Chapter 40
— Maisie Comes Again
Elspeth called on a Friday morning to ask if she and Maisie could visit again the next day. Poppy was standing beside me in the kitchen when the phone rang, and when she heard the name Maisie, she jumped up and down, her curls bouncing, and whispered, "Yes, yes, say yes." I said yes, and Poppy ran to tell Dolores, who was already smiling, because she had heard the whole thing from the hallway.
They arrived just after lunch on Saturday, Elspeth driving carefully up the drive, Maisie sitting in the back seat with her hands pressed to the window. When the car stopped, Maisie climbed out slowly, holding Elspeth's hand, and looked around the garden as if she were seeing it for the first time all over again. Poppy ran down the steps to meet her, and the two girls stood facing each other for a moment, shy and happy at once, and then Poppy took her hand and led her toward the tree.
Elspeth and I stayed close, as we always did when the girls played together. We sat on the bench near the back door, where we could see them clearly, and Dolores brought out a tray with lemonade and biscuits and set it on the small table between us. The girls did not need us to tell them what to do. They knew at once. They began a game of their own making, gathering fallen leaves and smooth stones from the garden, arranging them in careful rows on the blanket we had spread under the tree.
"This is our shop," Poppy explained to Maisie, very seriously. "The leaves are the money, and the stones are the cakes. You can buy a cake if you have three leaves."
Maisie nodded, just as seriously, and counted out three leaves from her pile. She handed them to Poppy with great care, and Poppy handed her a smooth gray stone, and both girls laughed as if this were the finest trade in the world. They played that game for a long time, inventing new rules as they went along, arguing gently about prices and then agreeing again, their voices rising and falling in the warm air.
After a while, they moved on to drawing. Dolores had brought out paper and colored pencils, and the girls sat side by side on the blanket, their heads bent close together, drawing pictures of the garden. Poppy drew the big tree, with its wide branches and its leaves, and she drew herself standing under it, her curls big and round. Maisie drew a house with a garden of her own, and a sun with a smiling face, and a bird on a branch. When they finished, they held up their drawings for us to see, proud and pleased, and Elspeth and I praised every line.
Later, they played hide and seek in the garden, with Elspeth counting aloud and the girls hiding behind the tree and behind the bench, giggling so loudly that anyone could have found them in a moment. Elspeth pretended not to hear the giggles, and she searched in all the wrong places on purpose, while Dolores covered her mouth to keep from laughing. When Elspeth finally found them, both girls burst out laughing and ran to her, and she hugged them both, one on each side, as if they were her own.
While the girls played, Elspeth and I talked quietly about the future. We talked about school, and about visits, and about how the girls should be allowed to grow up knowing each other, in their own time, without pressure and without secrets. We talked about Wilmington and Asheville, and about how the road between them was not so long after all. We did not talk about the past, except to agree that it was behind us now, and that what mattered was the life ahead of them, a life that should be ordinary and safe and full of small joys.
"We will come again soon," Elspeth said. "Maisie asks about Poppy every day. She asks when she can come back to the garden."
"She can come back whenever she likes," I said. "This garden is hers too, whenever she wants it."
At the end of the afternoon, when it was time to leave, the girls hugged each other tightly, and Poppy gave Maisie one of her drawings to take home. Maisie gave Poppy one of hers in return, and they promised to draw more next time. Elspeth helped Maisie into the car, and Maisie waved from the window until the car turned the corner and was gone. Poppy stood on the steps and waved back, her curls bright in the late sun, and then she turned to me and said, "That was the best day." I agreed with her. It had been a simple day, full of play and laughter, watched over by adults who loved them, and that was exactly what it should have been.