Mulch Ado About Nothing

As she sipped at her soft drink she'd laboriously brought outside in her waistband, she thought about the tour that morning. Miss Win-stead's garden was magnificent. It would be pure joy to have a garden like that. But an enormous amount of work, because Jane couldn't imagine having or spending the money for rocks and workers.

Her mind drifted naturally to the end of the visit, when Miss Winstead had made that remark about being able to tear out anything or anyone who didn't satisfy a gardener. Meaning Dr. Eastman and his late wife. And she thought about Shelley's remarks about getting a security system. Jane didn't really believe Miss Winstead was a physical threat to Dr. Eastman, but she was a substantial psychological threat. She tried to imagine what horror it would be to have someone hate you so much that she went around to all your speeches just to make a fool of you and make nasty personal remarks. Especially around other people.

She put both feet up on another chair, carefully balanced the crutches on a third, and closed her eyes halfway — trying to picture her garden looking like Miss Winstead's.

Jane was sound asleep in the patio chair, a bad crick in her neck, when Shelley dropped the girls off. She was embarrassed by being caught sleeping, much less slumped inelegantly in a patio chair.

“Mom!' Katie said. 'We learned to make chicken cordon bleu! We're fixing it tonight for you. Mrs. Nowack stopped at the grocery store and let us buy the stuff. You owe her twenty-three dollars and six cents.”

The girls went in the house, giggling with the shrillness that only teenaged females could stand to hear. Shelley strolled into Jane's yard. 'Sleeping? You really are turning into a sloth.'

“How did you know I was sleeping?'

“You have a print of the top edge of the chair on the back of your neck. It's a nice waffle look.'

“Okay, okay. So I took a little nap. How do you like the yard?'

“It's gorgeous. You even got a shrubbery over by the fence. What is it?'

“A burning bush. Mike threw it in with the rest because he said I'm going to like it. It looks pretty boring to me.'

“It'll be fantastic — if a bit small — in the fall,' Shelley said. 'It's one of those things Suzie Williams has in her side yard.'

“Oh, those are great bushes. I had no idea what they were called. I understand I owe you more money.'

“No, the shopping today was almost the same cost as that pork roast you picked up for me last week that I've never reimbursed you for.'

“Do you really think the girls can make chicken cordon bleu?'

“Only if I supervise. Which I intend to do. Denise tried to make scrambled eggs a while ago and managed to use five bowls, three forks, and about sixteen whisks. And left them all out on the counter to congeal. Three inexperienced girls could destroy your entire kitchen.”

Jane struggled to her feet and, in getting the crutches, nearly knocked the flowerpot off the patio table. 'I'm not getting much better at this,' she said.

“You will,' Shelley said as she went in Jane'sback door, leaving Jane to make it inside by herself and carry her own empty soda can as well.

Shelley's voice from the kitchen drifted over her. 'Denise! Don't just abandon that bowl. Rinse it and use it again!”

Nineteen

The chicken dinner was only a moderate success, at least in Jane and Shelley's view. The girls had opened the oven so often to check on the progress that the chicken itself was ever so slightly underdone when they cut into it.

“Poultry needs to be fully cooked,' Jane warned them. 'At least pop it in the microwave for a minute to finish it up.'

“Microwave?' Katie exclaimed as if her mother had said a dirty word. 'The French don't use microwaves. It makes meat like leather.”

Jane replied, 'The French were among the first countries to develop fabulous dinners with microwaves. I thought everyone knew that.”

Jane had made up this statement on the spur of the moment, but she felt she'd delivered it with great style and conviction.

“You lived in France, didn't you?' Shelley's daughter, Denise, asked.

“Off and on for several years,' Jane said. One vote for her.

“That isn't what our teacher said,' Katie countered. One vote against.

“Ask your teacher if she's ever eaten in France,' Shelley suggested.

“I don't mean to discourage you girls, but birds really need to be well done. Put them back in the oven for a little bit if Katie feels so strongly,' Jane advised.

“But the broccoli will be cold and soggy if we wait.'

“I love cold soggy broccoli!' Shelley said. 'Me, too,' Jane added.

The girls did as they were told and the dinner turned out well enough even if the chicken got a bit too well done. They had to gnaw it rather than simply eating it. But the taste was good. And they could honestly praise the girls for this without alluding to the texture.

Jane sat back from the table, making her crutches, propped behind her chair, crash to the floor. 'Sorry,' she said, gathering them up. 'Now it's time to clean up.'

“We'll put everything in the dishwasher,' Katie said. 'Then we're going to a movie.”

Jane shook her head. 'Not until the dishes are done and put away. That's part of cooking.”

Shelley took her aside and whispered, 'If we want them to learn to cook, we need to give them a little leeway on the icky parts of the process. At least at first.”

Jane laughed. 'Who was making them wash and reuse the bowls? Not me.'

“But…' Shelley stopped herself and grinned. Then said to the girls, 'You could hand-wash and dry them faster and still get to the movie in time.”

Jane had to get outside where she couldn't hear them bashing her plates around in the sink. Shelley brought them both cups of coffee and sat down opposite Jane at the patio table. 'Have they broken anything yet?' Jane asked.

“Only a salt shaker,' Shelley replied.

“Why were they washing a salt shaker?' 'They weren't. It just got in the way.”

Jane sighed. 'This seemed such a good idea. Now I'm wondering if we're all going to get ptomaine poisoning.'

“Maybe they'll move on to desserts tomorrow,' Shelley suggested. 'Desserts can't poison anyone.' 'The cream can go bad.'

“Why are you being so bleak?'

“It's my kitchen. You'd be bleak if they were trashing yours. Did you ask them to wash up whatever sticky stuff they got on the floor?'

“I put a mop out for them,' Shelley said a little more cheerfully than normal for her. 'It's so nice out here with all these plants. Jane, we really ought to learn to garden for ourselves. Picture a sweep of obedient plants in white and pink against your fence. That would be so pretty,' she added, trying to cheer Jane up.

“What are obedient plants?'

“Nice little bushy things with spires of flowers. One of the few things that blooms well in the fall. My mother has grown them for years. I'm sure she'd be glad to dig some up for you. They spread so well she has to give baskets of them away every fall or they'd take over her whole yard.'

“That doesn't sound very 'obedient' to me.'

“The obedient part of the name is supposed to be that you can make them bend every which way you want. They look good with cosmos, which start blooming sooner, but last to frost.'

“Whose gardens are we seeing tomorrow?' Jane changed the subject. Right now the idea of digging up part of the yard to put in a real garden was too daunting to consider. Though maybe later, when she wasn't stuck in the cast, it would sound better.

“Arnold Waring's and Stefan Eckert's. Although Stefan doesn't even claim to have a garden. He just wants one. We should have told him that you can rent one. Maybe we should team up with him and collect ideas from