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    Garden Magic
    Garden Magic
    Garden Magic
    Ebook135 pages2 hours

    Garden Magic

    By Linda Jordan

    ()

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    About this ebook

    Four stories of very different gardens, the magic and magical creatures that exist within each one, and the people who are changed by their encounters.
    Includes: Conquering the Monsters, A Rose for Remembrance, Scheduled Disappearances, and A Little Help from Friends
    The Garden ~ where anything is possible . . .

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherMetamorphosis Press
    Release dateDec 11, 2016
    ISBN9781370929221
    Garden Magic
    Author

    Linda Jordan

    Linda Jordan writes fascinating characters, visionary worlds, and imaginative fiction. She creates both long and short fiction, serious and silly. She believes in the power of healing and transformation, and many of her stories follow those themes.In a previous lifetime, Linda coordinated the Clarion West Writers’ Workshop as well as the Reading Series. She spent four years as Chair of the Board of Directors during Clarion West’s formative period. She’s also worked as a travel agent, a baker, and a pond plant/fish sales person, you know, the sort of things one does as a writer.Currently, she’s the Programming Director for the Writers Cooperative of the Pacific Northwest.Linda now lives in the rainy wilds of Washington state with her husband, daughter, four cats, a cluster of Koi and an infinite number of slugs and snails.

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      Book preview

      Garden Magic - Linda Jordan

      Garden Magic

      by

      Linda Jordan

      Contents

      ~A Rose for Remembrance

      ~Scheduled Disappearances

      ~A Little Help from Friends

      ~Conquering the Monsters

      ~About the Author

      ~Copyright Information

      A Rose for Remembrance

      The house and especially the garden held an air of mystery about them. All the curtains were closed, leaving one to wonder what lay inside.

      The front garden path was straight and made of solid concrete. Uninteresting. But paths with stepping stones disappeared in between large bushes both to the right and the left. She could see that they wove around among the trees and more bushes. But to where?

      She wanted to follow them, but now was not the right time.

      There would be time later.

      Rose Burns clung tightly to the railing as she climbed the wooden steps of the decades old green painted house. The railing felt solid.

      She didn’t.

      The sun blazed down on her. It felt hot and the air was humid. She was sweating and used her free hand to pat at her damp face. Even in her red sleeveless blouse, black skirt, hose and black heels, she felt too hot.

      She just didn’t deal well with heat well anymore.

      The young black cabbie followed her, carrying all her luggage. He was kind enough to give her time to wobble up the three steps to the large wrap-around porch.

      At the top, she opened up her purse, with shaking hands. Her hands always shook these days. That hadn’t always been the case. Once she’d been strong and young. And stunningly beautiful.

      Those days were long gone.

      She took out the keys that had been sent to her by Dolores’ attorney and inserted the first one in the lock. It didn’t work. She tried the next one, which did.

      Rose opened the door and cool air flowed out of the house at her. So did the smell of lemon furniture polish. Even though Dolores couldn’t possibly have cleaned for over two months.

      Who knew what kind of shape she’d been in before the car accident killed her.

      Rose stepped over the threshold and the cabbie followed her, bringing all her worldly possessions.

      She pulled out her wallet for the cab fare and as generous a tip as she could manage. Which wasn’t much.

      Thank you Ma’am, he said, in an accent she could barely understand.

      Where had he said he’d come from? Barbados? Bhind? Brisbane? She couldn’t remember.

      She used to be able to keep up with these young people. She used to be what was it? Hip? Cool? Awesome? She couldn’t remember what the word for it was these days.

      Are you going to be all right here? All on your own?

      Yes, I’ll do fine, she said, surer than she felt. Thank you.

      He nodded and went out, closing the door behind him and leaving her in this large empty house. With a larger garden.

      Well, at least she didn’t have to take care of any of it. She just needed to clean it out and put it up for sale. There was no one else, so she was stuck with the job. She could have had the lawyer take care of it, but that didn’t seem right somehow.

      Afterwards, she could carry on her existence living in a hotel somewhere.

      A cheap hotel. She didn’t have much money left and she didn’t yet know how much Dolores had left her. Might only be a dollar. The house was hers, but it might not sell for a while. Might not sell in her lifetime even.

      If there’s one thing she had learned, it was that life held no guarantees.

      She liked hotels. Someone else cleaned. You bought dinner, didn’t have to make it. She couldn’t cook much, had never really learned. Which had always annoyed Mama. Besides, Rose had always been on the road.

      Dolores had learned to cook. Mama had seen to that. Dolores had done everything right.

      Rose walked through the house, the low heels of her shoes clicking on the wood floor. Everything looked immaculate, except for a very thin layer of dust. The furniture was all antique, just like the house.

      Just like her.

      Dolores and Roger hadn’t had children, so it looked like they spent all their money on the house and garden. Dolores had been living on their money since Roger’s death, twenty years ago. Difficult thing to do in Seattle. Rose had heard prices were high here.

      What Dolores had been doing was only a guess. Rose had no idea who her sister had been or what she did. She’d been completely out of touch with her family for over sixty years. How Dolores’ attorney had found her was a mystery.

      On the other hand, Rose had no more family. Everyone else was gone.

      But she hadn’t really cared. She was the one who left. The one who didn’t fit it.

      Still, she felt alone like she never had before.

      Rose sat on one of the hard wooden chairs at the kitchen table. There was a view of the backyard. It looked shady and inviting. There were lots of green plants she didn’t know the names of. And the garden was filled with blue and purple flowers. Plus a few white ones for good measure.

      She felt tired. The plane ride had been long, filled with stuffy air, sweaty bodies and crying babies.

      Rose put two hands on the table and pulled herself up. She went to the cupboard, searched until she found a glass, then put it under the tap, filling it with cold water.

      She drank in the coolness. The water was pretty good, despite the chlorine.

      So that was what, her fourth glass of water today? She needed to drink more, but with traveling it was hard. She hadn’t drank much this morning. Hadn’t wanted to use the toilet in the plane. But she had. Once. That was enough.

      Walking over to the back door, she opened it, letting in the fresh air. The back porch was as wide as the front. A table and four chairs sat on it. Wooden steps descended to a dark maroon brick patio. There was a fire pit out there and brick benches. Beyond that were the flowers. And a mossy lawn that looked inviting.

      But her sharp heels would never work on that lawn.

      Rose went back inside to her big suitcase and rolled it over to a wooden bench in the hallway. She hauled it up onto the bench and opened it.

      Digging around through her hastily packed clothes, Rose found a pair of flat sandals. Made of leather that had been dyed silver. She pulled up her skirt, wriggled her hose down to her knees and sat down on the bench. Slipping out of her heels, she pulled the nylons all the way off. Then slid her feet into the slippery sandals.

      She went out the back door and into the garden. It felt cool, much more so than the front of the house. Massive trees, many stories tall, arched over the garden. Protecting it from the sun. She walked through the soft grass looking at the beautiful bushes filled with purple and blue flowers.

      Had Dolores cared for this garden? Or had she hired someone?

      Rose hadn’t spoken to her since they were teenagers. Since she’d run away from home.

      The place looked immaculate. She wandered down a path made of stones. They were set in concrete with patterns. Like a mosaic. Curves and beautiful designs leading the traveller forward. Here and there were placed iridescent glass pieces. And the stones were black, dark purple and blue. What an astonishing piece of art.

      She walked past the curved beds of exotic plants. Farther on, the garden looked a little more wild, a little more unkempt. As if Dolores or whoever the gardener was, only kept up the beds closest to the house.

      She turned past one curve and there was a wrought iron bench.

      Rose sat down on it and was surprised to see a sculpture of a mermaid. She was wreathed by one of the blue flowered bushes. Her face looked down as if in contemplation.

      There was a sadness to her features, but a sense of strength too. As if she’d suffered greatly.

      Nearby a small pool lay. It was planted with grasses and tiny floating plants. Rose stared at it and saw several orange, black and white flashing fish. They were two, maybe three inches long. Goldfish? She didn’t know.

      I sure hope somebody’s been feeding you.

      She sat for a long time, smelling the damp earthy smells, watching the fish and then studying the statue. It looked perfect in this serene spot.

      When had she ever sought out serenity?

      She’d longed for it all right, but not enough to change her wild life.

      Jumping from job to job, touring show after touring show, comedy acts where she was the straight woman, magic shows where she got cut into pieces. Anything onstage that would pay. She’d even played flute, badly, in bands that toured.

      For a time.

      Everything was for a time. Including leaving shows for some man who seemed perfect at the time. But wasn’t.

      Then she grew too old for show business. They wanted young faces. Rose had turned to commercials to pay the rent. And they did, just.

      She’d always felt she was close to being discovered. But it never happened.

      She never got the big break. Barely made enough to live on. So social security was nothing new. It barely made ends meet too.

      And now she was here.

      To sort out the life of her estranged sister. The one who did everything right. Married a lawyer. Didn’t have kids, but traveled the world. Led a respectable life.

      And Rose was alone in the world.

      Absolutely, totally alone.

      You’re not alone, said a woman’s melodic voice.

      Rose looked up, startled.

      Who said that?

      There was no one there.

      Who’s there? she asked.

      I am.

      The voice was coming from the statue.

      That’s not possible, she said.

      Of course it is. You humans have such a limited sense of the the universe, said the mermaid.

      But you can’t speak. You’re not alive.

      And yet, I am. she said.

      Rose stared at the statue. Was it possible to be insane and know it? Surely, she must be going round the bend.

      What do you mean I’m not alone?

      "Look around you. Even if you

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