Garden of Trust

I clutch my jacket around me. Light rain brushes my cheeks nettling my hair. I shiver. Davey had offered to come but his time is snatched between his job and his family and I told him I’d be okay I can face it alone. If you’re sure Mom he had said sounding hopeful. Yes yes. Don’t put yourself out. A voice comes up behind me a croak and cough mingled with some words. “Put in some good work and by May there’ll be daffadowndillies growing here.” Daffodils? How could this dark piece of land bring forth nodding yellow heads? It doesn’t seem possible here with the accumulated rubbish of ten years — things that were bought and cherished and used and forgotten and somehow ended up here in this forsaken spot. The man pulls in his lips and nods his head. His tweed cap is low on his head so I can’t see his eyes. “When he applied for the plot of land your husband paid a year’s rent in advance. Now if you’ll sign here.” I want to say that my husband is no longer alive. I want to tell him that I hadn’t known about this scheme to reclaim unused land or that people all over the country are banishing weeds and coaxing tomatoes and runner beans and yes daffadowndillies from the soil. I want to tell him that his black umbrella reminds me ofHarry the way he waited for me at the bus stop at the end of my workday so that as I stepped down onto the sidewalk his umbrella was already over me sheltering me from the rain.