The Memory Garden - Softcover

Über die Autorin bzw. den Autor

Mary Rickert has a Masters of Fine Arts from Vermont College of Fine Arts. She has published numerous short stories. This is her first novel. She lives with her husband in Wisconsin. Visit her at www.maryrickert.net.

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PUMPKIN The round, edible fruit of a trailing vine, pumpkins are a symbol of fertility. Dead spirits are invoked by the pumpkin when faces are carved into it, and it is lit from within. The spiral of life is represented by the pumpkin; the harvest brings death, but the seeds bring birth.

In October, Nan does all the expected things. She sets the unlit jack-o'-lanterns on the porch, knowing they will be thrown to the ground, their pulpy flesh split, smiles broken, eyes torn; she fills the wooden bowl with bags of candy and turns the porch light on, though no one will come begging. "We live so far out in the country," she'll say to Bay, who sits with her legs crossed easily beneath her at the kitchen table. Nan wonders when the flexibility of youth left her so entirely that she must sit with her feet in the old clogs, planted firmly as a Quaker's, on the floor.

They eat the candy bars, gummy worms, and chocolate chip cookies by candlelight, talking awkwardly about the change of weather, Bay's school projects, the news from town, stopping in midsentence and midchew to listen to a car slow in front of the house, its occupants shouting something unintelligible, before speeding down the road.

"Why are they so stupid?" Bay asks. "Can't they see you're not evil?"

"Not everyone thinks witches are evil," Nan says.

Bay rolls her eyes and bites into a Butterfinger. "No one calls you a witch as a compliment."

Nan sighs. She should have set things right years ago when Bay came home from second grade in tears because a classmate accused her of living in a haunted house with an old witch, but Nan was so pleased with the benign accusation she only said, "What a silly child. Not everyone is smart like you are, Bay."

Nan thinks that if she could go back to that day she would change her response. What is the term they use lately? Teaching opportunity? Yes, she could have used that moment as a teaching opportunity had she not been so distracted by her relief that she lost focus. Sadly, this seems to be a theme in Nan's life, as if she's always suffered from an untreated astigmatism.

"Do you smell something burning?"

Frowning, Bay shakes her head.

Nan closes her eyes against the scent of Halloween bonfires, remembering herself as a little witch, running down the dark street with her friends, Mavis dressed as a ghost, Eve as a fairy, and Ruthie, her fat legs churning beneath the orange pumpkin costume, struggling to keep up.

"Nana? Nana?"

"Goodness, what is it, child?" Nan says, immediately regretting the harsh tone of her voice.

Bay shrugs one shoulder, a gesture Nan finds maddening though she can't say why.

"I just wanted to make sure you were okay."

"It's good you called me back," Nan says, trying to make things right. "I believe the fairies took me away for a while."

She pretends not to notice Bay sulk further into her chair, as though even here, in the privacy of their kitchen, Nan is an embarrassment.

Well, Bay is fourteen now, that age when the company of her own kind is greatly preferred over spending time with her old mother. In fact, Nan had expected Bay would have a Halloween party to attend this year. Nan was not adverse to the idea of spending the night removed from Bay's censorious gaze, with a glass or two of pumpkin wine (truth be told, not her favorite, but if not tonight, when?).

"What are you talking about?" Bay asked when Nan mentioned, in passing, her plans. "Are you trying to get rid of me?"

Well, of course not! Nan couldn't imagine. Why would she want to do such a thing? Bay is the light of her life, the joy of her soul, the rose of her garden, the spice, the sweet, her heart, her great love story arrived at an age when Nan thought she would never have one. So what if the child has been difficult lately? She is a teenager, after all, and some difficulty is to be expected.

Now they sit at the small kitchen table, their faces flickering in the candlelight, pretending not to mind the silence that settles between them, the heavy loneliness of no longer knowing how to talk to each other.

Bay goes to bed first, her lips smeared with chocolate, wormy bits stuck between her teeth, sugar blossoming on her tongue. She does not, in fact, sleep, but sits at the edge of the bed, listening for her Nana's footsteps creaking up the stairs. Bay waits until she hears the distressing sound of Nan snoring before tiptoeing down the service stairs into the kitchen, still scented of candle wax and chocolate, to the front of the house, where she peers around the curtain to watch through the dark glass.

When she was younger, Bay never recognized the tricksters, but in recent years, she has. Some are no surprise at all: Chad Lyle, Darren Prost, even Kelly Madden, just the sort Bay would expect to cause trouble. Last year she thought Wade Enders was with them, though she couldn't be sure. It made no sense, after all. Wade wasn't a boy known for what he did in the dark, not then at least, though there are rumors about what he does now with Shelly. Bay can't help but wonder what it would be like to be kissed by Wade Enders.

It is so late when they arrive that Bay thinks even the moon has been swallowed by the night, though later she realizes this is the sort of thing her Nana would say, rather than admit to clouds. Bay is both disappointed and pleased that he is not with them. She wonders, as she watches Chad, Darren, Kelly, and some freshman whose name she doesn't remember, if Wade is with Shelly tonight, maybe parked down the road in Wood Hollow, the nearly deserted subdivision behind Bay's backyard, close enough that she could walk there, though her Nana has warned her against the nettles and poison ivy that grow wild in the forest. Bay is not allowed to go beyond the two weeping apple trees, their twisted limbs barely visible through the tall grass and overgrown lilacs. She has no interest in spying on Wade and Shelly anyway, fumbling for buttons, zippers, and lace, tearing into each other's costumes. Instead, she stands hidden behind the dark glass, watching vandals curse at the smashed pumpkin that explodes with the water balloons she stuffed there. By the time she crawls back into bed, Bay is content with her Halloween celebration.

***

Having tossed the pile of clothes from the bedroom chair to the floor, Nan wakes in an uncomfortable posture to the sound of little criminals beneath her bedroom window. She waits for them to depart, then listens to Bay tiptoe up the stairs, a tradition of sorts these past few years. Nan can't believe she fell asleep when she is supposed to keep watch as she has every Halloween since Bay's arrival, guarding against ghosts. She uncorks the wine and pours a glass, taken somewhat aback by the pungent, overripe scent of pumpkin. The taste is pleasantly sweet, and after a few sips she barely notices the odor, replaced as it is by the rosemary scent of memory.

Life is what you remember, Nan thinks, remembering the scent of dried leaves, apples, and smoke, recalling that long-ago Halloween of her youth, when Eve wore her pink-dyed First Communion dress. Layers of scalloped lace poufed around her skinny legs and arms; the fairy wings glimmered behind her face with its pointed chin and almond eyes spaced just a little too far from that button nose, giving her the pleasant appearance of a kitten. How happy Eve was, spinning down the dark street, waving her wand at the houses, the gardens, and the moon.

Mavis, however, was annoyed. She thought that the Amazing Mr. Black was stupid. "Who cares about dumb magic tricks?" she said, her hand on her white-robed hip.

"Oh, I don't know," Nan said. "I thought that thing with the rabbit was neat."

When Mavis rolled her eyes, the whites of them in the midst of her white-painted face gave her the...