Pushing Up Daisies

'The third one from the left must be turned around to face the terrace,' someone said decisively.

It was Guido Chiaramonte.

'Mr. Chiaramonte, how are you?'

Arms folded, he inspected our work but didn't answer. 'It looks good, not bad. I'm surprised, with the level of help you have. Scusi,' he said, barely acknowledging Felix and Hugo's presence. 'These boys, they don't work hard, and they think you should give them chicken every day for lunch. You have to keep after them, or else they'd sit around all day taking siestas.'

Hugo bristled but said nothing; Felix wisely pulled him away.

'That hasn't been my experience. My partner and I have worked with some very good men, very knowledgeable, too.'

'Partner, eh?' He laughed.

'That may be a little optimistic on my part, but I certainly hope Hugo will be my partner on future projects.'

I'd had my fill of Guido, with his sexist and racist cracks, but I still had his garden tools and equipment, so I was obliged to suffer his company a little longer.

'Will you be coming to the Historical Society's event?' I asked, changing the subject.

'Absolutely. There will be beautiful women there. That Anna is a beautiful woman. But she shouldn't waste her time with a skinny runt like that,' he said, gesturing in Hugo's direction. He said it loud enough for Hugo and the other men to hear. He leaned in and whispered what he'd like to do to her. I marveled at the acrobatic details.

'I'm just trying to make you jealous.' He chuckled and touched my forearm. 'She's delicious, but she's not you.'

Oh, goodie. I was still number one. I wriggled out of his oily reach.

'You're too much of a gigolo for me. I couldn't keep up with you,' I said. Couldn't keep from throwing up with you, I wanted to say.

'Don't say that. I'm a very sensitive man. I know how to take care of a woman.' He flashed a little bit of tongue. If that was supposed to convince me of his desirability, it had the opposite effect.

'Mr. C., I have a small struggling business. I've really got to get back to work.' Or go do my hand washables or get a root canal or anything to get away from you, you slug. 'I'll make sure all your tools and machines are returned by the end of the week,' I said, anxious to be out of his debt.

'Come yourself. It was naughty of you last time to send your boys. Forget about that Hugo. I can be a very good partner. We can have a drink to celebrate your new venture.' He patted my cheek and left.

Yikes. Did he have much success with that shtick?

Hugo had been watching us the whole time, waiting to come to my aid if I needed him. I gave him a thumbsup to let him know everything was okay, and we got back to work.

After a few minor adjustments in placement—Guido was right about the tree—we backfilled and tamped down the soil around the cypresses. What would have taken a week on my own took just one day with team Mexico.

When we finished, all the trees and shrubs had been watered in, and Felix and Hugo loaded the men back into the U-Haul.

'Do they have enough air back there?' I asked.

'Si, si. The roof is open.' Hugo backed out of the driveway. He looked up at the overcast sky. 'With the weather tomorrow, I don't think you will need us here. There is a new bank going up downtown and they need many workers. And I have a few personal things to attend to, so you will be here on your own then.'

I nodded, and watched Felix leave, flashing a smile that I realized I was going to miss.

CHAPTER 19

The extra manpower had put us way ahead of schedule. I took the opportunity to get back to the quiet, anti -social side of gardening that I loved. Just a girl and her trowel.

My tiny bud get for Halcyon was long gone, spent on things Richard Stapley and I couldn't beg or borrow. One of the society's members was the own er of a chain of seafood restaurants, so we scored two truckloads of free oyster shells and clamshells to line the garden's paths. In this light, the mother-of-pearl paths glistened against the rich brown of the newly turned beds like the bleached bones of a skeleton.

Richard had been feeding me weekly updates on ticket sales, and the numbers were strong. Our little wine and cheese party had blossomed into a full-fledged social event, at least by Fairfield County standards. Once I knew tickets were selling, I'd ordered the more expensive trees, shrubs, and perennials and, with Richard's approval, had the bills sent directly to him.

Three nurseries provided the plants—Lee's for shrubs and woody ornamentals, Gilbertie's for herbs, and Guido's for annuals. Guido wasn't thrilled he wasn't getting more of the business, but even he had to admit Lee's had the best shrubs; and Gilbertie's had been around so long, they may have provided Dorothy with her original herbs.

The herb garden occupied the same amount of space as the white garden but at the opposite end of the allee. In each corner of the large square was a triangular bed that probably had held taller perennial herbs like yarrow and bee balm. A round central garden, with a raised bed, was surrounded by four curved beds with spaces in between so Dorothy could tend and harvest the herbs. Again, the paths were covered with crushed shells, and they evoked the sea and fresh herbs, even though most of the vegetation was long gone.

My plan was to install Halcyon's herb garden last; that way it wouldn't be damaged by any late spring frosts. The newspaper photos weren't much help, but, judging from the vintage Comstock, Ferre seed packets I'd found in the green house, the sisters had made some eclectic choices.

Neil MacLeod, my massage therapist and Dorothy's erstwhile student, agreed to work on the garden with me, so I was relying on him to fill in the missing pieces.

According to the copper plant markers I'd found and scraped clean, the most common herbs were all represented, but so were pennyroyal, feverfew, tansy, rue, and others I assumed were either fashionable in the thirties and forties or were personal favorites of the sisters'. The lavender and oregano still flourished; once the dead foliage was cut back, they'd fill in. Wisely, the mint and lemon balm were in concrete containers, to control their aggressive roots; tiny clusters of lady's mantle peeked out in the newly cleaned beds.

Everything else had to be replaced. No problem, though; my list didn't raise an eyebrow at Gilbertie's. They had everything, even the hard-to-find ones, like the borage Neil had been looking for.

In the interest of saving a few bucks, and getting to use the newly cleaned green house, I'd started a few plants from seed. I don't usually, because, as it's been noted, I'm not that patient, but basil, nasturtium, sage, and parsley are so easy, it's just plain lazy not to do it. If the seedlings survived, I'd transplant them when they hardened off. Flats of herbs from Gilbertie's would form the bulk of the garden, and they filled the largest of the tables in the green house.

Since my unintended nap there, I'd learned the greenhouse was an Amdega, the Rolls-Royce of green houses and conservatories. I'd seen one on top of a building on Sutton Place on the East Side of Manhattan—and supposedly Queen Elizabeth had one—so I was doubly glad I hadn't smashed any glass to get out that night. Hugo had fixed the latch on the door, but I nudged a broken concrete planter between the door and the jamb, just to be on the safe side.

Everything looked healthy, and the nasturtiums had shot up another two inches. I was thinning out the crowded basil seedlings with a pair of cuticle scissors when I heard a tap on the glass.

'Anybody home?' It was Stapley.

'Richard, in here.' He seemed in a fine mood, looser than I'd ever seen him.

'I thought I'd stop by to deliver the news in person. As of today, ticket sales have put us in the black.'

'That's wonderful,' I said. I offered him a seat on an upturned whiskey barrel Hugo had brought to the greenhouse to use as a step stool.

'It was slow going at first, but I called in some markers,' he bragged, trying to get comfortable yet still maintain his dignity on the uneven surface of the barrel.