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Bethan's Garden Part 1By Sandra Tayler
Hanna looked out her window into the spring sunshine. This window overlooking the house’s abandoned garden was why she’d chosen to rent a room here. The fact that Violetta Yasbell was willing to let her tend the plants there had also been a deciding factor. Since she had to be in the city, at least she could be in a place where she could grow things. She couldn’t bear to give up everything of the country life she loved. Hanna took a deep breath of air, the fragrances from half a dozen plants and flowers mixed pleasantly. Then she saw movement. That strange child was in the garden again. Hanna had seen the girl several times in the two weeks of her residence here. This time the girl was lying down on a path, arms held close, one cheek pressed into the dirt. Hanna turned from her window and went to breakfast where she asked her gossipy landlady who the child was.
“Oh that’s Beth, she’s a daughter of the Montrose family. She sneaks in to all sorts of odd places. The seer at her birth revealed that she’s cursed with a heart of stone. The poor family has had such a time dealing with her. They have to be so careful. I mean how can they trust a child who can’t feel? They had her in the public school for awhile, but she scared the teachers and other students. The other parents in town finally asked that she be expelled. Now she’s kept at home. She does the strangest things. I hear they have to chain her up when she gets in a fit. How she gets out no one knows. I certainly don’t dare tell her parents that she comes here. They own half the town. I’ve no place to go if they ran me out. I wish they’d send her away somewhere or lock her up properly.”
“Can nothing be done about the curse?”
“Oh no. The family was frantic at first. They took the baby everywhere trying to find a mage or a witch who could lift it. Couldn’t be done. Are you planning to take some o’ them plants hanging in your room to treat the girl? The Montroses would likely pay lots of money to a witch who removed the curse.”
Hanna sighed and flinched with hidden pain. “I’ve told you before Violetta, I’m not a witch.” Was it lying to speak intentions as truth? Hanna had come here to escape from lies not to entangle herself in more. It probably didn’t matter though because the words bounced off of Violetta Yasbell’s preconceptions without making a dent.
“Then are you going to open a stall in the marketplace? That headache tea you gave me was a miracle.”
Hanna could tell she was headed for yet another exchange where her landlady attempted to find out Hanna’s plans. Hanna had no intention of telling her real reasons for coming, but was unable to answer in a way that ended the questions. Hanna attempted to deflect the conversation onto less painful topics.
“How old is the girl now?”
“Well let’s see, she was born the year before Bitsy Munroe’s son, so about 9 I’d say. She used to have terrible tantrums all the time. She’d yell and scream and throw things in the marketplace. I saw one once. She was like an animal snarling and biting. It was really scary to watch. It’s been awhile since she did anything like it. Thank goodness. She’s nothing like Bella…”
And with that the landlady segued into her favorite topic: the virtues of her 2 year old granddaughter. Hanna smiled and nodded for another 10 minutes before breakfast was over and she extricated herself. She walked slowly up the stairs to her room. Once there Hanna shook her head as if to shake off the thoughts. That’s not my job anymore. This Beth is none of my business.
Beth heard the sound of footsteps. They were quiet, but she heard them in the ground pressed to her ear. Beth did not move or respond. The person would pass her by soon and she could be alone again. But the footsteps drew near and stopped. Beth could see the hem of a homespun blue skirt in her peripheral vision. It was a nice soft blue, like the sky early in the morning, not the hard blue of mid-afternoon. The plant in front of her had flowers that color sometimes, but it had none now. The blue skirt tugged at Beth’s attention. Why didn’t it go away? It disrupted her thoughts the way the motions of a water bug disturbed the surface of a pool.
“That plant is called Flax.” The voice was soft. Not just quiet, but soft like a warm blanket. It covered Beth and made her feel warmer. “In a few of months it will have blue flowers.” A hand entered Beth’s field of vision, pointing at some of the narrow leaves of the plant. “These leaves can be used in a poultice for boils.” Beth watched the narrow leaves sway as the skirt receded. A long moment later Beth reached out a hand and traced the same leaf the other hand had traced. Flax.
The garden had been abandoned for so long Hanna wasn’t sure where to start working. She was silly to spend so much energy on a garden not her own, but she couldn’t bear to see a garden unloved. Besides, she needed the solace of work to stop the painful circle of her thoughts. As Hanna began to pull weeds from an overgrown herb bed, she kept an eye on the child. Hanna watched as Beth softly touched the leaves of the flax plant. Hanna wasn’t sure what obscure impulse had prompted her to speak to the child, but she had no doubt at all that her words had been heard and understood. Not like slack faced Linnsa Fisher back home, who lived with her parents and always would. Perhaps it was merely because no one else seemed to, but Hanna decided she liked the child. You’re just getting sentimental in your old age. . . .or lonesome. Hanna shook her head to chase away the too honest thought which surfaced from the back of her brain. She continued working, only occasionally glancing at the motionless figure across the garden. After several hours of work Hanna returned indoors. Too much sun gave her headaches these days. She puttered around her room doing chores and hanging bundles of clipped herbs to dry. Day turned to twilight before Hanna looked out her window again. Beth was still there looking at the flax.
Days later Hanna awoke to first rays of sun peering over the tops of the buildings and through her bedroom window. She climbed out of bed and went to have her first look at the day. Hanna swung her window wide and her eye was arrested by motion in the garden below. The strange little girl was there again. But this time instead of being still, she was all motion. Hanna watched as Beth moved up and down the paths with jerky motions. Beth couldn’t stop touching things. She ran her hands over the leaves of plants, over the wall enclosing the garden on three sides, over the stones of the building on the fourth. The motions finally came to rest when Beth reached the corner of the lot where a small scrubby tree stood alone in a patch of dirt. At first Beth ran her hands over the trunk. Hanna watched as Beth slowly put one cheek to the bark and slid her arms around the trunk. There Beth stayed, hugging the tree as though the winds of her own agitation would blow her away if she did not.
Beth breathed deep and slow. She could feel that her clothes were damp with dew, but the fact seemed far away and unimportant. Her cheek was pressed to the bark so hard that it hurt. The hurt seemed to provide focus for the small bubble of emptiness which Beth had created around herself.
“That’s an oak tree.” The bubble burst and Beth recoiled with a wordless cry. A woman was looking at her, an old woman. People were always looking at her. Looking and talking, looking and talking. This was her alone place. No one talked to her here. Without thought Beth grabbed a handful of pebbles and dirt and threw it at the old woman “Go away!”
The dirt mostly blew away in the wind, a few of the pebbles hit the old woman’s skirt. She didn’t even flinch.
“I’ll stop talking to you if that is what you want, but I won’t go away. I’ve got work to do, I just though you might like to know about that oak tree. Oaks generally have good stories attached.”
Beth sat in the dirt and watched as the old woman walked away. The sway of the woman’s skirt caught Beth’s eye and she realized it was the same blue skirt that had told her about Flax.
Beth turned back to the tree and pressed her face against it, trying to re-capture her bubble of non-existence, but it wouldn’t come. She kept hearing soft sounds of clipping and rustling from behind her. The texture of the bark was more than a sensation. It had a name, Oak. Staying close to Oak, Beth moved a little so that she could see what Old Woman was doing.
Hanna had been working in her plot for about half an hour when she became aware of a small presence behind and to her left. Beth had loosed her death grip on the tree and drifted near. Beth didn’t make a noise, not even while breathing. Hanna felt as if she were in the presence of some wild creature she didn’t wish to startle. She kept working pulling out weeds.
“Why are you pulling out some of the plants?” Hanna hadn’t expected the question, especially in a voice so unlike the shriek she’d heard earlier. Hanna turned to look at Beth. Beth’s eyes were a rich warm brown and watched Hanna’s hands unblinkingly.
“Well in order for my plants to grow big, I have to make enough space around them. Too many plants close together crowd each other out and none of them gains their full growth.”
Hanna waited a moment for a response. When none was forthcoming she resumed her weed pulling. But she was unable to fully relax into her work with the distracting awareness of the tense little figure standing and watching her. Hanna reached the end of the section and stood up, stretching out the dull ache in her lower back. The sun was gaining strength and it was about time to go in.
“Cities are like that.”
Hanna turned and looked at the rigid little figure.
“What?”
“People in cities are too close together. They crowd each other out.” There was finality in this statement that somehow made Hanna reluctant to pursue the subject.
“I need to be getting inside. Too much sun gives me a headache.”
“It’s shady over there.” Beth pointed toward the oak. Hanna studied Beth for a moment.
“You’re right it is. Perhaps I’ll sit over there for a moment. Would you like to join me?” Without thinking Hanna reached out her hand to Beth as she asked the question. Beth took a step backward and pulled both her hands behind her. Hanna, taken back, dropped her hand and moved to sit in the shade. She heard feet running away down the dirt path and turned in time to catch a glimpse of Beth as slipped through the broken gate at the end of the garden.
It was little more than a week later when Hanna’s work clearing weeds and detritus was interrupted by an unexpected intrusion from Beth. They’d been in the garden together several times in that period, but hadn’t exchanged any words.
“Do they all have names?” The question was blurted urgently, but it baffled Hanna. She replied.
“I’m sorry I don’t understand.”
“One is Flax. The tree is Oak. Do they ALL have names?”
Hanna smiled
“Well of course they do. Some of them have more than one.”
“Tell them to me.”
By the end of the evening Hanna was exhausted. They had moved together naming plants until Hanna’s feet were sore and her voice was hoarse. Beth had wanted to know all the names Hanna knew for each plant and what the plant was used for. She never asked about the same plant twice and, somehow, Hanna was sure that all the information was being stored away and wouldn’t be forgotten. Only when the light ran out was Beth content to go home. Hanna went inside and brewed tea to soothe her sore throat.
Beth lay on the carpet in her room. It was woven in patterns of flowers. Beth gently traced one with her finger. It was Rose. Rose was used in soothing lotions, scented waters, and perfumes. The cluster of small white flowers was Lily-of-the-Valley. It could be used as a tonic for the weak of heart. Beth touched each fuzzy flower, reviewing information about it in her mind. Then Mother entered the room with a tired “Bethan get up off the floor.” Beth got up and complied with the process of getting ready for bed, her eyes still seeing plants rather than her bedroom.
“They all have names.”
“What do you mean Beth?” was Mother’s distracted reply as she brushed Beth’s hair to bind it for the night. Mother always came to do this. Beth liked the pull of the brush through her hair.
“All the plants. They have names. Rose and Lily and Woad and Flax and all of them.”
“I suppose they do. I never thought much about it.”
“Tea comes from plants. And spices. And medicines. And the colors in our clothes.”
“Where did you learn all of this?” Mother sounded more interested now. The brush pulled slowly and smoothly.
“Old Woman told me.”
The brush paused a moment before continuing its stroke.
“Oh? What old woman?”
“The one in the garden.”
“Does she have a name?”
Beth did not answer. It had never occurred to her that the old woman might have a name.
Hanna was in the midst of some necessary sewing work when there was a knock at her door. It was a messenger with an invitation to afternoon tea at the home of Madame Carolina Montrose. The messenger departed and Hanna was left staring at the invitation in confusion. Then enlightenment dawned. Montrose was Beth’s family name. This must be from Beth’s mother. Hanna’s gut churned. It wasn’t a summons, but it might as well be. Hanna dared not miss it. What have I gotten myself into? Hanna began bustling to make herself as presentable as possible with the resources available to her.
Hanna arrived at the gate of an impressive house at the appointed time. She had the invitation in hand, determined not to be embarrassed by being refused entrance. No one asked to see it, she seemed to be expected and was whisked through the front doors and settled in a parlor in only moments. Hanna was unused to feeling out of place. Back home she’d felt equal to anything. But that was a different world, nothing so expensive as this room existed there. Hanna wasn’t sure it was proper to be seated when her hostess entered so she fell to studying the portraits on the mantelpiece. Beth was obviously the youngest of the large family. A door closed softly behind her and Hanna took a concealed breath and turned slowly. She might feel out of place, but on one else need know that.
Carolina Montrose was a woman of average height and dark hair. She was undeniably aristocratic, but Hanna decided that Beth looked much like her.
“Good afternoon . . . Hanna is it?” Madame extended her hand in greeting. “Do you have a family name Hanna? Your landlady didn’t seem to know it or it would have been on the invitation.” The pit of Hanna’s stomach plunged. This woman, who was wealthy enough and influential enough to run her out of town, had been speaking to her landlady. The fear was quickly followed by anger. She wants me to know she can spy on me. Hanna’s Chin came up defiantly.
“No. Just Hanna. S’all I’ve ever been.” Hanna returned the polite hand squeeze. Hanna took the seat that Madame gestured toward, being careful not to smudge the gleaming wood.
“Well then Hanna, I’ll get to the point of my unusual invitation. You have met my daughter Bethan and I am sure you have noted that she is unlike other children. For whatever reason, she has chosen to speak with you and to listen to you. You have chosen to spend time with her and I am wondering why.”
“Not much for pleasantries, are you?” Hanna stalled for time.
“Where the welfare of my child is concerned, no I am not. You have not answered my question.”
Hanna studied the face of her hostess trying to determine if it was possible to bring this interview to a positive conclusion.
“I’ve only been here in the city a few weeks. I’m away from home and lonesome. I spoke to your Beth a couple of times because of that probably. Then she wanted to know the names and uses of all the plants in the garden. It seemed so important to her and I didn’t have aught else to do, so I told her. I like her.”
“You’ve heard about the curse.”
“Yes. I live with Violetta Yasbell. I couldn’t not know.”
“Mistress Yasbell says you’re a hedge witch.”
“Mistress Yasbell is a gossip and don’t know what she’s talking about.”
“That she may be, but again you’ve avoided a question. Are you a witch?” Madame’s face was impassive, but her eyes were intent.
“Not many folks know the difference between a true witch and an old woman who grows herbs. I grow herbs for cooking, for teas, for small ailments. No more than that.”
“And do you intend to brew a cure for my daughter’s . . . ailment?” The intensity of Madame’s gaze increase and her eyes never left Hanna’s face looking for . . . what? Does she want the answer to be yes or no? If I figure it out, do I dare give her an answer other than the one she wants? Hanna decided to be blunt.
“You think I’m some kind of liar after your money.”
“It has happened before. Many times. Beth has taken to you and before I allow you to associate with her again I must know if you will do her harm.”
Hanna was aghast. “I’d never hurt a child!”
Madame waved away the protest impatiently. “I don’t mean physically. We have worked long and hard with her to teach her how to be human. I will not see that undone by a liar or a fool or a money grubber.” Anger was surfacing through the impassive façade. Hanna matched it with her own.
“What do you mean ‘teach her to be human’ she IS human! She may be strange, but she is as human as any other child I’ve ever met!”
“So you don’t intend to try to cure her?”
“Madame, you have me in your power. I am poor, should you choose to have me driven out of town I cannot stop you. I intend no harm to you or your child. Any story of me being a witch come her to remove your daughter’s curse came only from Violetta Yasbell’s head.”
The moment stretched as Madame studied Hanna’s face as if trying to find falsehood in her.
“Sometimes harm is caused unintentionally.”
“Have I harmed her yet?”
Madame seemed to be searching for her answer
“No. You haven’t”
“I’ll do no more than I’ve already done.”
Madame studied her in silence for a moment, then reached over and rang a little bell. Hanna felt a stab of fear. Was she about to be thrown out? Would they run her out of town as well? Where would she go? When the door opened Madame merely said
“We’ll take our tea in the conservatory.” Then she turned to Hanna and said, “Will you please walk with me Mistress Hanna?”
Startled at the abrupt change of manner and address, and feeling a flush of relief, Hanna spoke before thinking
“I’ve passed your test then have I?”
Madame’s mouth quirked in the beginning of a smile.
“Yes, I’d say that you have.”
Like the rest of the house, the conservatory was grand and expensive and beautiful. Hanna had never seen such plants. Their leaves were huge and the blossoms luminous. When she realized she was standing with her mouth open she quickly shut it and turned to her hostess.
“Where do they all come from?”
Madame quirked her mouth again
“I’m afraid I don’t know, nor do I know their names. I haven’t time to tend plants. But it eases my spirit to be here.”
“T’would ease your spirit even more if you tended them yourself.”
“Perhaps it would.” Madame led Hanna to a pair of chairs. “What does Beth speak to you about?”
Hanna could tell that for all the calmness of tone, the answer was important to Madame.
“Mostly she said ‘what is that’ and ‘what is it used for?’ then she’d listen. She’d be studying the plant and listening, absorbing everything. When I ran out of things to say she’d move on to the next plant and start over.”
Madame’s face softened and her eyes watered. Hanna sensed a deep and aching hurt.
“I’m sorry. Have I upset you?”
“No.” Madame quickly wiped one an escaped tear. “It’s just… she approached you. She sought out another person. She’s never done that before. The most she ever seems to do is accept people. No one gets more than that. Not even me.”
Hanna sought for words to say, but couldn’t think of any that didn’t sound inane. As she composed and discarded sentences, the silence stretched.
“Bethan was a beautiful baby you know. I often think back to those first months before we knew something was wrong.”
“I thought a seer proclaimed her cursed at her birth.”
Madame’s distant gaze snapped back to Hanna. “It is odd how stories get twisted. You probably heard stories of chains and barred windows as well. No, there was no seer at her birth. We didn’t have seers at the births of any of our children. Magic is a superstition of the peasants you see. We were much too educated and cultured to believe in it.”
“The superstition of the educated.”
“What?”
“Oh, just give people education and they start believing they’re above some of the basic human conditions. Then they learn wisdom and realize that we’re all the same on one level or another.” Hanna looked Madame in the eyes. “When did your wisdom begin?”
“I first suspected something was wrong by about 3 months old. Nothing specific, just a back-of-my-mind concern. She’d never smiled. She didn’t light up for people the way that babies do. By six months I knew something was wrong. She sat, she crawled, she played with toys, but she never smiled and people might as well have been objects.”
Madame’s gaze was distant again. Hanna recognized a recitation of pain so old and familiar that it ceases to cause a reaction anymore.
“My husband couldn’t see it for the longest time. But finally he agreed with me. Doctors told us nothing. They offered unlikely cures and medicines, but they were stabbing in the dark. It began to look as superstitious as magic to us, and so we gave practitioners of magic a try.”
“That’s when you saw the seer.”
“Yes.”
“What were the words of the curse?”
“This child is cursed with a heart of stone.”
“Did he say why?”
“No. He said the source of the curse was clouded in shadow, but that it befell her during her first month of life.”
Again silence filled the room. It was only broken by the arrival of the tea cart and the two women were able to distance themselves a little from the preceding conversation by an exchange of domestic inanities regarding sugar and biscuits. Then securely ensconced behind comforting teacups, the women again met each other’s eyes. Hanna spoke first.
“I find it a little curious that you share so much with me considering how close you were to having me pitched from town only half an hour ago.”
Madame sipped her tea and then answered carefully.
“I think perhaps I have been ready to spill over for a long time.”
“Ah yes, accumulated pain will do that. Not always where expected or convenient either.”
“You know pain.” It wasn’t a question.
“Yes.” Hanna tried to make her tone as closed as possible. It seemed to work because Madame inquired no further.
Copyright 2005 Sandra Tayler All Rights Reserved |
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