Emilie Richards - Somewhere Between Luck and Trust

“Maddie has one of Velvet’s puppies,” Edna said. “Vanilla.”

“You’ll meet Maddie and Taylor soon,” Samantha said. “They’ll be up to visit.”

Cristy was just as glad they hadn’t come today. She was already overwhelmed.

Harmony answered Georgia’s question. “Peas, lettuce and we just put in a whole plot of potatoes. Also onions, carrots. I guess that’s it so far. We’re still working on it. Marilla’s doing some of the work now. She’s improving fast. She’s just using a cane.”

“Marilla was in a car accident,” Edna explained.

They stopped at an area fenced with both rails and chicken wire, and Samantha opened the gate. The area was spacious, much larger than the word garden had conjured for Cristy.

“Wow.” She stepped in after the others. The garden wasn’t exactly abandoned. But clearly nothing had been done inside this fence for some time. “They must have grown a lot of their food here.”

“Charlotte said she and her grandmother grew and canned most of what they ate,” Harmony said. “She wasn’t much of a gardener after she left here, but Ethan—he’s Charlotte’s husband—made sure the house and land were rented and taken care of. The tenants kept up the garden.”

Cristy thought this was the most peaceful place on the property. Maybe it was the fence that separated her from all that space beyond it. But in here she felt comfortable, even safe. She could feel herself relaxing.

“What are you going to do with it?” She wasn’t sure where to aim the question. Everyone seemed to think and answer in turn.

“I think it’s a work in progress,” Georgia said. “Without much progress.”

“I could help.” Cristy heard herself volunteer without thinking about it, but as the words emerged, so did enthusiasm. “I haven’t done a lot, but when I was little I helped a neighbor with her garden. She paid me in Hershey bars and potato chips. It was our secret.” She smiled a little.

“I’d be glad to come up when I can and help you get things started,” Harmony said. “But it’s going to need to be tilled. Maybe some manure worked in. I’ll ask Marilla. She’ll know. I bet she’d come up and give us advice.”

“Don’t count on me,” Georgia said. “Plants wither when they see me coming.”

Samantha warned Edna to be careful of snakes in a tangle of blackberry brambles in the corner where she was exploring. Then she joined in the conversation. “I’ll do what I can, but it won’t be a lot of help, I’m afraid. I’m swamped at work.”

“Taylor and Maddie might help,” Harmony said. “But maybe this year we can just do a small piece of it, to get things started.”

Cristy was way ahead of that, envisioning a thriving garden, vegetables, herbs and, best of all, flowers. All kinds of flowers for bouquets. Flowers she could sell to make a little money.

“I’d like to try,” she said. “It would give me something to do while I’m here. When I’m not looking for work,” she added, afraid they would think she was planning to take advantage of them.

“Don’t worry about that right away. There aren’t a lot of job possibilities around here,” Samantha said. “Just use this time to figure things out, if you can. Get yourself settled in. If you want to do some work in the garden because it sounds like fun, please do. We’d better get back. We’ll walk you to the house and get our things.”

As the others chatted, Cristy kept to herself. All day she’d wished for silence and space, but now that they were leaving, she was gripped with fear. What would it be like to live here without company? There were locks on the doors, and a telephone. There was even a television set, although reception was nonexistent, but there was a DVD player.

Still she wasn’t home. She didn’t even know what that meant anymore. For a moment she yearned to be back in the quad surrounded by other prisoners. At least there she had known who she was. And in a perverse way she had known she was safe.

At the house she watched as everyone gathered their things. Harmony, Lottie and Velvet were the first to leave, followed by Georgia. Samantha and Edna lingered longest.

“My number’s right by the phone,” Samantha said. “And everybody else’s numbers are on the wall behind it. You can call any of us anytime, and we’ll be up the mountain as fast as we can get here. But you’re going to be all right. And if you’re not, we’ll find a better place for you.”

Cristy knew she had to sound confident. She managed a smile. “It might feel a little strange at first, but I know I’ll be fine. Thanks for letting me stay.”

Samantha hugged her before Cristy realized what she intended. Being enfolded, even briefly, in somebody else’s arms felt alien. She blinked back tears.

“You call,” Samantha said. “Nobody expects you to be a good soldier. If you need us, call.”

Cristy watched them leave. Samantha and Edna had been gone for almost ten minutes before she went inside.

She locked the door behind her, and turned on the living room lights because the room was beginning to darken. Then she stood in the doorway of the kitchen, where the telephone sat on a small end table, and considered what she was about to do. She’d planned this all afternoon, and as the day dragged on she’d been more and more sure she would make the call. But now that she could, she was hesitant and unsure.

In the end she picked up the phone and dialed the number she had carefully memorized. No one picked up on the other end. Cristy could imagine her cousin’s family enjoying the sunset view from their deck. She remembered doing just that with Berdine two years ago. Before her world disintegrated.

An answering machine picked up, and she waited for her chance to speak. Then she left her message.

“Berdine, this is Cristy. I won’t be coming tomorrow. I’m busy settling in, and I just don’t think it’s a good idea to leave so soon. I’ll call you and set up another time to see Michael. You all have a good night, now.”

She hung up and realized she hadn’t given Berdine her new phone number.

She wasn’t sorry.

Chapter Six

ON MONDAY GEORGIA and three teams of parents and students made rounds of BCAS classrooms to observe and give feedback. She had met with the parent-student teams for six weeks, devising and honing an evaluation form, but the form was a diving platform, and she hoped everyone would dive deeper and search harder for those who were drowning and those who were saving lives.

By the end of a long day, having sat in on as many of the sessions as she could, she was both exhausted and invigorated. Her instincts had been correct. The teams were already proving to be perceptive and thorough. Those teachers willing to listen would gain additional insight on how to become more skilled in the classroom. Those like Jon Farrell, who thought the idea of parents and students instructing the teachers was ridiculous, would, at the very least, learn their opinions might not be a good fit here. If she was lucky they would request a transfer without a sharp nudge from her.

As Georgia headed to her office for the first time since hanging her jacket on the coat rack that morning, Carrie Bywater fell into step beside her. Every time they walked by a classroom, Georgia could hear rain coming in waves beyond the windows—not a gentle spring shower but a sullen winter storm.

“I just wanted you to know I suggested the independent study to Dawson. He said he’d do it if he can study tattoos. He wants to get one.”

“Tattoos, huh? I was hoping for the French Revolution or maybe quantum entanglement theory.”

“I thought about it, and actually, it’s not as bad as it sounds. He can look into things like the history, cultural and anthropological significance, the specific graphic design elements, how tattoos related to fashion through the centuries.” Carrie sounded more enthused as she went. “The health aspects, like HIV infection, ink allergies. Psychological implications. I’m sure he’ll come up with more if he tries. I’m getting together with him tomorrow after school. I’m going to let him know we aren’t talking about a five-page report on the best tattoo parlors in Asheville.”