She inherited the little house from her parents, who had decided that it’s time for a change of scenery, starting with a cruise. 602 Gulf Way had been her childhood home, so some of the older neighbors were not quite surprised when she moved back in. They remembered her from that childhood, knees perpetually smeared with dirt and grass stains and some flora entwined into her hair. Once or twice, the friends with the pool had called 602 with concern: Lana wasn’t playing with the other kids, but rather messing around in the flowerbeds. “The flowers and everything are fine!” they insisted, puzzled at her parents’ lack of concern. “Yes… yes, they are coming in wonderfully! I never have luck with tomatoes; the insects in this area can be quite horrendous, but I appreciate your help. Thank you for asking! Yes, it’s been lovely talking.”
It was a dreary winter morning that had seen the generations change at 602 Gulf Way, and the cheerful older couple waved as they zipped down the road, excited for saltwater and sunshine. Wrapped in a flannel blanket, Lana waved from the porch and lingered to watch her parents disappear from sight before she retreated from the cold.
Her neighbors on the cross street, at 637 Bramble Street, watched from their lace-draped bay window, peering as intently as they could. They had been a newer family, moving in seven years before, but they’d never quite got along with 602, due to Mrs. Pack’s sensitivity to pollen and 602’s garden.
At the beginning of the 20th century, the block had been divided into neat little lots, and four houses per side. Each small family had their own little gardens, and the lawns were kept pristine. 602 Gulf Way was the corner lot, and the owners had plans for a vegetable garden in the back. Mr. and Mrs. Geller kept to themselves, but were extremely friendly whenever encountered out and about. Their next-door neighbors always commented that Mrs. Geller was usually out in the backyard, weeding and fertilizing, or digging up the contents of the compost bin in the warm summer weather. Whenever they met eyes, she would wave in a friendly way, and often have a short conversation that ending with presenting some bundle of herbs from the flowerpots arranged neatly against the wall of the house. Her garden enjoyed uncommon success, and she sometimes expressed the desire for more room to plant to her neighbors.
Only the Misters Edgar and Kaemon Ford in 557 Gulf Way had memories that stretched to 1953, when the various tenants of the 600 block all picked up and moved into the city. 602 was all that remained, and somehow, it had legally transpired that the whole block was now the Gellers’ to tend and utilize as they pleased. The vegetable garden extended, and while the couple were as friendly as ever, hedgerows began to spring up along the sidewalks. Mr. Geller would spend an hour after work each evening trimming some section, and after a few years, they had grown into a wall that encased the whole block before reaching 602. The front yard was still visible, and the sprightly little flowerbeds were the same demure daisies and bright marigolds, but gave no hint as to what the owners were growing in the backyard.
Eventually, everyone stopped wondering, and as the years passed and the families revolved, it became common knowledge that 602 Gulf Way was actually the entire block, and most of the other houses ended up being torn down as the hedges grew. Sometime in the 80s, the owners passed the house down to their son and his new bride. By the time Lana was born, the hedgewall was over everyone’s heads and now obscured the greenhouse that had replaced the house at 604. By the time Lana herself, now a tall adult with long dark curls and a job as a nurse at the town’s hospital, was watching her parents trundle away to an all-expenses-paid Mediterranean cruise, the hedges were astoundingly high, and the only other original house left was the erstwhile 634 on the cross-street Bramble Drive. No one had seen the extensive backyard for years, only the tops of a few old oak trees as they towered above the meticulously-trimmed shrubs. Everyone saw Mr. Geller drive in every spring with the bed of his pickup truck loaded with mulch, and then fertilizers, and occasionally a small tree, to unload them directly into the garage before closing the door, presumably to move them to the backyard in secret through a back door.
So the garden still lived on; Mrs. Pack’s allergies came with full force every spring, and she often cast disparaging glances through her windows. Prying eyes had only her suspicions and Mr. Geller’s deliveries as evidence, though. No child had managed to infiltrate the thick bushes, and while the Gellers had hosted an open Christmas party every few years, the festivities began only after dark, and any door to the back was barred to visitors. Google Earth was of even less help, as any view of the neighborhood showed it as it was in the spring of 1953, with all of the little houses still in place and no shielding hedge walls.
So it was of extreme interest when, a few months in, a large white door appeared in the hedgerow directly in front of 634 Bramble Drive, and the driveway up to that little house was paved again. The Packs regarded the area with particular interest, as the door was directly across from their front door. Many hoped that it heralded a grand reveal of the backyard, but as the weeks passed, it remained closed. One or two of the neighborhood teens crept close, hoping to trip the latch open. Despite being a simple catch-lock, the garden remained a mystery, for the door itself was over ten feet tall with the latch near the top, and the hedges branched too thickly around the doorframe for spying.
As for Lana herself, it was some weeks before the neighborhood was able to interact with her; early-risers saw her trudge out to her car at dawn three days a week, bundled in a puffy coat and her long curls tucked into a knit slouch. The rest of the week, she disappeared into the little house and wouldn’t reappear until a day or so later, always around dawn and not returning until several hours later. Finally, the Fords invited the neighborhood for a St. Patrick’s party, and Lana’s arrival sparked a torrents of interest through the partygoers, who queued around her and bombarded her with introductions, inquiries about her parents, and not-so-subtle probes about herself.
She bore every interaction affably, and details of her life were gleaned easily enough. She apologized for not introducing herself sooner, citing exhaustion from nursing shifts at St. Cyprian’s Hospital in the city. Her undergraduate years were at a small, unrecognized school evidently tucked in the Appalachian Mountains, where she’d studied chemistry, joined a sorority, and planned to spend the rest of her life in academia before a rushed and lackluster senior capstone project persuaded her to rethink and apply to nursing school. Despite her new neighbors’ protestations that she was too interesting and lovely to be so, she was single.
“Our little Ricky Klein is a CPA in the city,” Annalise Alden, the maiden great-aunt of Ricky informed her with a wink. “He was engaged last year, but then the woman ran off two weeks before the wedding. Poor boy, but we keep telling him that he needs to get back up on the horse and not let this dim his outlook on love.” Her eyes were sly as she took a sip of her wine and pressed Lana’s arm in her other hand before leaning in conspiratorially, “I remember how you two used to play together when you were younger; you always had him digging and grubbing around in the flowerbeds with you. Perhaps you two might want to meet for a drink sometime? Or come join us for dinner? I’m sure he’d love to reconnect.”
Lana politely demurred, “I’m just trying to get settled in at the moment, and I don’t have much room in my life for a relationship; I’m at the hospital quite a lot. But I can bring a dish for dinner, of course, as long as I can get off work.”
As she moved away, she found herself wrapped in more reminiscing with Mr. Tandy, whose wife had passed away a few years back (“Very sorry about your wife, and I’m sorry I haven’t been in touch since the funeral,”) but had kept the pool kept up for his son and grandchildren (peering at pictures that Mr. Tandy produced, she smiled and cooed at how adorable the babies were). After that were the Fords themselves, who were as lively as ever, and responded with twinkling humor at her teasing suggestions that they were hoarding some secret to youth. “Your parents used to bring us potted bulbs each year,” Edgar told her, his smile warm and sad. “They would bring a pot with some mystery bulb in it and tell us how to care for it, and it would be a lovely surprise every year.”
“They left me with explicit instructions on what this year’s is to be,” she assured them. “In fact, I’m to be around with it in a few weeks.“
“You and your parents are so patient with us!” Kaemon sighed; he was the taller of the two, and his words always had a very deliberate quality. “Edgar and I do love greenery and color around the house, but neither of us are very skilled at keeping plants alive for long. In fact,” his voice became confidential, “your mum and dad switched us to annuals very quickly. Very easy to start over every year!”
“My parents were rather unsentimental gardeners,” Lana laughed. “My mother was very stern with her vegetables, and nothing was so important that it had to stay in the garden without obeying the rules.” The Misters Ford were not quite sure what to make of this remark, but they passed it over for an update of the now seaborn Mr. and Mrs. Geller before allowing Lana to be claimed by the next neighbor eager for introductions.
As the various families mingled and all got a chance to talk to Lana, Mrs. Pack eyed her from across the room, nursing a cocktail. She’d approached Mr. and Mrs. Geller a few times over the years, always with a friendly smile, but with the express purpose of finding out what was in their backyard, and to try to convince them to remove it. She’d referenced her heightened pollen sensitivity, mentioned a former neighborhood with strict rules on what could and could not be planted on the owners’ properties, and even had gotten herself involved with the Homeowners’ Association to attempt to gain entry to the Gellers’ property. The other members had viewed her as nosy and entitled, and had gone as far as to threaten her with removal from the association. She’d backed off at the point, but four years later, now that a younger Geller owned the property, she sensed an opportunity to try again
“Ms. Geller,” she extended her hand as she stepped toward Lana, a wide smile on her face. “So good to meet you!”
Kaemon Ford watched as the two chatted, and he couldn’t help himself from edging closer to catch their conversation. “My parents tell me they’ve been a bit of an unintended nemesis for you,” Lana was saying, her tone seeming apologetic.
Mrs. Pack waved her hand. “I’m afraid I was a thorn in their side, and I only wished to be as friendly as possible. I did quite like your parents,” she insisted. “They were always so cheerful, and absolutely wonderful people. It’s just, you know,” her smile seemed to sadden a bit, “one hears tell of that garden, and for something so apparently wonderful, it makes me dread springtime. Pollen allergies, you know. I asked them to consider the neighborhood at large, because whatever is back there makes the whole area quite a nuisance every year.”
“Well, if you want, I can recommend a doctor to help treat your allergies,” Lana offered. “I know of a rather talented one who runs a clinic downtown, and I’m sure they could help you with treatment.”
Mrs. Pack’s smile seemed just a little cold, and she patted Lana’s hand between her own as she said, “That’s very kind, but it seems to me that I must not be the only person affected around here. It was never this bad until Alan and I moved into the neighborhood. Therefore…” she trailed off meaningfully.
Lana tilted her head, considering her neighbor, and then gave her an impossibly warm grin. She withdrew her hand and rummaged in the bright, quilted purse slung from her shoulder. “I thought we might be having this conversation,” she mused, rooting energetically amongst the purse’s contents. A few feet away, Kaemon thought he heard the tinking of glass against glass before she withdrew a gauzy drawstring bag stuffed with dried leaves, bright brown pods, and bits of fragrant cinnamon. Wherever the conversation was to go, his attention was abruptly pulled to the opposite end of the room, where Annalise was attempting to scrub her spilled wine from Mr. Tandy’s sweater as energetically as her stiff elbows would allow.
Mrs. Pack’s eyes began to pull to the commotion, but Lana stepped forward, and Mrs. Pack found herself staring into Lana’s wide, dark eyes. “Mrs. Pack,” Lana said lightly, “I don’t want to make a fuss, and I don’t intend to have to deal with this again. Nothing is so important that it has to stay in the garden, but I’m afraid that the garden itself must stay.”
Indignant, Mrs. Pack sputtered a bit, but Lana cut her off, “This is a peace offering,” and pressed the bag into Mrs. Pack’s hands. As the dried contents of the bag crinkled between her fingers, Mrs. Pack didn’t realize that the sounds of the party faded just a bit, and she stared harder into Lana’s black eyes. “This will help less your reactions every year; I want us to get off on the right foot,” Lana went on; she hadn’t blinked yet. “Modern medicine has its benefits, but nothing works quite the same as the natural remedy.”
The scent of cinnamon drifted into the air between them, as well as something just a little bitter. Mrs. Pack chewed her lip, conscious for the first time in years that she’d been selfish all these years, and maybe not the most considerate neighbor to the Gellers. “Well, you’re very kind,” she offered quietly. “What… what’s in it?”
“A mix of herbs, but you’ll mostly taste the cinnamon and anise,” Lana said with a smile. “Boil a teaspoon of it for tea, and a dose every other day will help. As I said, I want us to start well, as it’s about time for the garden to be shared as needed.”
“Shared?” Mrs. Pack glanced over to the Fords, who were attempting to console Annalise. “The flowers for the Fords… your parents usually gave some form of plant as gifts. To those that they thought deserved it,” she added with a sniff, attempting to regain some of the superior attitude she’d began the party with.
“Those were from the greenhouse,” Lana corrected with a sober shake of her head. “These herbs come from the garden.”
Mrs. Pack wasn’t sure what set her on edge about that statement, but she waved it away as she considered the bag in her hands. What, after all, had bothered her so much about the Gellers’ garden? Her itchy eyes and dripping sinuses were extremely bothersome every year, but she’d also never been fond of secrets. At least not ones kept from her. If Lana was willing to be more open with the garden…. She straightened and set her shoulders, gazing into Lana’s eyes once again. “Well, it’s possible I have not been as accommodating as I could have been. Thank you, my dear.”
A few weeks later, Lana answered a knock to find Mrs. Pack with the empty bag clutched in her hand. “This tea!” Mrs. Pack was gushing. “I haven’t had to restock on Kleenex, and I’ve just been sleeping so well! You must tell me what’s in it.”
Lana’s smile was indulgent as she stepped away from the door and ushered Mrs. Pack inside. “I would be more than happy to give you some more, Mrs. Pack. You can’t stay long, but let’s see what can be done.”
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