle with a gigantic willow tree in the middle that spread an umbrella of branches that swayed in the summer breeze, barely grazing the newly cut grass. The imposing stone façade and great windows of the house looked out to the grass lawn and full old rhododendrons that formed a border around the base of the house. I imagined a butler in full regalia coming out to greet me.

Instead Mrs. Ward drove around in her golf cart from the left side of the big house,her cane sticking out beyond the cart, her head covered by a battered straw hat, a fake flower drooping off one side. She wore a denim skirt and cotton blouse and looked as if she’d been digging in a garden as her laced up shoes were brown with earth. We had that in common.

We pulled up to the circle by the front door at the same moment. I opened the door fully expecting a reprimand for invading her privacy.

“Well, look what the cat dragged up the drive and deposited at my front door,” she said and poked her cane firmly at the ground for support as she wriggled her way out of the cart and onto her feet.

“Just look at that, would you,” she pointed to her shoes. “Another perfectly good pair ruined by that vegetable patch out back.”

I started to speak but she interrupted.

“Come in and have some tea,” she motioned me to follow her around where she had come from and I did as I was told. “Or do you prefer coffee? My husband was a coffee drinker. Liked it black and strong. Best coffee he said he ever had was in Denmark. Made it with a coffee press. Looked to me like thick paint but he just loved that coffee. It’s Katelyn isn’t it?”

“Yes. Tea would be fine,” I said it rather meekly. How was I going to talk this headstrong woman into something I was sure she would not be willing to do?

At the back porch, the one I’d stood on before, the one that faced the river which was now flowing calmly past her lawn, safely below the level of the dock now, she asked me to help get her shoes off.

“Can’t bend over to untie these laces. Sorry to be a bother but don’t want to track this all over the rugs.”

I untied her shoes and helped pull them off her feet. She stomped up the steps, her cane acting as a third foot, and by the door she stepped into a pair of slippers and in we went. Today the house smelled like pine cleaner and there was no soup bubbling on the stove. I imagined she must have a cleaning woman and wondered where Lewis might be. Did he hover around unseen watching to make sure the old lady didn’t fall or something worse? She wore no medical alert thing the way my mother had in her failing years. Living like this alone in that big house, well I couldn’t have done it.

“You like to garden?” she asked me as I followed her into the kitchen.

“Yes. I do. Very much.”

She turned to peer at me and took off her big straw hat.

“I’ll wager you have a big garden. With flowers and vegetables and all sorts of vines. I’ll bet it’s very lush.”

I smiled and nodded and for a moment I thought here was a woman who would understand how I became the naked gardener. One day I would be old like her and I would feel free enough to say exactly what was on my mind. She bustled about getting cups and putting a kettle on the stove. She took out a box of cookies as if I was her granddaughter there for an after school treat. The box had a painting of a lighthouse on it.

“Well.” She poured hot water into my cup. “Out with it. What’s it you want?”

The steam formed a little cloud above the cup before dissipating into the air. I hesitated for a moment. How to begin, I thought. And what would make this headstrong woman want to do what I was about to ask of her. I mentioned the shed and gear we had left behind and then added, “The town council is meeting tomorrow evening.”

Before I could continue she interrupted, “And I suppose you want me to come over there and put some heft behind this plan that you girls have concocted.”

“Well yes. We certainly need all the support possible.”

“You mean you want some leverage.”

“I guess that would be more accurate. But I believe if you show public support for this, other people will be much more likely to get behind it. Especially if they know you plan to set up a historic trust to save most of the town.”

She stirred her tea and then sipped it. She put the cup down with a little clinking sound. Her teacups were porcelain, with tiny blueberries around the rim, the handles ornately carved.

“Will you pick me up and take me home after? Lewis is done by six you know.”

“I would be happy to do that, Mrs. Ward.”

“Oh for goodness sake now, if we’re going to be in business together, as it were, you’ll have to stop calling me Mrs. Ward. It’s Cecelia but my family always called me Ceal. Like the seal they used to have bouncing a ball on its nose in the circus.” She giggled at herself. “Now that’s settled, you ought to know I spoke to my attorney and he is going to set up the papers for the trust and all. He thinks it’s a fine idea, too.”

It occurred to me then that Cecelia Ward was happy we had been dumped on her doorstep like so many babies in a basket. That through us she was going to leave a legacy.

“That’s wonderful. I know the others will be happy to hear it.”

She looked out the kitchen window toward the river, stirring her tea which by now must have been only lukewarm. I reached out and for some reason placed my fingers lightly on her forearm and when she turned towards me her eyes were moist with tears.

“I haven’t thought about my boy in many a year. Not really thought about him and who he might have become.” She spoke softly, wistfully. “Of course it brings back the sadness. But there’s something else too. In doing this with you young people, I feel a connection with him. I want to thank you for that my dear. For the chance to feel that again.” She patted my hand with her slender fingers. Her nails were carefully trimmed and polished clear and shiny. I thought she must wear gloves in the garden.

We all want to leave something when we’re gone. We have so few choices about what contribution we can make and so many conflicting demands on this earth for who and what will survive. We can’t control very much for very long. Cataclysmic events unfold beyond our reach. We only have a small corner where we can make a difference and such a short time to try. But if we start in one small place, no one can predict how much difference that little corner might make.

* * *

The room at The Grange Hall was packed. Following the rules, Erica had posted signs about the council meeting vote and word spread fast. The hall was located at the very end of Bridge Street, the last building that made up the town of Trout River Falls north of the now defunct bridge. People who lived south of the bridge had to travel an hour out of their way to reach the Grange Hall so it was surprising how many showed up. There was also going to be a vote on motions about what to do about the bridge itself. An unusual mix of vehicles in the parking lot hinted at a crowd that was not altogether local. I spotted pickup trucks and mud spattered Jeeps but also BMWs and at least one dark blue Mercedes limo with New York plates. Although power had been restored and trees cleared from streets, there were still signs of the storm’s fury, especially the pieces of mangled bridge dangling over the river just beyond the falls.

“I think the developers have come to make trouble,” I told Ceal as we pulled up.

“That should give your friend Erica’s husband some steady sources of income,” Mrs. Ward chuckled at herself and picked up her cane as I helped her out of my pickup. I was again impressed by how much she knew about what was going on in the area. We were an odd pair indeed. She had dressed for the meeting, complete with string of pearls at the neck and a ruby brooch holding her shawl in place around her shoulders.

Rows of folding chairs filled the large room. At the front, tables had been set up for the council members and a machine readied to record the proceedings. Lights suspended from the ceiling had not yet been lit but soon would be in use and there was a water fountain at one corner and a hall leading to bathrooms at the other. The tall windows had original glass, wavy in the evening light. It was a lovely old wooden building, a perfect place to have this public forum. Erica spotted me right away and motioned to the front where she had roped off two seats. I saw Will Marston seated among a bunch of suits and figured these were the limo riders from New York. The old man from the pharmacy was there, nodding in his seat. The hippies from the luncheonette and Doris and Eddy Barr sat near the back and I spotted some farmers from the market and a few others I knew, including our mailman and two guys from the public works department who had fixed a deep pothole on our road. I estimated the crowd at close to two hundred people, maybe more. The meeting agenda was posted on a big white paper tacked to a cardboard resting on an easel. The American flag stood off to one side. I wondered if the meeting would open with a prayer like they did in Virginia. A buzz filled the room. Mrs. Ward and I took our seats. My stomach felt slightly queasy. She sat straight in her chair, smiled broadly, nodded to a few people, and seemed perfectly comfortable. Erica tapped her gavel hard and the room hushed. Someone coughed. I heard a fly snapping against a window pane.

“Please follow the rules,” Erica announced after tapping her gavel three times. “After the council has reviewed the recommendations it will vote on, if you have a question or comment, please raise your hand to be recognized, state your name and address for the record, and briefly state your case.”

There was no prayer. It began with the mundane – dispensing with reading of the last meeting’s minutes, thanking various officials from the County Seat, the state representative and senator and a host of others who had begun working on the problem of replacing the bridge. Erica kept the thing moving along and there was little discussion since the decision to replace the bridge had already been made at the state level. Everyone agreed it was a necessary part of life and commerce for the region. After that a discussion of a new dog ordinance – to leash or not to leash – took up the council’s time until the vote was taken. Result: to leash within town limits, which were designated on a map in the hall that anyone interested could look at on their way out.

* * *

At 7:15 someone switched on the lights and Erica announced an open discussion would follow the council’s recommendation for agenda number four – the future of Trout River Falls. Silence followed a general murmur as Valerie read from an official looking document.

“Whereas the closing of many businesses has caused the town of Trout River Falls to face a severe financial crisis due to lack of tax revenue, the five member council has reached out to the largest landowner, Mrs. Cecelia Ward, and proposed that her properties be turned over to a preservation trust and that, further, this trust shall refurbish, own and administer the historic properties comprised of Ward Manor, the Trout River Mill, and the Back Street Button Factory building. Further the trust or its appointees will supervise new milling and bread baking operations.”

Valerie put down the paper and turned to Erica. A hand went up to my right. Another popped up over near the flag. I heard a rustle of chairs and people began to talk. Erica tapped her gavel lightly and leaned into her mic. “We will now open the floor for comments. Five minutes per person maximum. Thank you.” She nodded to Valerie, then looked out at the hall and I thought her gaze rested on her husband, Will.

“Millicent Fendy, 103 Pine Ridge Road,” a stout woman stood up to speak first. “I want to know how you think starting a bakery is going to save Trout River Falls. Now we all know the problems an old village like this one has what with malls and interstates and competition from all these discount places. Maybe we’d be better off turning this whole town into a museum.” She sat down abruptly as if she didn’t expect an answer.

“Craig LeLong, North Cedar Drive up on the hill north of town. I don’t see any reason to go getting ourselves into a spin over what the council ladies want to do here so long as it’s not going to cost us taxpayers any money.” He sounded to me like a man who never met a tax he would support. Ben O’Shea stood up and said he was for anything that would bring in more money and what about a grocery store. It went on like that for half an hour until Will Marston stood up.