The Garden
by Erica Salowe
Mrs. Landry’s garden was of such beauty and prestige that it put
the Butchart Gardens of Canada to shame.
Ancient red oak and sycamore trees towered so high above her
home and the homes of her neighbors that they cast ominous shadows
over the entire community, giving her street the fitting name of Silhouette
Lane. Surrounding the bottoms of these trees were clusters of bellflowers
and pieris plants, with patches of narcissus here and there to add hints of
elegance.
Mrs. Landry spent the majority of her time in this garden,
tending to the weeds that would constantly grow out of the rich, dark
soil encasing her beloved blossoms. She would chase away any pests
that found their way past the tall, intricate latticework of fencing that
protected her safe haven from the outside world. Oftentimes in spring, a
passing neighbor would find Mrs. Landry sprawled out underneath one
of the massive, blooming trees in her backyard, her golden hair falling
across her face as she hunched over a book, reading aloud to her garden of
yellow zinnias, daisies and chrysanthemums. A particularly nosy neighbor
noticed that the only works Mrs. Landry would read were children’s
novels—The Little Glass Slipper by Charles Perrault, Madeline’s Rescue by
Ludwig Bemelmans, Song of the Swallows by Leo Politi—and gossip of the
woman’s strangeness snaked its way through the neighborhood, inciting
critical stares and whispers from across the street.
Mrs. Landry loved every sprig, seedling and budding bloom in
her entourage of plants. However, for all the daylight hours she spent
tenderly caring for every soft petal and leaf, no neighbor had ever seen
her plant the blooms herself. There was often speculation that she would
do so at night; on numerous occasions her neighbors claimed they heard
the loud, scraping noise of a shovel coming from Mrs. Landry’s backyard,
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