© Copyright 2006
by Elizabeth Delayne

Hope That Blooms

Part II

She sat in her apartment with her cell phone and pondered how she would tell Carrie. In her lap, sat one of Annabelle Grace’s journals. Professor Davis had been nearly giddy, and despite his age, had stayed up into the early morning hours carefully studying and discussing the possibilities.

He still had the paintings and sketches, though he promised to send her detailed photographs of each once those that were rolled were unrolled and all were preserved. Then she could email them to Carrie across an ocean.

Dani shook her head. She had enough on her mind then to sit down and figure out the time differences between England and Tennessee. She honestly had not paid much attention when Carrie was making plans. Carrie, as always, had thrown herself into the project, exciting and spouting off information. As usual, Dani had tuned her out.

She supposed she could call Cooper and ask him. He would obviously need to keep in touch with Tyler over the next few months. Tyler would have known not to depend on her to give details and make the decisions.

It wasn’t that he couldn’t depend on her ... just that he knew her well enough that he wouldn’t want her to have to make the decision. For all his love for Carrie, he loved her as well. As a sister. As a friend.

Still, she wasn’t comfortable around Cooper. He pushed too hard. She was used to people pushing hard, but she was also used to the giving up, leaving her alone, letting her be.

Cooper had proven himself not to be that sort of man.

However she felt about the house, Carrie was her sister, and Carrie’s dreams had always been wrapped up in the Heritage.

So she texted her cell, not wanting to interrupt a class or a meeting with a phone call.

GOOD NEWS. CALL ASAP.

She considered her words carefully. She hadn’t wanted her sister to panic over words like important, or urgent.

The phone rang just moments later.

“Hey—“ It was Carrie’s voice, just like it would have been if she was just on the other side of Kelperton County. “What’s up? I have a few minutes before my class starts.”

Dani ran a hand over the journal. She’d considered her words here careful as well. She owed it to Tyler to keep his secret.

“You’ll never guess. I was up working on mama’s roses and when I went into the stables to put the tools away those old metal shelves just toppled over.”

“Are you okay?”

“What?” Dani asked. “Yes—yes, of course. I wasn’t hurt ... but we found her.”

“Found who?”

“Annabelle Grace.”

“Her body?”

The laugh spilled out of Dani at the surprise in Carrie’s voice. “No—that would be Jacey calling with that news. Someone had propped up the shelves with an old chest. An old wooden chest from back then.”

“You’re killing me now. What was in it?”

“Journals. Five of them. And paintings, some of them rolled. But paintings ... and we figured out the mystery.”

“Her books?”

“Her paintings. She’d signed them all ... some were signed A. Lindsey and the later, better ones, L. E. Grace. Dr. Davis had someone verify that they’re the same style. It’s not conclusive, but it’s pretty much correct.”

“L. E. Grace,” Carrie repeated. “The Southern painter?”

“Like the painting upstairs in the library.”

“And others. We loaned a few to the university. And there are a few in the Smithsonian.”

There, Dani acknowledged to herself, and others around the world. L. E. Grace was a house hold name in the artistic community. A southern painter back during just after the Civil War—back in a time when their were few southern authors, historians or artists. She’d studied a few of Grace’s paintings herself on her way through school.

He’d been considered an enigma, and most thought he was a Northerner who’d just come south as a carpetbagger after the war. His roots and his history had never been traced.

Because he wasn’t a he at all ... but Annabelle Grace Lindsey. Dani would bet her prized pair of work gloves on it that the E stood for Elijah.

In the background of the connection, Dani heard voices, then Carrie came back on. “I hate this—I hate that I’m not there. I want to see and ... everything. Wait ‘til I tell Tyler. Does Jacey know?”

“You’re the first.”

“I wish we could tell her together.”

“You tell her, then have her call me. I’ll fill in the details. I don’t have many.”

“But you have journals. Is the condition ... can they be read?”

“Dr. Davis was surprised, but everything’s in great condition considering they’ve been in a chest on the floor in the stables for so many years. You should see the chest, Carrie. It’s a piece of art. It’s held together. I don’t know why we never noticed it before. Why our grandmother never noticed.”

Carrie sighed, the petulance coming across the long distance line. “I have class and I’m already late.”

“I’ll email all the details I have. You always read quicker then you listen anyway.”

“I’ll check as soon as class is over.”

“I’ll get them.”

“And who was we?”

“What?”

“You said we found the chest. You never let anyone touch mama’s roses. Is there someone?”

Dani nearly groaned out loud. Carrie never missed a detail. And even though there was something female inside of her that wanted to tell her about Cooper’s eyes, she held back. Cooper, after all, was part of Tyler’s surprise.

“I meant we as the family. As in you and me.”

It wasn’t quite a lie. She hadn’t really thought about what she’d said or why she’d said it. She’d could have meant anything.

A moment later they disconnected and Carrie went off to teach her class, which left Dani alone in the silence. The civil war era journal lay in her lap as she remembered the way she’d treated Carrie over the Heritage and the legacy of Annabelle Grace.

And then she thought of Cooper, of those green eyes, and the way they pierced her heart. All in all, it was inappropriate to think about him. He had a different view of the Heritage, a different belief. He pushed too hard. He wanted too much from her.

She wouldn’t, couldn’t give it. Despite the discovery, the legacy, she would never see the Heritage as more than an obstruction. To her life. To her family.

* * *

When she pulled up to the Heritage the next Sunday afternoon, she was surprised to see Cooper’s car there before her. She resisted the urge to flee. The front door was locked—so she didn’t bother with the tricky handle and walked around back.

That door was locked as well.

She looked out over the gardens—and for a moment, really looked at them. They were a disgraceful mess. She knew it, and had known it, but she’d told herself she didn’t care. If Carrie wanted the gardens to revive, then Carrie could deal with it.

Still, Carrie was a plant killer. She didn’t have the patience ... or the eye. She killed so much more than she’d ever grown.

Dani had given Carrie a lot of grief over this place. She’d sacrificed sisterly affection, just to keep her distance.

And instead of turning toward her sisters at each moment of loss, she’d turned them all against each other ... at her mother’s death, her grandmother’s ... and especially, after her father’s. She’d pushed Carrie more deeply into the house and Jayce into utter confusion.

Dani frowned until she heard the thud and followed the sound—and realized she’d found Cooper. It wasn’t that she wanted to see him, she told herself, but that she didn’t want him sneaking up on her.

But when she walked in to the stables she just stopped and stared. Where the metal shelves had been were now rows of pristine wooden shelves.

Cooper stood at the end. He wore safety glasses and was using a nail gun with exact, precise movements. He wore a hunter green t-shirt and worn jeans, both just a bit snug in places as he leaned over to get the right angle.

She watched until he stood, stepped back, and examined his work.

“You’re not supposed to work on Sunday.”

He glanced over his shoulder, then tugged off the safety glasses. “Is this your religious preference? Because I’ve been to church.”

Her lips twitched. “No—I just expected to have the place to ... Tyler said—“

”And you were hoping to avoid me.”

“Not avoid. I didn’t want to get in your way.”

“You’re not in my way now ... but I guess I’m in yours,” he turned around to face her. “You didn’t return my calls. If you had, I could have asked if you wanted me to build these shelves. Or told you that I was planning to.”

“I told you I wasn’t avoiding you. I just haven’t had a chance to—“ she sighed. “I’ll get out of your way.”

“You’re not in my way,” he said again as she bent down to sort through the tools he had lined neatly.

“Still,” she said and frowned until she found her grandmother’s garden gloves. He’d placed them on a cinder block, up off the ground—as if he somehow knew what they meant to her. He was thoughtful, she noted, but that didn’t change the basic facts. “I have a lot of things to do.”



* * *

Later, as Cooper rinsed out his brushes, he watched Dani. She’d spent the hottest part of the afternoon working with her sketches, the second part working to clear the overgrowth. Now she frowned over it, her gloved hands fisted at her hips. She looked hot and frustrated.

On impulse, he opened his cooler and pulled out two bottles of water. He walked over to her, handed her a bottle.

“Join me?”

She looked first at the bottle, then took it on a sigh. “Might as well.”

The settled on the small stoop and stared out over the mess that was and could be a garden. She picked up the papers she’d left to the side and handed them to him.

He took them, studied what he recognized as copies Annabelle Grace’s paintings. Photographs of the original garden paintings, printed out on computer paper ... enlarged and cropped and printed out in different sizes.

As he flipped through, he found her own drawings; detailed replicas, with subtle changes. He could see why she was known all over Kelperton County and into Knoxville for her landscape design.

“I like what you’ve done here,” he said, as he pointed to a low stone wall on her drawing, that expanded and renovated then one that was crumbling in the present garden. “It flows—draws your eye to the center ... you going to add a water feature?”

“They had what amounts to a bird bath or maybe a small pond. I’ve never seen it—but I think we can replicate it, modernize it’s function. It’s better for the water to be moving, have some flow. Stagnant water only breeds pests.”

He scooted back until he leaned against the rough wall of the house as he flipped through the designs. For a long time they sat in silence.

He wanted her to tell him about the trunk and its contents, but he didn’t want to have to ask. He supposed she owed him nothing. After all, they were only acquaintances. He was working for her—or rather, with her through her brother-in-law, but they’d found the treasure together. If he was the sort that kept score, he would even point out that he’d loaned her a ride.

And he’d watched her on the ride there, the excitement ... and on the ride back ... the reverence in her face as she held the journals.

It made him smile. As much as she refused to admit a love for the house ... or at least an affection for it, there was a tie there.

Of course, there always was with wounds, he thought. You could never quite separate yourself from what hurt you.

“These are great.” He said as he set the papers aside. “You’re doing a good job copying the pattern–making it more interesting.”

“I can’t be sure what the colors in her paintings were. I have a good guess. It was all native to the area, but I’d like to pull in some plants that will attract butterflies and hummingbirds. No sense in keeping up a garden if you can’t experience it.”

“And now you can.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You weren’t worried about the garden before we found the chest. Now you are. Seems like you have a love for this place after all.”

“Not a love—not even close. But I do love my sister ... and I guess one thing I’ve learned from Annabelle Grace is that it all could come to an end.”

“You’ve read her journals.”

“No—but I have thought about her. She was engaged, found a man she loved ... and she lost him, even before they could be married. She mourned for him the rest of her life,” she frowned. “Or so the legend goes.”

“You could read the journals and find out.”

“What? What I already know?” Dani asked as she pushed to her feet. “I don’t have to read about that kind of loss. I’ve lived it. My father lost the love of his life when my mama died. He never got over it, though he tried. He tried so hard for us. But you could see it in his eyes. And my grandmother. She loved her husband, even though he was reckless, and he squandered the money she did have. She had to raise her children alone as well, and she did it with such dignity, but you could see the loss in her eyes. In the way this place just fell apart beneath her.”

She stopped and stared at him, somehow surprised—that she’d rattled on about family history, or that she’d paced through much of her frustration. He wasn’t quite sure.

But he was sure that he was absolutely fascinated by her.

He stood, took her hand. “Why don’t we get away from here for a bit. Go grab something to eat.”

“So you can pepper me about my family history?” She pulled at her hand. “I don’t think so.”

He groaned. “Why would I want to know more about your family history? How about so we can get to know each other better?”

“No—no way.”

“Why not?”

“Because.”

“There’s an answer.” he rolled his eyes, then considered his bottle of water. “You know, people go out for coffee, just to talk, and they consider it a date. We just shared some conversation over bottles of water. We could consider this our first date. So you could say we’ve already started the dance—we might as well, finish it out.”

She laughed. “You’re a lunatic.”

“I prefer to think that I have a good imagination.”

“You have to, to see potential in this place.”

“You see potential in the gardens.”

“My grandmother did. She saw potential in just about anything.” She frowned and walked over to gather up her gardening equipment, the laughter gone from her eyes. “Including my grandfather.”

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