Patricia Kay - The Millionaire and the Mum

Of course, how she would tend the baby plants, even if she was able to salvage enough of the mature plants to take cuttings, she had no idea. It would have been hard enough before this happened, seeing as how she had no money to hire help, but now! A misting system was absolutely necessary, because the baby plants needed water on a regular basis. Her misting system had been automatic, turning on every hour for a few minutes. And to make matters even worse, the water used by the misting system had come from her rainwater tanks, one of which was now gone.

It seemed ludicrous. Why was she trying so desperately to hang on to the farm? Yes, it had belonged to her dear grandmother, and yes, the farm and the old country roses her grandmother had introduced to the area nearly fifty years ago were Beth’s heritage and she loved them, but were they really worth the price she’d had to pay to keep them?

She thought about how she hadn’t had a day off since Eben died a year ago. How she’d had to say no to Matthew when he wanted to play soccer because she knew she wouldn’t be able to get him to and from practices and games. How she hadn’t bought herself a new outfit in three years. How most nights they ate spaghetti or soup or meat loaf—things that didn’t cost a lot of money. How her truck was ten years old and had more than 150,000 miles on it and how she prayed every day that it would last another year.

When Caleb, her cousin who had worked for her since Eben’s death, left at the beginning of the summer, he’d said, “Bethie, if I were you, I’d try to sell this place.”

Beth knew it would be a lot easier for everyone if she sold the farm. With the proceeds, she could buy a small house in town, get a job in Tyler, live a normal life. Yet every time she thought about leaving the roses she loved—Madame Hardy and Bloomfield Courage and Madame Alfred Carrière and Jacques Cartier and hundreds of others—she got such a desolate feeling in her stomach, she knew she would never willingly do it. Her grandmother had loved her roses passionately, and she had passed that passion on to Beth. She would never sell. Not unless she was forced to. Not unless there simply was no other way for her family to survive. And I’m not there yet. I may be close, but there’s still Grandma’s jewelry.

As she had many times since her drunken husband had run his truck into an oncoming eighteen-wheeler, she told herself it didn’t matter that she was virtually penniless. That she had no idea how she would get another crop together for the spring selling period. That she had never before had to do everything herself. She was strong, and she wasn’t afraid of hard work.

I have to keep this place going. This place isn’t just my heritage. It’s my children’s heritage, too.

They were such good kids. They made up for all the bad stuff she’d had to endure during her marriage.

Beth’s grandmother hadn’t wanted Beth to marry Eben. “He’s lazy,” she’d warned. “Always wanting something for nothing.” She hadn’t added, like your good-for-nothing daddy, but Beth had known it was implied. “He’ll give you nothing but grief,” her grandmother had added sadly.

But Beth hadn’t listened. She’d been twenty-two and a hopeless romantic. He’d been twenty-four—handsome and charming. It was a whirlwind courtship; they were married four weeks to the day after she met him at a country-western dance.

Marry in haste, repent at leisure.

Beth grimaced. Truer words were never spoken, cliché or not. Beth and Eben hadn’t been married a month when he started coming home drunk. Later she found out he’d always had a problem with alcohol.

Oh, Granny, I should have listened to you. And yet, if she had, she wouldn’t have Matthew and Amy today.

Beth became pregnant with Matthew almost immediately after marrying Eben. For a while after Eben found out about the coming baby, he’d tried to be a good husband, but the lure of booze was stronger than his good intentions, so when Matthew was a year old, Beth decided to leave Eben. But then her mother got sick. And her grandmother couldn’t do everything—run the farm and take care of Beth’s mother. So Beth abandoned her plan to leave Eben and talked him into moving out to the farm instead. She didn’t have to do much in the way of persuading. Eben liked the idea of being a rose grower. Rose growers were respected and looked up to. That he knew nothing about growing roses didn’t seem to daunt him, and to be fair, he had worked pretty hard that first year. Beth began to hope that he had changed.

Carrie Wilder lasted six months before succumbing to the cancer that plagued her body. A week after her funeral, Beth discovered she was pregnant again. Distraught over the loss of her mother, Beth resolved that unless things got worse, she would try to stick it out with Eben—at least until the kids were in school.

The following year, just fourteen months after her mother’s death, Beth’s grandmother suffered a massive heart attack and died. It was a shock to all who knew her. Lillian Wilder was only sixty-eight years old, and had always seemed indomitable.

Beth was devastated by the loss of the woman she had so admired, but there was no time to mourn. The farm was now hers. By the following week, she had taken over its management.

Eben couldn’t handle it. Once again, he began to drink heavily. Beth knew his ego had suffered a fatal blow, yet how could she have done anything else? He didn’t know enough about the business to run it without her supervision. So his drinking increased, and as he drank more, he worked less. Beth had to hire more help. Instead of one helper, she had to have two men, one to replace Eben, one to assist. She spent as much time as she could overseeing the work, but the children were young and needed her attention, too. She was busy day and night, too busy to worry about Eben’s bruised ego.

Now he was gone and, except for the children, Beth was all alone. She wasn’t beaten yet. And with that thought to sustain her, she turned back to the job at hand.

J ack had no trouble finding the Johnson place. It was clearly marked with a neat white sign hanging from a rose-covered trellis.

JOHNSON NURSERY

Old Country Roses

Open Wednesday through Saturday,

10 a.m.-6 p.m.

A long gravel driveway wound through a large field surrounded by trees, gradually ending in a parking area beyond which sat a two-story redbrick and white frame house with a wraparound porch. To the right of the driveway was a garden area that contained dozens of rosebushes, interspersed with other kinds of flowers, although not many were in bloom now. Dotted around the grassy area surrounding the house were tripods and birdhouses and small trellises that were used as support structures for what Jack guessed would be called climbing rosebushes. Some of them had lots of roses in bloom, others only a few. To his left he saw half-a-dozen greenhouses, and behind the house he could see part of a barn and another greenhouse. The man at the motel hadn’t exaggerated. Everything in Jack’s line of sight showed storm damage, although the house and the rose garden seemed to have escaped with the least damage.

To the left of the house was a sweet gum tree that looked unstable. Several branches had been severed or partially severed and the trunk itself looked as if it had been split. As Jack drove closer, he saw that there was some kind of tree house in the sweet gum.

Somewhere out of sight he could hear a child, and down by the greenhouses, he thought he saw someone working. Looked like a woman, too. Maybe it was Beth Johnson. Turning off the ignition, he decided he would head that way.

Beth shaded her eyes and watched the unfamiliar red truck enter her property and come slowly up the road leading to the house.

She frowned. She didn’t recognize the truck, but maybe it was a customer. Pulling off her gloves, she walked toward the house.

Halfway there, she heard Matthew. His voice came from the back of the house. “Amy! Where are you?”

“I’m right here!” Amy answered.

Beth’s heart knocked painfully against her rib cage as she spotted Amy, who was just emerging from the tree house, Pooh bear clutched in her arms.

“Oh, my God! Amy!” she shouted. She began to run.

Although Beth’s entire concentration was focused on her daughter, who had begun to descend the tree house stairs, she was aware that a tall, dark-haired man had climbed out of the truck and, until she’d shouted, had been heading her way.

Suddenly there was a horrible cracking noise, and the sweet gum tilted to the left.

“Amy!” Beth screamed.

The stranger dashed toward Amy, reached up and snatched her off the ladder and, with Amy safely cradled in his arms, leaped out of the way just before the tree crashed to the ground. Once clear of the area, he gently set her on her feet.

“Mama!” Amy cried, racing toward Beth.

Beth nearly collapsed in relief. Tears ran down her face as she whisked her daughter—who also began to cry—up into her arms. “Oh, Amy,” she said, kissing her again and again. “You scared me. Why did you go into the tree house after I told you not to! You could have been killed.”

“I’m sorry, Mama. I just wanted my Pooh bear. He was scared up there by himself!”

Beth knew that to Amy, her Pooh bear was as real as her brother, and almost as important. “Hush, sugar. It’s okay. You’re okay. But don’t you ever, ever, disobey me again, do you hear? No matter what the reason is.”

“I won’t,” Amy said, her voice muffled as she buried her head against Beth’s neck.

By now a white-faced Matthew had joined them. “I had to go to the bathroom, Mama, but she promised me she wouldn’t move off the porch until I got back.”

Normally Beth might have scolded him, but just then, she didn’t have the heart to. She knew he’d been as frightened as she was. Taking a deep breath, she finally turned her attention to the heaven-sent stranger who had saved her daughter. Meeting his eyes over Amy’s head, she said in a voice that still trembled a bit, “How can I ever thank you?”

He shrugged. “No thanks necessary. I’m just glad I was here.” Then he put out his right hand. “Jack Stokes, ma’am.”

His handshake was firm and strong. “Beth Johnson.” Now that her heart was calmer, she began to assess the man who stood before her. He was very good-looking, in a rugged, Marlboro man sort of way, with a deep tan, dark thick hair cut short, and striking blue eyes. “And these are my children,” she added. “Matthew and Amy.”

Matthew said a polite hello.

Jack smiled down at him and offered his hand once more.

Matthew grinned and the two shook hands.

Beth couldn’t help smiling.

Amy finally raised her head. After hiccuping, she gave Jack a shy smile.

“Hello, little lady,” he said.

“Hi,” she said in a tiny voice.

“You probably think I’m a bad mother,” Beth said, “but I told them to stay away from the tree.”

He nodded.

“I’m sorry, Mama,” Matthew said. Once again, he looked as if he were going to cry.

Beth squeezed his shoulder. “It wasn’t your fault, honey.” It really wasn’t. It was Beth’s fault Amy had been in danger. No matter how much work Beth had to do, that was no excuse for not watching her children more closely. “But it sure is a lucky thing for us that Mr. Stokes happened along when he did,” Beth added, turning back toward him. Now that she in control of her emotions, and Amy was safe, she was once more curious about why the man was there.