Garden of Angels Read online

  “I’d have slept on the floor first. Hospitality matters. It’s the Southern way.”

  He walked over to my rather large poster project. It was thumbtacked to the longest wall, and it stretched the whole length of it. He examined it closely. “What’s this?”

  “Special project for my government class,” I said. “I’ve been working on it for weeks, even though it isn’t due until May.”

  “I thought most kids your age put up posters of their favorite rock band.” He grinned. “So tell me about it.”

  I shrugged self-consciously. “I still have to do the written part of the report, but this is a time line of America’s involvement in Vietnam. See here?” I pointed to the first date and my neatly written historical notes. “This is 1955, when our country started messing around in the politics after the French were forced out. Here’s 1961, when President Kennedy tried to negotiate a settlement between the Communist party holding the north part of Vietnam and the non-Communists in the South. Here’s 1963, when things started to escalate after the President was assassinated.” I stopped and turned to Barry. “Did you know that Buddhist monks set themselves on fire to protest religious persecution? Can you imagine?”

  Barry shook his head. “No, I can’t.” He ran his finger along the line, reading as he went. “ ‘August 1964, the Gulf of Tonkin Resolution, U.S.S. Maddox battleship attacked and more troops sent. . . . 1965, Operation Rolling Thunder, sustained bombing missions begun by U.S. . . . 1966, North Vietnamese Army crosses Demilitarized Zone and is driven back in heavy fighting. . . .’ ”

  I drew his attention to a second time line I’d drawn in bright red, running beneath the first. “This is what was happening in this country during the military buildup in Vietnam,” I said. “See? In 1965, protesters started marching on college campuses. By 1968, at the Democratic National Convention, there was a free-for-all, with protesters burning flags and draft cards and fighting in the streets of Chicago with police.”

  Barry ran his hand along both lines but began reading again from the one about the war. “ ‘Nineteen sixty-seven, the Tet Offensive buildup begins; 1968, the Battle for Khe Sanh.’ ” He stopped. “Khe Sanh . . . that’s the firefight that my brother was in.”

  “Really?”

  “It scarred him for life,” Barry said. He looked grim and suddenly I wondered about the wisdom of showing off my project to him. Adel was going to kill me if I ruined Thanksgiving.

  “Well, soldiers also started coming back home in sixty-eight,” I said, trying to put a positive spin on my chart and pointing to my notations.

  “But the war spilled over into Cambodia and Laos,” he said, following a branch of the time line shooting off one side dated 1970 and 1971. I had made factual addendums to the chart about Vietnam’s neighboring countries and the encroachment of the war over their borders.

  “Yes, but by 1972, all but a third of U.S. troops were pulled out,” I said, talking fast to finish up because I could see that he was determined to follow the chart to its conclusion. “In January 1973, we signed the Paris Peace Agreement. And in March 1973, our combat soldiers left and today only military advisors and troops protecting U.S. installations remain.”

  “And that’s where your time line stops,” Barry said.

  “Because the war is up to the Vietnamese to finish,” I said. “I’m not sure how to end my project. Doesn’t seem right not to give it an ending.”

  “Maybe you should write the North and South Vietnamese governments and ask them to get it over with so you can turn this in.”

  I smiled. “Maybe so.”

  He ran his fingers over boxes I’d drawn at the bottom of the chart. “What do you plan to put here?”

  “Casualties,” I admitted. “Another reason to get the war over with. So that people can stop dying.”

  With Barry scrutinizing my project, it took on a face and gained substance for me. Real people had died in Vietnam—brothers, fathers, sons, husbands—living, breathing men. Until that moment, my chart had been an abstract exercise to win a better grade. But seeing it through Barry’s eyes had turned it into a chronicle not only of history, but of people’s lives.

  Barry stepped away from the wall, shoved his hands in his pockets. “You’ve done a good job, Darcy. If I were your teacher, I’d give you an A-plus.”

  “Thank you,” I said, feeling a heaviness in my heart.

  “There you are!” Adel swept into the room. “Did Darcy kidnap you?”

  Barry put his arm around her. “I was just looking over one of her school projects. She’s a bright girl.”

  Adel eyed my chart suspiciously, then turned back to Barry. “I wondered if you’d like to come down and join my parents while Darcy and I finish up the meal.”

  I understood the message she was sending about needing my help.

  “Sounds good,” Barry said.

  They left hand in hand. I waited a few minutes before following them downstairs. Afternoon sunlight filtered through the curtains in the dining room and the aroma of turkey filled our house, yet all I could think of were the soldiers who would never have Thanksgiving dinner again because they were no more.

  Eleven

  By the time we demolished Thanksgiving dinner, I was feeling more cheerful. I really was thankful that our family was together. Barry seemed at ease at our table. Papa said, “Nice to have another male voice around. Sometimes I can’t get a word in edgewise, with all these women talking.” Papa always liked to tease us about our chatter, but I knew he was grateful to hear it again after Mama’s long absence.

  I carried the plates and dishes to the kitchen, where Barry insisted on rolling up his sleeves and helping Adel load the dishwasher and scrub the pots and pans. “But you’re a guest,” Adel said. “Darcy can help me.”

  “I’m pretty good at this,” Barry said. “The army’s taught me well. Come on. You and me, babe.”

  I happily left them to their work and returned to the living room, where Papa had set up the card table and Mama was busy spreading out a new one-thousand-piece puzzle. That was what we did on holidays and rainy days—we worked jigsaw puzzles and played board games. Everyone would pitch in on the puzzle and after a time drift off and do something else, then return to check the progress and slip a few more pieces into place. The card table was often up for days until the puzzle was completed.

  We had pieced together about half of the border when the doorbell rang. I went to find Becky Sue on the veranda. “Where is he?” were the first words out of her mouth.

  “And happy Thanksgiving to you too,” I said, letting her into the house. “In the kitchen,” I added. “Dishes are done, but they haven’t come out yet.”

  She followed me into the kitchen, where Barry and Adel were sitting and peering into each other’s eyes like lovesick puppies. After introductions, Becky and I went up to Adel’s room, where she hooked her arm around the bedpost and said, “What a hunk! Your sister is so lucky.”

  “He’s nice too. Talks to me like I’m a real person with opinions that count. Her boyfriends from high school treated me like a pest that needed shooing.”

  “So what’s he do in the army?”

  “Something with radios and satellites. He can’t talk about it much.”

  “Won’t the army send him away?”

  “Sure.”

  “It’s going to break Adel’s heart to lose that one.”

  “What makes you think she’ll lose him? Just because he leaves doesn’t mean they won’t write and call each other.”

  “Depends on where they send him,” Becky said. “What if he goes off to some country where there’s lots of free love?”

  “You see too many movies,” I said, but her questions nibbled at me the rest of the day.

  Once we all drifted up to bed, I waited until Adel came out of her bathroom and asked her the same thing Becky had asked me. “What will you and Barry do when the army sends him far away?”

  Adel turned down her bed. “We’ll wr
ite.”

  “Aren’t you afraid he’ll meet someone else?”

  “If some other girl can take him away from me, then we didn’t have much going on between us, now, did we?”

  Her confidence was inspiring. I wondered if I’d ever feel that secure about another person’s feelings. “Well, what about him being in the army? Do you worry about him getting hurt?”

  “The army will take care of him. And they’re not sending troops to Vietnam anymore, so he won’t be in harm’s way.” She scooted under the covers. “I think it would be fun to travel all over the world. I’d love to see Paris and Rome.”

  “Is that why you like him? So that he can send you postcards from around the world?”

  “Don’t be silly. I like him because of who he is. He’s the most wonderful man in the world.”

  “Why do you suppose he joined the army? I mean, after what happened to his brother and all.”

  “Duty,” she said simply. “All the men in his family have served in the military. Barry grew up wanting to serve his country. That’s part of who he is.” Adel flipped off the bedside lamp.

  I told her good night and turned over, only to gaze out the window and see a brilliant pale white moon gleaming down. The image of Jason’s face floated across my mind’s eye. I wondered what his holiday had been like, if he’d been happy, if he’d missed his family in Chicago. And I wondered if he had thought of me even once.

  “Honey, you’ve done such a fine job. All the dead leaves raked up and the pansies planted. Thank you.” Mama and I were navigating the backyard and looking over my handiwork. Adel and Barry had driven off to scout the town right after breakfast, and I had told Becky I’d come over in the afternoon.

  “The flowers do look pretty, don’t they?” I said, feeling satisfied with myself for making Mama happy. The pansies looked cheerful in the freshly mulched beds, their colorful faces turned up to catch the sun. Pansies bloomed all winter this far south because we rarely got snow, or even lingering frosts. The flowers thrived until the wilting heat came in late spring and made them fade. Mama always planted them for color.

  I said, “I thought about pruning back the crepe myrtle, but I remembered that you usually do that in February.”

  “That’s right. You’re such a good gardener, Darcy.”

  Her praise made my heart swell. “I wasn’t sure about the roses, Mama.”

  “Yes, they can be a problem, yet they’re so lovely you can forgive them and their sulky ways.”

  I giggled. “You talk as if they’re human.”

  “They think they are, and I’d never tell them otherwise.” Her arm was looped through mine and we were wearing heavy sweaters, but her arm felt feather light. She wore a kind of turban around her head, and dangling gold earrings that caught the sun. “I should get the yardman to sow some winter rye,” she said. “For the green color.” The grass, a variety that died back in cold weather, was turning brown. Our yardman cut, edged and fertilized the grass, while Mama kept the gardens. “Maybe we can go up to the nursery and buy a few more flats of pansies,” she said. “It’s not too late to get more planted, and I think I’d like more color in the beds below the back porch.”

  “We can go tomorrow,” I said. “I’ll get them in the ground next week.”

  “Don’t neglect your schoolwork.”

  “I’m caught up,” I said. “Even ahead in some classes.”

  Mama stopped walking. “Let me catch my breath. Goodness. . . . I’ve been lying in bed much too long. I’m out of shape.”

  Alarmed, I said, “Maybe we should go inside.”

  “All I do inside is answer the phone and tell well-meaning friends that I’m doing all right.”

  “Then let’s sit in the swing,” I offered. “You really are all right, aren’t you, Mama?”

  She patted my hand. “I have a ways to go before I get my strength back, but yes, I’m okay.”

  I felt relieved. Soon things would be back to normal and our lives would pick up from where we’d put them on hold when Mama had been diagnosed with breast cancer.

  Mama tipped back her head, took deep breaths. “Is there anything in God’s world more beautiful than flowers and trees?”

  I knew she wasn’t asking me a real question, just thinking out loud.

  “One more thing, Darcy. I’m turning over my garden club presidency to Mrs. Teasdale.”

  “But why? You love the club.”

  “And I still do. But Wicki Teasdale will take it over. I want to concentrate on my family and on feeling good again. I don’t think I can tackle the garden show in April.”

  “But you always do the show.” I was dismayed by Mama’s withdrawal.

  “It takes great effort to get it together. I’ve already missed months of work. Wicki will do just fine. She’ll be by this week to pick up all my records and files. It’s best this way, honey.”

  I knew that relinquishing her presidency wasn’t an easy thing for my mother to do. She’d been at the helm of that club ever since I could remember. Even when Grandmother was sick, she’d participated. “I’ll help you, Mama. You don’t have to quit,” I said.

  “I won’t hear of it,” she said quietly. “It’s time for me to step down, make room for others. It’s okay, Darcy. It’s what I want.”

  I wanted to believe her, but all I could think was that this was one more thing breast cancer had stolen from my mother. “But sometime soon, teach me how to deal with the roses and their sulky ways. All right?”

  Her smile seemed to come from far away. “Lesson number one, honey. Roses take time . . . a whole lot of time.”

  Adel and Barry didn’t get home until suppertime and were up and eating breakfast when I came down at nine on Saturday. They kept giving each other adoring puppy-dog stares, and Adel was so sugary sweet that I was glad diabetes wasn’t catching like the flu. They eventually left for a drive, and I spent the afternoon at Becky’s.

  Walking home that evening, I thought about Mama, and school, and Jason, and how I was going to continue hiding my feelings for him from Becky Sue because I didn’t want to be teased. And tease me she would. I deserved it too, for hadn’t I poked fun at her for years over her numerous crushes?

  I turned the corner and saw Barry’s rental car in the driveway, which meant Adel was home. I jogged up the porch steps and banged open the front door—sounding like a herd of elephants, I was certain. Who wants a girlfriend who clumps? I purposely slowed my entrance into the kitchen, where I saw Mama and Papa sitting at the table with Barry and Adel. I asked, “What’s happening? ” for I could tell by their expressions that something was happening.

  “You’re just in time,” Adel cried, her smile as bright as sunshine. She held out her left hand, where a small diamond ring sparkled in the light. “Barry’s asked me to marry him, and I’ve said yes, yes, yes!”

  Twelve

  December

  “Married! Really? When?” The words tumbled out of my mouth.

  “Slow down, girl,” Papa said. “That’s just what we were discussing.”

  I hugged Adel, then Barry. “This is so far out. I—I can’t believe it.”

  “I think she’s glad about it,” Adel said to Barry.

  He grinned and threw his free arm around my shoulders. His other arm was around Adel, of course. “Not as glad as I am,” he said. “I’ve been on pins and needles for weeks, knowing I was going to propose.” He looked at our parents. “Thank you for giving us your blessing.”

  Mama took Papa’s hand. Tears had filled her eyes. “We’re very happy for you both,” she said.

  “The ring belonged to Barry’s grandmother,” Adel said, flashing it again.

  “I asked my mother to send it weeks ago,” Barry explained. “She always told me it would be mine to give to the girl of my dreams.”

  Barry’s open adoration caused a lump in my throat.

  “Have you set a date?” Papa asked, getting back to the practical side of the event.

  Adel
and Barry exchanged quick glances. Adel scooted closer to Mama. “Don’t panic, but we want to get married at Christmas.”

  Mama blanched. “Christmas? This Christmas?”

  “The Lockheed project will be finished and I’ll be getting my orders right after the first of the year,” Barry said. “I love Adel very much, and I want her to be my wife before I leave. If I get sent to a base in Europe, she’ll be able to come with me.”

  “But your mother’s health—” Papa began.

  “Not now, Graham,” Mama interrupted.

  “I’ll plan everything,” Adel said in an impassioned voice. “Mama won’t have to worry about it. I don’t want a big fancy wedding. Just something small with family and maybe a few friends. How hard can it be? I’ll even buy my own dress— again, nothing elaborate. We’ll have the reception in the church fellowship hall—cake and punch, some nuts and those little butter mints will be fine. I don’t want to go to a country club in Atlanta like Mary Teasdale did. I just want to become Barry’s wife in the shortest amount of time, with the least amount of fuss.”

  I almost asked why she and Barry hadn’t eloped if they didn’t want to create a fuss, but didn’t because I’d only sound contentious and I was happy for Adel. I really was.

  Mama held up her hand. “I don’t want my firstborn daughter to skimp on her wedding.”

  “But I don’t want a big fancy wedding,” Adel insisted.

  “My parents will be the only ones who’ll come from New York,” Barry said. “And I’ll invite a few of my army buddies and my commander. That’s about it for me.”

  “What about your brother?” Mama asked.

  “Kyle’s in a VA hospital, and—” He paused. “Well, we don’t expect him to be out anytime soon.”

  The back of my neck felt prickly because I knew about his brother and Vietnam and how his war experience had changed his life.

  “See, Mama,” Adel said. “A small wedding won’t be any trouble at all.”

  “I want you to have what you want, honey,” Mama said. “We’ll talk it out later. For now, you two just go be happy.”