Chelsea Barnwell

FICTION

Through the Hedge

The hedge formed a nearly complete barrier around Bridget’s quarter-acre lot. Vines and weeds had taken root in its shade and grown up through the thorny branches, completing its ten-foot privacy screen. The only break in the hedge was the gap where a brick path ran from the street sidewalk to the front porch. The gap was so narrow and the hedge so thick, Bridget had to face the gap square on to see anything on the other side.

Bridget knew the people talking on the other side of the hedge couldn’t see her as she poured birdseed into a feeder.

“They’re doing a lot of work on that house,” one voice said.

The other replied, “Isn’t that great. Hopefully more of the houses on the street will get some attention soon.” The people laughed and their footsteps softened as they left the paved sidewalk for the grass, out of reach of the encroaching hedge, then became distinct again as they returned to the sidewalk once they were past Bridget’s lot.

Bridget knew the house they thought needed attention was hers. She also knew the house with the work going on was directly across the street, the Roberts’ old house. The Roberts had lived in the neighborhood even longer than Bridget had. Bill Roberts had been gone fifteen years, and Carol followed him two years ago. Bridget wasn’t sure which made her feel more unsettled, knowing the house across the street was empty … or knowing it was full of people who didn’t even remember Carol, let alone Bill. A young family had bought it from the Roberts’ granddaughter, though Bridget hadn’t seen much of them yet. She had seen plenty of work trucks and people going in and out, though. In the last few months, they had replaced the roof and the windows and cut down many of the old trees and bushes. Contractors had come to replace rotting spots in the eaves and window frames, and someone else had come to paint them. Power tools always seemed to be running inside, and there was a dumpster in the driveway, which was filling up with shag carpet, mint green bathroom fixtures and tiles, old pieces of furniture, and disintegrating cardboard boxes of things that had not been worth the while for the granddaughter.

If Bridget came out her front door or stood on the brick sidewalk, she had a narrow view of the house. The new family had painted the front door yellow. The Roberts’ door has always been colonial blue.

Those young folks must want everything to be new. Well, perhaps Bridget had in her day too, but the tools made a lot of noise, the contractors brought a lot of big vehicles down the narrow street, and seeing a kitchen table in the dumpster is hard when she had spent so many mornings there with an old friend. She wished the work would finish soon so things would quiet down.

***

One morning, Bridget went out her back kitchen door as usual, walking slowly as she made a circuit of the yard, carrying a bag of bird seed to fill the various feeders hanging from trees and sprinkling extra on the stumps and in the grass. When finished, she stopped for a little break at her kitchen table. When she was ready, she went out the front door with the fish food for the Koi pond and an empty watering can. After taking care of the fish, she filled the watering can from the spigot for the bird bath.

As she reached the bird bath, she drew her breath in sharply and her hand faltered. She clumsily set the watering can down in the bird bath, eyes fixed on something in the gap in the hedge. It was a boy. Next to the massive hedge, he looked very small, though probably old enough to be in school. He had short brown hair flipped up in the front above his forehead. His wide brown eyes and big ears reminded her of an elf.

“What do you want?” Bridget asked sharply. Ba-bum, ba-bum, ba-ba-bum, ba-bum, ba-ba-bum. She clutched at her chest, willing her heart to still.

He answered, “I wanted to see why there aren’t any squirrels in our yard, but a whole bunch were coming over here.”

Bridget smiled and straightened her back a little. “Well, you can see.” She gestured to her generous distribution of bird seed. “If you feed something, it will come.”

The little boy nodded, “Yep. I’ll have to ask my mom to do that so we can have some animals at our house too.”

Bridget picked up the watering can again and filled the bird bath with water. The boy was still standing there. “Well, what do you want?” she asked.

“Mom says I can’t go into your yard unless you give me permission. You can have permission to come into our yard if you want.”

Bridget looked around her yard at the rusting wrought-iron patio furniture (which had never been used for sitting), the massive old-growth trees and bushes, the porch filled up with boxes and odds and ends, and the Koi pond. She shrugged her shoulders, “Well, you can come in if you want, but I don’t know that there is much for you to do here.”

The boy came through the hedge and began to wander all over the yard. He watched the birds fighting for seeds and squirrels chasing each other from the trees to the roofline and back. He squatted by the pond. Bridget wondered if she’d get in trouble with the insurance if he fell in. “Careful by the water,” she said. He seemed old enough not to drown in a foot of water, but she wasn’t sure. He looked up at her, arms wrapped around his knees, hands on his sneakers. He nodded and then looked back at the fish.

Bridget’s back was getting a little tired. She usually went inside about now and sat down to a crossword puzzle book until The Price Is Right came on at 10 a.m. She didn’t think she could just leave the boy though. She went nearer and stood with her hand against a tree.

He pointed. “That frog is really big. See him?”

“Yes.” After a minute’s quiet, Bridget asked, “What’s your name?”

“Leo,” he said.

“I’m Bridget.”

Leo looked up at her quickly, eyebrows furrowed a little and head tilted to the side. “Oh, I don’t think I’m supposed to call you that. I’m supposed to call you Mrs. Something-or-other.”

Bridget laughed a little, “Well, Mrs. Williams then.”

He looked reassured, “Ok. Do you ever get any snakes in this pond, Mrs. Williams?”

“Well, goodness, I hope not! Can’t say that I’ve seen any snakes in there before.”

He looked disappointed.

“I sometimes see ground snakes, though, in the yard.”

He smiled. “What kinds?”

“Oh, black snakes mostly.”

He seemed disappointed again. “Those aren’t the poisonous kind.”

“Gracious, no! Don’t go messing around with snakes now, of any kind!”

Her back was really hurting now. “Does your mother know you’re over here?”

“Uh huh, I think so.”

“Well, you better go back so she doesn’t worry about you.”

He took one last look at the frog and touched it with his finger. When it jumped in the pond, he also jumped up and said, “Bye, Mrs. Williams.” He ran out through the gap in the hedge, and she went in to do her crossword puzzle.

***

The next day, while eating a bowl of soup in the late afternoon, Bridget realized she was disappointed that Leo hadn’t come back. She had looked for him each time she passed by a window, and she’d lingered a little bit longer outside than usual. Maybe she had scared him. Maybe his mother had been worried about him and told him not to play in neighbors’ yards where she couldn’t see him. Maybe he’d discovered a nest of snakes in his yard that was more interesting than her frog. She told herself it didn’t really matter. She made sure she took her medications and recorded that she’d taken them, so she didn’t forget and take them twice accidentally. That was her great fear. Well, one of her great fears.

The following day, Bridget made cookies. It had been a long time since she had made cookies. She carefully scrubbed her hands and all the utensils before starting and made sure they were cooked thoroughly, but still tasty. Later, while she performed her usual routine of outdoor chores, she kept looking toward the gap in the hedge. When she was done, she settled into a spot on the front porch where she could see down the brick path, through the gap in the hedge, and across to the Roberts’ place. Well, Leo’s place. She had the cookies covered with plastic on the table beside her. She picked up her crossword puzzle and tried to focus on it.

Finally, when Bridget was almost at the point of going back inside because her program would be on soon, Leo and another little boy came out of the yellow door. Bridget smiled a little and sat up. Could he see her in the shade of the porch? She waved a hand. He saw her. He said something to the other little boy and they both walked across the street.

“Hi, Leo. Who is this?”

“Hi, Mrs. Williams. This is my brother, Alex.” Alex had the same hair as Leo, but his eyes were blue and he was a little shorter.

“Hi, Alex. Would you two like some cookies? I made them this morning.”

Both grinned and nodded. She pulled back the plastic and then noticed their dirty hands as they reached for the cookies. She’d forgotten how boys played.

“Oh, perhaps you better wash your hands first.”

Leo looked down at his hands and rubbed them on his pants. Alex followed suit. Leo said, “I think it’s all right. We normally just wash hands and pray before eating a meal, not snacks.”

Each of the boys grabbed a cookie and munched. Leo asked, “Can I show Alex the pond and see if the frog is there?”

“Sure, you can.” Bridget got up out of her chair and slowly followed them down the steps.

While Leo’s eyes seemed to absorb everything in one still gaze, Alex’s eyes bounced around to everything, just like Alex himself. He was on one side of the pond, then the other, climbing around behind the filter, stirring his finger in the water, halfway climbing a tree before sliding back down. Alex moved a broken flowerpot that was lying on its side. “Ouch!” He cried.

Ba-bum, ba-bum, ba-ba-bum, ba-ba-bum, ba-bum. Bridget quickly walked over, “What, what is it?”

“It bit me!”

Bridget’s mind raced through biting things: Black Widow spiders, copperheads, rabid raccoons. She looked around and noticed the wasp nest clinging to the inside of the broken pot. Her heartbeat settled a little, only to rise again. “It wasn’t a bite. It was a sting. Are you allergic to bees?” She pulled him away from the spot and held another thin arm out to block Leo, who was coming over to see the wasp nest better.

Alex was holding one hand with the other, shaking it and saying “ouch.” He moved his hand to put the finger in his mouth, but Bridget intercepted with a wiry grip. “Not in your mouth! Leo, is Alex allergic to bees?”

Leo shrugged, “I don’t know.”

“Ok. Well, we’re going right over to check with your mother. Come on.” Bridget held each one of them by the hand as they crossed the street, halting at the curb even though the street was quiet before proceeding across. Leo pulled slightly away from her and muttered an embarrassed, “I know to look both ways.”

Leo and Alex’s mother assured Bridget that neither Alex nor Leo was allergic to bees, but she appreciated her help and, yes, she did think washing hands before snack was a good idea. In the following days, Leo was often over at Bridget’s house. He discovered a turtle, a bird nest, snail shells, and sticky pinecones. Alex sometimes came too. Alex discovered new ways to frighten Bridget. Once, when she told him not to hang over the porch rail without feet or hands, he walked over to where she sat, put both his hands on her face, and almost touched his nose to hers so that all she could see were his blue eyes. He said, “Don’t worry, Mrs. Williams. I’m very careful!”

Bridget kept herself busy. She still had to keep track of all her medications, and she had nearly filled her crossword puzzle book and needed to buy a new one. She started to put a few treats on her grocery list, cheese crackers or extra veggies to cut into sticks with ranch dressing, just in case the boys were over.

She even went into the baby’s room. The hinges groaned to remind her how long it had been. She thought maybe there would be some toy in there that she could offer to Alex or Leo. Maybe there was a ball or game or something.

As she looked in the closet and drawers, she coughed slightly as dust clouds rose. She was sad to see that nothing looked very happy or the kind of thing you’d give a child now. The toys made of metal were a little rusty, the plastic ones looked so fragile they’d snap in a minute, and the cloth was faded and dirty. They wouldn’t want any of this.

She carefully put each item back. Before she left the room, she laid her hand on the little hollow in the bed. The quilt was sun-faded and soft. She looked at her own hand. It didn’t seem right there, now that it was old and had age spots and blue veins. Many years ago, she used to come every night and lay her hand here. It had always seemed natural before. How long had it been?

Had she come since Earl left? Left because he’d gotten tired of her fretting. The doctor said there was nothing she could have done for the baby. Earl had believed the doctor, but Bridget could never quite believe that it hadn’t been her fault, and she wasn’t going to take risks again. That’s what had made Earl upset, “You’re trying to cheat death with all your pill counting and deep cleaning and news bulletins. You’re killing me in the process!”

Bridget drew back her hand from the hollow in the bed and wiped a tear from her cheek. Earl’s sister had called to tell Bridget when he passed about six years ago. They were still married so she went to the funeral and received the remainder of his estate in due time. She wondered if he’d have lived longer if he had not left and they hadn’t had the hard business of growing old alone. But maybe he’d been right. Maybe she’d been killing him. Maybe he thought himself lucky to have died on his own without her help.

***

One morning, there was a lot of commotion in the neighborhood. A church up the hill on the main road was having some kind of festival and bake sale. People were looking for parking on all the side streets. They were lined up all the way along both sides of Bridget’s street, and more kept coming.

Bridget was happy to see the boys again. She felt a little more tired today and mostly watched them play from the porch until Leo said, “Mrs. Williams, do you want to come see the tree house our dad is building? It’s really nice. I can see all sorts of animals from up there.” Bridget said she’d come to see it. She got up from the porch and the three of them walked through the gap in the hedge, first the boys, then Bridget.

Bridget heard the car coming from the bottom of the hill, picking up speed to get to the main road. She took Alex’s hand and was reaching for Leo’s when Leo said, “Look! A turtle!” With a sudden spurt, he ran between the parked cars halfway into the street, bending down to pick up the box turtle.

“Noo!” Bridget let go of Alex’s hand and, as quickly as she could, followed and pushed Leo out of the way as she heard the car braking. She tripped as she pushed him, and her thin knees hit the pavement as the car came to a stop a few feet away.

Bridget felt like she was underwater. The main sound in her ears was Ba-ba-ba-ba-ba-ba-ba-ba. In the background, car doors opened and closed. People were shouting and running from far away. Someone was on the phone. The air smelled of rubber. The pavement felt like needles in her hands and legs. She raised her head to see Leo had turned back to face her. His face was white and his mouth open. He suddenly made a gasping noise and began crying, tears dripping onto the shell of the box turtle, which had tucked itself safe away. From behind, she felt a little head lying on her back and arms hugging her shoulders. Alex said in her ear, “Don’t worry, Mrs. Williams.”

Ba-ba-ba-ba-ba-ba. Her heart had never beat so fast, and yet, it beat steady. Leo’s mother was now kneeling in front of her, asking her questions. She was alive, really alive. She was slowly raised to a standing position, but her legs shook so that she could not take a step. She was carried so that she could sit on the grass in Leo’s yard. Where she sat, she was looking back through the narrow gap in the hedge back into her own yard, up the little brick path to the deep porch and green door. It was the door Earl had carried her through as a bride. It was the door she had carried the baby through to welcome him home. But it looked different from here for some reason. Unbidden, tears began to stream down her face.

Chelsea Barnwell is a writer, deep thinker, and avid reader. She finds joy in serving her community alongside gospel-minded followers of Jesus. The front porch is the most used room in her house. You can read more of her work on her blog welcometothecarriagehouse.com.

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