The Mulberry Tree Read online

  Bailey walked through the doorway to the kitchen. Yesterday the men had been wonderful. They’d done as much as they could to make the kitchen livable, but it hadn’t been enough. One of the electricians and a plumber had pulled the overhead cabinets off the wall, saying that to leave them up there was dangerous. When the movers had wheeled the giant cooking range, a forty-eight-inch-wide Thermador, into the room, there had been nowhere to put it. One of the gardeners had solved the problem by taking a chain saw to the lower cabinets and cutting out a section. The electrician had hooked up the gas line. It had taken more sawing to put in the big Sub-Zero double-door refrigerator three feet from the range. The men had put the porcelain sink with its tall, integrated backsplash on the other side of the room. “We threw out one of those when we redid my grandmother’s kitchen,” one of the men said as they dropped the sink into place. Beside it, the plumber set the Miele dishwasher she’d purchased.

  So now, looking at the kitchen, Bailey sighed. It was a mess. What was left of the base cabinets ended in raw, splintered edges, and the walls above showed half a dozen colors of paint where the overhead cabinets had been. The cookware she’d bought with Phillip, and later what she and Carol had ordered, had been put in the adjoining pantry, but there wasn’t room to store so much as a spoon in the kitchen.

  Opening the refrigerator, Bailey saw that all that was left of the food the residents of Calburn had left for her yesterday was a wing stuck to the naked carcass of a chicken. One by one, the workmen had helped themselves to the food.

  Bailey found a big ceramic mug in the pantry, filled it with water from the faucet, took the chicken wing, and went outside.

  After Patsy Longacre had called her brother-in-law, the women had left, and Bailey had shaken her head in wonder when she saw them get into the same car, an older-model Mercedes, and drive away. “Wonder if they talk to each other when they’re alone?” she asked aloud as she went into the house and tried to answer questions about where she wanted what. During the rest of the day, she’d been kept so busy that she hadn’t so much as looked out a window to see what the people outside were doing.

  So now, when she opened the back door and looked into the garden, what she saw was a revelation. The day before yesterday, all she’d seen was weeds. She’d been able to follow a path to the huge mulberry tree, but beyond that, she could see nothing.

  Now, before her was a garden. A real garden. It wasn’t just the American idea of a backyard, with a lawn encircled by a few shrubs and “foundation plantings.” No, this was something that Jasper, Jimmie’s old head gardener, the man who oversaw all of Jimmie’s houses, would have been proud of.

  And, more importantly, it was the garden that Bailey had always dreamed about. There were no “long vistas,” no lawn that had to be big enough to land a helicopter. No, there was nothing grand about the place, just trees and flowers and—secrecy, Bailey thought; the way the trees were sited, she couldn’t see what was ahead.

  Putting down her empty cup and the chicken bone, she stepped onto the flagstone terrace, then followed the stone path into the trees. There was the mulberry tree, huge, magnificent, regal, now that all the weeds and debris had been cleared away from under it and it could be seen in its entirety. Smiling, saying, “Good morning,” to the wonderful old tree, she kept following the path to see where it led.

  To the right there was a fenced-off area, not very big, that the gardeners had used a Rototiller on, and she could see the rich black soil waiting to receive seeds. Years of lying fallow had renewed the earth in what had obviously been the vegetable garden.

  Past the vegetable garden was an orchard of fruit trees that, years ago, had been pruned in the vase, open-center method. This meant that, although they were full-size trees and bore a great deal of fruit, they would never grow very tall; the lowest branches were just a couple of feet above the ground. A child could pick most of the fruit.

  Since the trees had been neglected for many years and only just properly pruned yesterday, Bailey doubted if they would produce much fruit this year. She could see several blank spaces in the even rows of trees, and see the new sawdust where the gardeners had cut down trees that had died.

  Beyond the orchard, the path took a sharp left turn, and as she walked around a stand of evergreens, she drew in her breath. Before her was a small pond, and from the hill above it a stream tumbled down into a little waterfall over rocks that had been carefully placed to look as though nature had put them there. Slowly, Bailey ambled along the path, looking in wonder at the little pond, its sides lined with reeds; then she followed the path upward, walking beside the stream.

  At the top of the little hill, stepping-stones led across the shallow stream, and on the other side, under a huge, shady walnut tree, a wide iron bench waited, weathered by the years. It was set on flagstones that had been interplanted with wooly thyme.

  Bailey didn’t walk across to the bench but kept slowly walking, wanting to see more. At the very top of the little hill was another pool, this one surrounded by stones. Yesterday the gardeners had cleaned out the inside of the pool, and as she peered into it, she could see that they had put a new recirculating pump under the surface of the water to create the waterfall below.

  Beyond the pool, the path again turned left, and to her left, down the hill, she could see the side of the house between the trees; to her right was the barn. But here, hidden and private, was a lawn that looked to be the perfect size for a game of croquet. Or kids playing soccer, she thought, then put that thought from her mind. On the far edge of the lawn were bushes and a vine-covered wooden fence that would have fallen down except that steel posts had been embedded in concrete, from which the wooden slats hung. When she stepped across the lawn to examine the bushes and vines, she smiled. The bushes were gooseberry and currant, and the vines were blackberries.

  Past the lawn was a large patch just in front of the barn that the gardeners had obviously worked hard on. Weeds had been removed to show the bare soil; poking up through it were sticks with the distinctive serrated leaves of raspberry plants: rows and rows of raspberries.

  At the end of the raspberry bed, the stone path branched, and she could see that one side meandered through the trees, then back to the house, but she couldn’t tell where the other branch led because it disappeared into a densely wooded area. She chose the path toward the woodland. As she stepped under the canopy of trees, she marveled at the silence and the dark coolness of the forest. It was as though she were in a place no one else had ever entered, not in all the time of Earth. But she smiled at her fantasy; a man-made path lay under her feet, and she could see a little stone bench almost hidden by the trunks of two big trees.

  The path took a sharp right, and Bailey stopped at the sight of a clearing that contained a big fire pit. A hole, three feet in diameter, had been dug, and rocks cemented all around it. Inside were the remains of logs burned years ago. There were no seats around the pit, but English ivy had been planted to make a soft, low groundcover. Above her head trees encircled the area, but straight overhead, she could see sunlight, so if a fire was lit here at night, the smoke would escape. Turning about, she looked at the place, feeling the intimacy of it. It was as though she could hear people talking quietly, could smell the smoke, even feel the warmth of the fire.

  Smiling, she walked back down the path, out of the woods, and into the sunlight, then turned in front of the barn and went back to the house. As soon as she saw the house, this time from the front, her good mood left her. How could something as beautiful as that garden surround a house as ugly as this one? she wondered. It occurred to her that one person had been in charge of the house, while another took over the garden. “I hope they weren’t married,” she said aloud as she opened the front door. Two such opposites would never get along, she thought.

  Once she was inside the house, all she wanted to do was go back out. But she had to figure out what to do with her life. With that thought, she laughed out loud. “I’m thinking like