Fresh Short Story: The Grounds (2)
The vibrant light filtering through white gossamer curtains banished the previous night's fears, and I stretched with a sense of luxurious indulgence. I had inherited a fortune, and a stately -- if rather worn and ominous-looking -- mansion. Some repairs, a fresh coat of paint, and a good airing-out would dispel the local people's superstitions. I would certainly be able to employ a maid or two after that. And a chef, by god!
Brimming with the suitable excitement that had evaded me before, I pulled back the sheets and lowered my feet onto the plush mat beside the bed. "I'm going to explore everything!" I ran out of the room like a child, still in my pajamas, and down to the very end of the hall. I would investigate systematically, going from one corner of the ground floor to another, then to the basement, the second floor, and finally the attic.
The majority of rooms here consisted of bedrooms with their furniture hidden under dust covers, though there was one study with a delicious-smelling collection of old hardcovers. I fairly danced down the hall, dropping in on each room as if they were childhood friends -- and in a sense, they were. Soon enough I reached the entryway once more, through which I found a beautiful music room that contained a grand piano and cello, a very fine sitting room, grand dining room, pantry, and kitchen.
I thought for the first time that morning of food. I expected to find nothing in the refrigerator, and was not disappointed on that front, but opened the cupboards with surprised delight to find all manner of neatly arranged dry goods. I made a breakfast of oatmeal, walnuts, and dried cranberries, with a fair helping of brown sugar. This steaming meal I carried out the back to the grounds, then settled at an ornate white metal table and chairs coated with fallen bark and leaves from the sycamore branches above.
My grandfather's land seemed to extend beyond the horizon, which was lined with an impossibly long row of rectangular-looking bushes. A gentle breeze tousled my hair. I remembered the many old sycamore trees, and even the small white table; I did not, however, remember the curious green sort of hedge in the far distance. I sat in puzzled, contented thought, slowly munching my oatmeal while I gazed out over grandfathe--over my vast backyard, trying to find some recollection of the hedge.
"You're the grandchild, huh?"
I nearly fell out of my chair in surprise, then, regaining my composure, turned to see an older man whose scrawny arms were buried in gloves that were wrapped around a wheelbarrow laden with weeds. I felt uncomfortably aware of my pajamas. "And you must be the...gardener."
He raised his hands slightly as if to say, "what you see is what you get." I determined to put an end to this awkwardness, and rose to offer my hand. "Madison."
He slapped off a glove and pressed his limp hand into mine. "Len." I assumed this was a nickname for "Leonard." Standing so close to him, I had the opportunity to appraise his lined cheeks, pale blue eyes, puckered lips, and that curious seashell-like quality to the nostrils that older persons so often acquire. My overall impression, somehow drawn from the eyes and general shape of the features, was that this man was a sly, secretive sort. But who can begrudge a gardener his secrets? What harm could an old man really do?
Satisfied, I nodded. "It's nice to meet you. Are there any other-" I was about to say "servants," but caught myself. "-people who work here still?"
He shook his head, already replacing the glove. "Just old Len. If you want more you got to hire 'em."
"Thank you, I'll likely do so. And as to your pay--"
He again shook his head. "Already taken care of."
I felt this was a delicate situation, and struggled to find the right words. "I'm sorry -- I've read my grandfather's will in its entirety, and he -- I'm afraid he mentioned no one but myself."
The corner of Len's mouth jerked upward in amusement. Gazing down at his barrow, he said, "I've been paid."
"Oh." I smoothed back my hair. "For how long?"
"Long as I feel like, I figure. I'm not planning on retirement just yet! These grounds need me."
I took in another good sweep of everything within view, all flawlessly trimmed and mowed. "I can barely imagine how you keep it all up on your own. It's really impressive."
"Well, I'll get back to it." He turned around and wheeled around the side of the house, disappearing from view.
Curious indeed. Why pay the gardener in advance, and dismiss everyone else? The tragedy overlying this question was that my grandfather would likely not have made advance payment unless he knew he were going to die. Even the will had been made out the previous year, before any sign of a problem appeared. I had thought this might be a natural act on the part of an old man, but now felt suspicious.
I realized that I had forgotten to ask Len about the far-off hedge. There would be plenty of time for that, I thought, and went inside to wash my dishes. Much indoor exploration awaited, and I wanted to get the basement out of the way as quickly as possible. I did not remember it fondly.