ࡱ> U lbjbjnn Daad" CCCCCWWW8 DW jj l l l l l l $U" %f C CC FCCj j ORxjV  0 q%zLq%\q%C"4  q% : MR. KINDNESS BY D.W. GREGORY 2021 West Virginia Fiction Competition Winner, 1st Place Winner Selected by Marie Manilla He came to the door one Saturday in early April, smiling at Marina with a light in his eye that she mistook for satisfaction. The look of a salesman whod found an easy touch. Arrogant, Marina thought. Arrogant of him to think Id fall for anything he has to say. But she dismissed the feeling when he tipped his hat with a courtly bow and asked to speak with her husband. Down the field, she said, knowing he must have passed Dan on his tractor if hed driven up from town. Shed seen this fellow before, but where? At the True Value, perhaps, or the gas pumps outside? A glance at someone unfamiliar; curiosity, not concern, because why be concerned about some man filling his tank at the next pump? Except for the expression on his face when he caught her looking at himas if he were giving her permission to stare. As if there were already some secret between them. She bristled at the thought of it, as now here he stood, on her front porch: A tall, lean man in a fading blue suit, cradling his dark fedora, his grey-blond hair flittering off his forehead in wisps. Overdue at the barber, she thought; not a good sign for someone who makes his living this way. Perhaps then youll give him this, the tall man said, extending what she thought was a business card. With my regards. She opened the screen door to accept it: Not a card but a small packet of seeds. On the face, a delicate white flower with a yellow center, atop an elegant stem. On the reverse, an address: Harmony Seed Company, Harmony, Vermont. What are these, some kind of daisy? Chamaemelum, he bowed again, this time his smile broadening to expose uneven teeth. Makes a lovely tea. Soothing to the nerves. Soothing to the soul. Soothing, he said, with an urgent exhalation of breath, to the most troubled marriage. Another smile, but Marina did not return it. Though his voice was thick with sympathyas if she needed sympathy from anyone! his eyes moved past her, peering into the house with such bald curiosity that Marina pulled the screen door tight, just in case. As his gaze came around to her again, Marina looked down to avoid his eyes and beheld a pair of scuffed brown shoes tied with yellow laces. Thank you, she said. Ill let my husband know you were here. Mister---? Kindness, the tall man said, stepping back from the door. Alonzo Kindness. I do appreciate your time, madam. And he put on his hat and left. Maria put the seeds on the shelf in the kitchen where she kept the salt and pepper, along with the cinnamon, a bottle of vanilla, and a little dried parsley the only flavorings she dared to use. Dan had little taste for fancy cooking. Thus, the tea in the tin was always Liptons, nothing flavored, and the coffee was the cheapest on special at Dennys, the market at the crossroads everyone in the valley called the town. It was not a town, but a cluster of houses lining three short blocks, along with two churches (the Methodist at one end of Main Street, the Lutheran at the other), the fire hall, the Post Office, the True-Value, and Dennys, where 15 cents bought a cup of coffee and a donut. And a mile beyond the town, a truck stop diner that served better pancakes than Marina could manage. In 20 years of marriage, she had never figured out how to mix up the batter without lumps, a failing that bothered her greatly, though Dan hardly noticed. Or if he did notice, he swallowed any complaints with the black coffee that washed down his breakfast every morning. Marina went to the phone. A call to Helen Harvey, up the hill. Presiding in her neat white house, stately on its private lane, Helen could spot trouble long before it arrived, often in the form of a neighbor with too much time on her hands. This time it was Marina on the party line, and Helens terse Yes? told her the timing was poor. Helen, Marina said. I just had the strangest visit. Oh yes, the seed man. He was here, too. Marina instantly regretted the call. Missy Fuller could be listening in, or Mrs. Hamilton Barnes, who insisted always to be called Mrs. Barnes, for she had married wellshe never tired of reminding everyone just how well, even though her husband was 10 years buried behind the Methodist church. But Marina pressed on: Did he give you a sample? Half a dozen. Wouldnt go until Fred agreed to take them. Quite a talker he was. Was he? I didnt notice he said that much. Goodness, Marina! The man bent my ear for half an hour. Marina imagined the exchange: Helens rising irritation, masked by a tense smile, but betrayed by the dish towel twisting in her hands. I dont mind a friendly salesman, Helen sniffed, but this fella asked so many questions, I have to tell youI started to feel like he had something up his sleeve. What stuck out for me was that suit, Marina said. Suit? Shiny blue. Like itd been worn a lot and ironed too hard. But the oddest thing was his shoes. Didnt you think? Boots. Helen nearly spat the word. Sorry? He wore boots. And overalls. Selling out of his truck. Truck? Marina said. I could swear it was an Oldsmobile. Helen laughed merrily. Goodness, Marina, you mustve been asleep on your feet. A muffle on the line: Mrs. Hamilton Barnes, stifling a giggle. A Ford pick-up, Helen went on. And he had the oddest assortment of things in the back. Must deal in junk. What people will do to make a little extra. Not for me to judge, butall the same. He could be tidier. What kind of seeds did he leave with you? I dont know. Some kind of flower, I think. Looked like a daisy. Is that all Marina? Im getting supper. Sorry Helen. Of course. Marina put the phone down and went back to the kitchen, where she put frozen hamburger to thaw in a pot of water and set about peeling carrots. For a few moments, she rolled over the conversation in her head. How could she have gotten it so wrong? Then it came to her: There was nothing in it; simply two men going about selling seeds. That must be it: They were working together. How silly to think anything else. The thought made her smile: Mrs. Hamilton Barnes with her high-handed giggle would get her comeuppance soon enough. Marina imagined how it would go, at church the coming Sunday, when she would make a joke of it with Helen, laughing intimately over the confusion, as Mrs. Barnes listened intently and pretended not to hear. But there was no use saying anything to Dan. Hed never buy anything from a stranger, and the idea that she spoke to the salesman at all would bring a scolding on, so she said nothing. And Dan said nothing, because there was seldom anything to say. After all these years, they knew what they knew about each other and what they did not know was probably for the best. Lately, though, his silence had become harder to bear. Their only child, a sweet-tempered but timid girl, had married the summer before and moved to Shippensburg, 30 miles away. In Annas absence, the house seemed to have doubled in size, every room a reminder of what no longer took place there: Anna practicing for her piano competition, Anna struggling with her algebra, Anna making French toast for a Mothers Day breakfast. Eighteen was far too young for marriage, but Marina knew there was no changing the mind when the heart is so determined. At supper that evening, she held her breath as Dan sliced into his meatloaf with a spoon. How many times she had seen him do that and never realized what a strange habit it was? Had he never been taught to feed himself? Suddenly, she blurted: I think Ill start an herb garden. Dan looked over his glasses and reached for a slice of bread. Herbs and flowers, she said. Something pretty. As an afterthought: Some herbs make nice teas, you know. Dan tore the bread in two and used one half to sop up gravy from his plate. Just dont get fancy, he said. He stuffed the soggy half-slice into his mouth so that his cheek bulged, and a dribble of gravy hung on his lower lip. The following morning, Marinas work in the herb garden began with a small miracle. The bed she selected was once home to an explosion of purple petunias, but shed been so preoccupied with Annas wedding, shed let it go. And here it was now: given over to clover and dandelions. But in the middle of that mess, somehow, a stubby volunteer had taken root. Marina bent to rub a broad, rough leaf between her thumb and index fingerthen brought the aroma to her nose: Sage. She was sure of it. How strange that it would pop up here; no one she knew bothered to grow it, nor to use it except in the Thanksgiving stuffing, and for that purpose, a small tin from the market served for years. Marina knelt to work, yanking out the weeds and preserving the sage, which stood elegantly in the center of the bed. She took a trowel to the earth to break up the clumps and imagined how the bed might look as the sage grew, with the Chamaemelum surrounding it. But there had to be something else. What should it be? She recalled a book her mother had kept about garden herbs and how to use themrosemary, borage, tarragon and thyme; three kinds of basil; two parsleys, flat-leaved and curly. The aroma of an autumn supper came back with an embarrassing sting in her eyes--a chicken bubbling merrily in a pot; strands of deep green parsley floating over it; a fistful of thyme, the small leaves separating from the stems and floating away; chunks of celery and onionher mother had grown all of it outside the kitchen door, and once the weather turned, nursed pots of thyme and parsley on a windowsill in the dining room. It had been years since she tasted that soup, with all its warmth and flavor and comfort and love. She sat up and swallowed hard. A trip to the True Value would surely yield very little of interest. But the Harmony Seed Company might. On the phone, a woman with a faint voice answered Marinas call. Yes, indeed the company carried all manner of things, all year long, and no it was not too late to order anything she wished, and could she recommend bee balm and lavender? Perhaps a little mint? A lovely perennial, though mint goes wild, and Marina might rather pot it, or it would soon take over everything. The shopping list grew and along with it, the shape of the herb garden. Marina took a spade and dug a curved extension to each end of the narrow bed, which she edged into a fuller curve, so that the bed took on a crescent shape, as if the moon had dropped from the sky one night and decided to remain. When the seeds arrived a few days later, along with the water bill, Marina went directly to the garden and left the bill in the mailbox. She took to her knees, not in prayerthough it felt like a holy eventbut to fill in the bed around the Chamaemelum and the sage with waves of thymes and lemon balm, comfrey, yarrow, fennel, and chives. She reserved the tapering ends for a splay of betony, which promised tight purple blooms. That seemed wise, though Marina could not say why. Gentle rain fell that afternoon. As Marina watched it from the back door, taking in the patchy green grass in the yard and the deep brown of the plowed field beyond it, she felt impatient for something she could not name. The colors of the grey clouds sinking into the furrowed earth and the dark shadows of the trees at the fields far edge could have been a painting in a museum. Had it always been that way and she never noticed? That night as Marina settled into bed, she felt the sheet under her hands for the first time. The fabric wasnt at all silky, as she always thought it to be. The weave was rather crude, in fact, and the texture rough. How had she slept so well all these years on something that uncomfortable? Beside her, Dan lay on his back and snored, untroubled by such questions. On waking, she found the flowered blue wallpaper in their room suddenly distasteful, the worn brown carpet an irritation beneath her bare feet. The narrow hallway confined her; the dim light insulted her eyes. Why were the bulbs in the overhead not brighter? Marina headed for the front stairway, past Annas old room, but the pang she felt before was now absent. So too was her sense of urgency in getting the coffee on the stove and the biscuits in the oven. Instead, she headed to the crescent garden, still damp from the rain. The sage, it seemed, had shot up several inches overnight and brave little shoots of Chamaemelum pushed through the earth. It would be a rapid garden, she realized. If she asked kindly, perhaps the other plants would respond, too. Hurry on, she whispered, but it seemed to her the Chamaemelum, especially, was listening. There must be more flowers, Marina thought as she looked about. We must have more flowers! Roses and hydrangeas and peonies. A desperate feeling churned inside. Crab apple. Before long, the deliveries came every few daysplants now, not seed, and garden suppliesa trellis for training roses, peat moss and fertilizer and brown mulch, dropped off by truck. Flagstones. Within weeks, the back yard had taken on a much different lookthe simple long rectangle of uneven grass now bisected by a curving path of grey stone that ran under a rose bower. And at the far end, a small orchard in progress apples, pears, and cherries. You have some help in? Dan said to her one night as she brought supper to the table. For what? All that back there. She could not tell from his expression whether he was impressed by the results of her efforts, or annoyed. Not really. Well one young fellow did unload the flagstones. But I laid them myself. Dan rubbed his chin as if doing a calculation. Whats that gonna set me back? Oh, not much. She poured coffee into the china cup by his plate. You have to admit, she said. The yard looks so much better. Dan fingered the coffee cup. Marina wondered if he found comfort in the familiar blue and white floral pattern. If he did, she knew, he would never say so. Whats this? he nodded toward the serving bowl. Beef stew. Are those mushrooms? A new recipe. Got it out of a book at the library. She lifted a napkin from another bowl to reveal something else hed never seen on his own table. Not the drop biscuits she often made, nor the slices of the soft white bread he preferred, but a roll in the shape of an early moon. Found these today at Dennys, she said. Thought Id try them. Dan curled his lip. But he took a roll. It was Helen Harvey who first remarked on the change in Marinas wardrobe one warm Sunday morning after church. A teal dress with a tight, belted waist and a neckline cut in an astonishing V. Not something you usually saw at morning worship. Goodness, Marina. That new? Helen said in a way that caused Dan to stop a few feet ahead of Marina and turn around. Fairly, was Marinas response. An early birthday present to myself. But it was the way she looked at Danso directly, almost daring him to say somethingthat caused him to flush a deep red. He should have been the first to notice, of course, but he had barely glanced at her that morning. Now that he was forced to look, Marina supposed he did not like what he saw. She expected him to turn away with a scowl, and later to scold her for her extravagance. Instead, his eyes stayed on her, softening as the color in his cheeks faded. It was not anger, she realized, but embarrassment at what hed managed to overlook. Marina always buys her own presents, Dan said. That way at least one of us is surprised. Helen offered a nervous laugh. Well, its very flattering. Then, as they walked away, Helen called out: You ever do anything with those flower seeds, Marina? Marina stopped. Oh, I tried them, Marina said. But theyre not doing much. Goodness, Helen nearly shouted as she caught up to her. Mrs. Barnes said she planted a few of those daisy flowersand theyve completely overrun her yard. Never saw anything grow so fast. And Fred She looked to Dan, but he was at the end of the walk now, headed to the car. Fred put them in, she said. Lord knows why. Hes never bothered with flowers before. We all need a little a beauty, Marina said. But its the way he put them in. Helens eyes widened. All sorts of little half circles, all over the yard. Like alike Like a crescent moon? Helens voice dropped. What possesses a man to do that? He couldnt tell me himself. She waited as if Marina, this time, had all the answers. Maybe, Marina said, its what the plants wanted. Helens mouth twitched, but for the first time Marina could remember, she had nothing to say. Back at the house, Marina saw that her crescent garden, too, had been overrun by the Chamaemelum, growing so quickly she was obligated to take a shears to them. The next morning on a whim, she plucked the flowers from the cuttings and set them to dry in the sun. She slid the dried petals into a used number 10 envelope from the electric company and tucked the envelope behind the coffee tin. Every morning that week, Marina repeated the process, until the envelope bulged with promise. One day not long after that, Marina stuffed a handful of the dried petals into her mothers rose teapot--the one she brought out for special company--and filled the pot with boiling water. Ten minutes later, she strained the silver-yellow tea into a porcelain cup and stirred in a half teaspoon of sugar. Marina carried her tea to the back porch; it seemed just the place to try something new, in sight of her own creation. She inhaled but could not describe the aromaneither sharp nor sweet, but rather grassysomething like the faint smell of hay curing in her grandfathers barn long ago. To the tongue, the flavor was not quite floral, but not unpleasant either. Then she felt another sensation, one of great warmth, spreading outward from her heart to her hands and feet and cheeks; she felt the heat rising into her eyes and her eyes opening to the sight of Dans cornfield, dotted with tender green shoots. If she willed it so, she thought, the corn grow as the Chamaemelum had, churning from the earth, their stalks rising inch by inch by inch, the brown soil vanishing under spreading leaves, and the leaves unfurling like flags. Hurry on, Marina whispered. Beneath her feet, the earth began to movea slow and steady undulationso subtle only the gifted eye might see. But now she could seeshe could see vividlyall the secrets that Nature had kept from her. And she could hear the garden at work, the conspiracy of the vine and the branch and the fruits bursting forth, the heaviness of their mission and the power of their need to remake themselves, just as every being must remake itself, if not through giving birth to a child, then by giving birth to a new, better version of themselves. Marina! It was Dan, coming in the front door, and Marina realized the sun had slipped in the sky and he was home from work, wanting his supper. No use offering Dan a cup of the strange silver-yellow tea; she knew without asking he would not touch it. She took another sip and thought of the days long ago, when Dan had not refused her offers so readily. In the early days of their marriage, he refused nothing at all; any new idea seemed a happy revelation to him then. But that was before Anna. It was before the war that took Dan away for almost two years and returned him, solemn and silent, missing some part of himself he could not name. It was before he resolved to make a go of farming, and long before he had to admit it just could not pay, but a job with the telephone company would let them keep the placethe house he grew up in and the 30 acres around it. Marina! His voice was behind her. She looked up and saw that supper was not on his mind. Marina, he said, panic in his voice. The corn. She put her teacup down. Even from where she stood, looking down the garden and past the fruit trees, she could see the corn stalks were high enough now to block the view of the fields beyond. And the stalks were pushed skyward, forcing yellow tassels into the tumbling breeze. She followed Dan as he trotted under the rose bower and through the orchard to the fields edge, calling back to her: Its the darndest thing, Marina. The darndest thing! They stopped and watched as green ears bulged and groaned into being on the stalks, and the ears began to silk, and the silk to darken. Dan looked to Marina with the eyes of a frightened child. Some kind of miracle, she said. Thats what it is. A miracle. A miracle. He sucked in his breath and lowered his head, eyes closed, as if to pray. Dont say nothin about this, he told her. Please, Marina. Dont tell a soul. That night, for the first time in what felt like many years, they reached for each other in the dark. Dan slipped his arm around Marina, and she tucked her head under his chin, twining her hand in his, and fell asleep to the steady beat of his heart. In the morning when they stirred from sleep, they rediscovered the needs they had both forgotten. Afterwards, Marina set out Dans breakfast exactly as he liked it fried eggs, crisp bacon, buttered white toast, tidy and plain on his mothers china. Black coffee in his favorite cup. He ate in silence, as he always did, but this time Marina found comfort in his habitsthe odd turn of his fork as he cut into the eggs, the precise way he stirred his coffeethough he never put anything in it. When he finished, he wiped his lips with a napkin and said: This could be our best year yet. Marina knew it would be. He kissed her as he left the house, a lingering kiss. After he was gone, she put the kettle on the stove again. And that was why, as the kettle whistled, she did not hear the grinding tires on the gravel drive. And it was why, when the knock on the door followed a moment later, she was too preoccupied watching the dried petals rise up in the teapot. The pattern they made on the water as she filled the potand the faint aroma of drying haydistracted her just enough that it took repeated taps at the door before she saw the shadow behind the screen. Marina knew, even before she got there, who would it was, though how she knew is not to be explained. Yet even before she left the kitchen, she had seen the pressed blue suit and dark felt hat in the tall mans hands, his brown shoes, with their odd laces, shuffling on the doormat. Shed seen it all without seeing it, and so when she opened the door to Mr. Kindness, she met his ready smile with her own. You are here, she said, to ask about the Chamaemelum. Come and see. She shut the door behind her and led him down the steps and around the path to the garden, where Mr. Kindness looked approvingly at the grey flagstones lined with marigold and vinca and observed the sweetheart roses curling up the bower, the fruiting apple and pear and cherry beyond it. He ran his hands along the peoniesas if offering a benedictionand paused to consider the hydrangeas before heeding the call of the foxglove and cecily, the sweet woodruff and madonna lilies, the golden feverfew and calendula, planted in patterns of diamonds and squares, enclosed by a hedge of yew. Mr. Kindness came to the crescent herb bed and bent low to rub his fingers on the sage. Thats a volunteer, Marina said. Theyre all volunteers, he replied with a grin. None of em are taking orders. As he straightened up, she saw that his brown shoes were, in fact, mud-crusted boots tied up with dirty dark laces. He turned to her and she saw that the shiny blue fabric of his suit was actually a faded blue denim. The man looking back at her was not tall, but rather square, his arms and hands red from the sun, his face scrunched up in a friendly squint, under a denim cap. He pulled the cap from his head and wiped his forehead with the back of his arm. A man accustomed to sweat. Someone who could be underestimated, Marina thought. Not arrogant at all. Good work, though the square man said. Real good. Marina had heard of such things: Creatures who changed their appearance on a whim, but until now she thought they were only stories. She looked again to see if the brown shoes and yellow laces were as before, but the muddy boots remained, planted firmly. A strong man, she thought, is someone who never needs to impress. Ill stop round again in a few weeks. See how things are coming. And when you come, Marina said, still fixed on the muddy boots. What will you be? Hard to say. Any manner of thing. Marinas heart pounded. A man? Or a bird? A bird? He seemed to like that idea. What kind of bird you favor? Something small, she said. And bright. Like a finch. Songbird, he said. Thats a special kind of bird. This time she looked back at him. And instead of the overalls or the shiny blue suit, she saw a simple white shirt and dark slacks. The same tall man who had dropped off the seeds, but no grey in his blond hair, and the hair was much fuller and parted straight down the middle, in an old style. The hat in his hands was neither denim nor felt, but straw. Perhaps, Marina thought, she too might change shape. She, too, might shift in time as he just did; she might reclaim pieces of herself that had been lost. It had already begun to happen. Parts of her were starting to come back. A bird like that could come and go without anyone taking any notice, he said as he walked past her up the stone walkway. Mr. Kindness, Marina called after him. I never did get a bill for the seeds I ordered. He paused, tapping the brim of his straw hat. You will, he said. And with that, he put on his hat and disappeared.      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GREGORY     2 0   @Garamond--------------- 2 0 2021  2 0    2 0 W 2 0 est   2 0 V  2 0 irginia    2 :0   2 >0 Fiction    2 n0   2 s 0 Competition     2 0   2  0 Winner, 1 --- 2 0 st---  2 0   2  0 Place Winner    2 r0    12 ?0 Selected by Marie Manilla     2 0   @Garamond---  2 `0     2 `0     2 `0    2 `0 He  2 w0 came to   2 0 the  2 0   2 0 door  2 0 one  2  0 Saturday  2 :0 in  2 I0 early  &2 j0 April, smiling at   2 0 Marina   2 0   2 0 with a  2 *0 light  #2 I0 in his eye that  2 0 she  2 0    2 4`0 mistook  "2 40 for satisfactio  2 40 n  2 40 .  2 40     2 X0 T  2 X 0 he look of  2 X0 a sales #2 X0 man whod found   2 Xw 0 an easy touch  2 X0 .  2 X0   @Garamond------------------ 2 |0 Arrogan   2 |0 t--- 2 |0 ,  2 |0 Marina   2 |0   2 | 0 thought.  2 |1 0 Arrogant of  2 | 0 him to think   2 |0   +2 |0 Id fall for anything  2 |I0  --- 2 |L0 he---  2 |X0   2 |[ 0 has to say 2 |0 .  2 |0 But she   j2 `?0 dismissed the feeling when he tipped his hat with a courtly bow      2 0   2  0 and asked  &2 /0 to speak with her    2 `0 husband.  2 0    +2 0 Down the field, she    2 0   2 0 said .2 60 , knowing he must have    22 0 passed Dan on his tractor   "2 o0 if hed driven   2 `0 up from   2 0   2 0 town.   2 0    U2 010 Shed seen this fellow before, but where? At the     2 00   )2 00 True Value, perhaps,    2 0C0   2 0F0 or  2 0S0    2 0W0 the gas pumps    2 T`0 outside L2 T+0 ? A glance at someone unfamiliar; curiosity    2 T0 ,  M2 T,0 not concern, because why be concerned about    2 x`0 some   P2 x.0 man filling his tank at the next pump? Except    A2 x$0 for the expression on his face when   2 x 0 he caught   &2 `0 her looking at him   2 0  M2 ,0 as if he were giving her permission to stare   2 0 .  82 0 As if there were already some     )2 `0 secret between them.    2 0    D2 &0 She bristled at the thought of it, as  2 j0 now   Y2 40 here he stood, on her front porch: A tall, lean man     .2 `0 in a fading blue suit,  82 0 cradling his dark fedora, his  2 0 grey  2 0 - U2 10 blond hair flittering off his forehead in wisps.    2 ,`^0 Overdue at the barber, she thought; not a good sign for someone who makes his living this way.       2 ,0    I2 P)0 Perhaps then youll give him this, the    2 P0 tall  2 P0   2 P0 man said  @2 P#0 , extending what she thought was a     =2 t`!0 business card. 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