Jill Churchill: Mulch Ado About Nothing

Jane and Shelley sat back, not speaking, only sighing in unison.

A few seconds later, the screen door opened again and Ursula was back with three of the scrappiest paperback books Jane had ever seen. One was held together along the spine with strap‑ ping tape. All were stained and creased with crumbling covers.

“Here, ladies, read up. You'll find them fascinating." She dumped them on the coffee table and went off again, tossing a remark over her shoulder about needing to get them back someday.

This time Shelley followed her and, when Ursula's battered vehicle was out of sight, closed and locked the door.

“I've heard of people like her," Shelley said, sitting back down by Jane, "but never really believed the descriptions of them. Now we know that there are true nutcases roaming our very own neighborhood."

“She's really sort of frightening, isn't she?" Jane said seriously. "I mean, isn't she exactly the kind of nut who decides that a bunch of Boy Scouts are Nazi spies and poisons their milk to save the world?"

“I'm not sure. But she frightens me just the same. And if I weren't a bit scared of her, I'd still dislike her. She's one of those people who get everything wrong, and when corrected, merely ignore the correction. Not that I go around correcting people if I can help it," she added with a smile.

“Funny. I hadn't noticed that about you." Jane smiled back.

“You've absolutely got to keep all your doors locked and stay in the back of the house where nobody can see you tottering around," Shelleywarned. "She's latched on to you and will be back."

“Maybe I can make it clear that I don't want help?"

“You can't. People like that are incapable of being insulted or brushed off. She's probably gone through dozens, if not hundreds, of potential friends with her loony pronouncements. People have probably moved from their homes in the middle of the night to escape her and gone to live in Venezuela under assumed names."

“Oh, Shelley," Jane whined. "My life's falling apart before my eyes. My foot is broken; my son is out to dinner with a freak of a girl; and I have a nutcase groupie.”

Shelley just shook her head. "Such is life," she said.

Eight·

Jane was getting ready for bed when the phone rang. It was Ursula again. "Jane, have you eaten your dinner yet?”

Gritting her teeth with irritation for a moment, Jane said in a cool formal voice, "Not yet."

“You must eat, dear. You need all the nutrients you can get.”

Jane drew a deep breath and tried to overcome her upbringing in the diplomatic corps.

“Ursula, I know you mean well, but I'm an intelligent adult and can take perfectly good care of myself.”

As Shelley had predicted, Ursula took no offense. "I know you are. I'm just concerned about you."

“Thank you, but I'm already in bed and almost asleep, so I have to hang up now.”

Jane put the phone down before Ursula could reply.

She knew she'd been rude, but knew of no other way to get rid of this extremely annoying person. Especially when she had other disturbing things on her mind.

The doctor had told her she must be very careful of her foot. The fracture was clear across the large outside bone but still in place. If it shifted, he warned, they'd have to operate and pin it back in place and she'd be on crutches for a very long time.

And her older son was going out with a girl who had deliberately made herself look like a freak. She always thought he had abnormally good sense. Had she merely fooled herself?

Her daughter was acting like she knew everything there was to know about France after a two-week visit, which was annoying because Jane had spent several years total living in France herself when she was a girl and her diplomatic corps parents had been stationed there. Jane's own dislike of a gypsy life with no real home had convinced her that her children would have normal lives and stay in the same home until they were grown. Maybe she'd made a mistake in that.

And besides everything else that was bothering her, her foot hurt. Her arms hurt from fighting the crutches, even the other leg hurt because she was having to put all her weight on it, and her back was having alarming little twinges. When she was a teenager, she could have coped with this, but forty-year-old bodies reacted badly to change.

Then her mind turned to the reactions of others. That was a revelation to her. Perfect strangers had asked her how she did that to herself, and all sounded disappointed when she admitted she simply fell off a curbing.

She finally was able to smile to herself. Maybe she could spice up the story a bit. She crawled into bed, trying very hard not to kick the cats, who were eyeing her suspiciously, and fell asleep thinking of other explanations for the cast.

She woke suddenly an hour later when she heard the front door open and close and Mike's distinctive footsteps coming upstairs. She flipped on her bedside light and called softly to him.

“Don't forget to set your alarm," she said when he poked his head around her bedroom door. "You're really late coming in."

“I always set my alarm, Mom," he said with a grin.

He knew her too well. "Okay, okay. Did you have a nice evening?"

“Fair to middling. Kipsy's an interesting girl. Night, Mom.”

Interesting? Jane brooded. She didn't get back to sleep for another half hour.

“Mike says Kipsy is 'interesting,' " Jane said to Shelley on the phone in the morning.

“Interesting is a long way from fascinating," Shelley replied. "How's your foot feeling this morning?"

“About the same. I'm more comfortable in bed than anywhere else, though. And I can't let my‑ self turn into a sloth. We are going to class, aren't we?"

“If you're sure you're up to it. Will you be able to walk around gardens without mowing them down with your crutches or going facedown in the begonias?"

“I hope so. I better get moving.”

Jane used the waterproof tape Shelley had bought for her to fasten the plastic bag around her leg to shower. No water came in the top, but when she finished, she realized the waterproof tape had stuck violently to the back of her knee and hurt like the devil to yank off. What's more, the bag had sprung a leak at the bottom, and the part of the cast near her toes was wet today. She'd have to buy a whole box of plastic bags at this rate.

She'd been wearing her two best casual skirts most of the time since breaking her foot. Today she'd have to shift to slacks or jeans. But she discovered that the cast made her leg too fat for slacks and had to wear the baggy shorts with the pockets on the thighs after all. Still, she managed to get ready on time, by merely whisking a brush through her hair haphazardly and slapping on basic makeup with rough abandon.

“What happened to your hair?" Shelley asked when Jane had bottom-bumped her way down the kitchen porch steps and climbed awkwardly into Shelley's van.

“Not nearly enough," Jane replied. "Whose gardens are we seeing today? I've forgotten my list."

“The instructor's second home over on Linden Street. And then Ursula's yard.”

Jane shuddered at the name. "She called me late last night to see if I had eaten her stuff. I was honest enough to tell her no. And brave enough to stand up for myself. I told her I appreciated her concern, but could take care of myself."

“Not exactly standing up for yourself very strongly. 'Please, PLEASE, leave me alone' might have done it better."

“Frankly, I'm afraid of finding out how high her insult threshold is. Should I exceed it, she could be a more formidable enemy than would-be friend."

“You aren't going to let yourself get sucked into a friendship with her, are you?"