Alfred Hitchcock’s Mystery Magazine. Vol. 39, No. 6, June, 1994

Roses, Rhododendrons, and Ruth by Mike Owens

From her refuge by the compost pile, Ruth heard the mechanical screech accelerate. The living wood popped as it strained to hold its posture against the ripping steel teeth. She could almost feel the rush of the great cedar as it plunged through the air, and the shattering violence of its crash staggered her. Silence expanded to fill the vacuum created by the switched-off saws.

Ruth pushed the shovel into the soft loam and left it. She walked reluctantly around the house. The lot next door was bisected by the massive cedar. The men stood around it, silent. Then one of them said something. She saw the others smile.

She wanted to storm in among them. It was my tree! she screamed in imagined rage. Her hands hung helplessly at her sides. They wouldn’t care, those rough workmen. They would see only a trembling old woman. They would laugh. She walked back, putting the house between herself and the slaughtered tree.

On the other side of the fence, beyond the compost pile, Vera Frye peered from her curtained window. She stared at the empty sky above Ruth’s house, plump lips arranged in a prolonged pout of surprise as she waited to be noticed.

Ruth pretended she didn’t see. All these years with the tree on one side and Vera on the other. She’d sooner lose Vera.

That night Ruth dreamed of the cedar’s toppling. Safe in her bed, she could hear the sigh of the conifer’s sweep as it rode the air. It enveloped her and her gardens. Roses, rhododendrons, and Ruth, snuggled deep within the cedar’s great heart.

The cleared lot stood empty for so long that Ruth got used to it. It helped that she’d moved her kitchen table so she looked out on the back. She hadn’t had to spend the long wet winter staring at an emptied landscape.

She sat now at that table planning her gardens. The season was fast approaching in spite of the rain misting out of a grey sky. Movement caught her eye, and she looked up to see Vera approaching her back door. Hatless, as usual, and wearing that thin wool coat.

A stocky woman, covered with aggressive fat, Vera moved through the rain as though she were a ship of the line. It always amazed Ruth that one so shallow could move through life with such firm buoyancy. She got up to let her in.

“Well, they are finally going ahead,” Vera said, sweeping through the door.

“Going ahead with what?”

Vera hooked her damp coat on the peg by the door and settled herself at the table. “That vacant lot. They are going to build on it,” she said as the unpleasant smell of wet wool filled the kitchen.

Ruth put the kettle on for tea and, not for the first time, considered giving Vera her old poncho. Not for the first time, she decided against it. Vera would resent having to be grateful. Still, it would rid the kitchen of the smell of damp wool. “I wonder why they waited so long,” she said mostly to herself.

“Well! They had to wait for the wood to dry.”

Ruth sighed and turned her attention to the kettle. Vera rarely ever said anything straight out. She measured tea into the pot. “What wood?” she asked finally.

“From the tree! From that big old cedar!”

Ruth stopped dead in the process of pouring boiling water into the teapot. “Ruth?” Vera’s voice broke the spell, and she finished pouring.

“Well,” said Vera after her first sip. “It will be nice to have a decent house on that lot. It’s an eyesore as it is.”

Ruth pointed out that Vera couldn’t see the lot from her house.

“Oh, it’s you I’m thinking of, dear.” Vera’s face arranged itself along pious lines. “It’s been so awful for you with that big ugly scar right outside your window. Only your gardens left for comfort.”

Vera’s forecast proved accurate. Within the week, activity began next door. The passage of time had healed Ruth’s heart and her tree was being reassembled. It would again occupy the space next to her house.

During the construction she met the owners. “A very nice couple,” she told Vera. “The Lowells.”

By August the work was completed, and the owners moved in. All during the month they wanted to make a home out of their house, while Ruth kept an eye on them, making sure they took meals with her when it seemed the work was getting to be too much.

Then the Lowells were ready to reciprocate. “You’ll be the first,” Nancy said to Ruth. “In honor of all the help you’ve given us.”

Ruth felt such excitement as the appointed hour approached that her hands were actually trembling. She looked at herself in the mirror. Her eyes glittered. She patted her hair into place one last time.

By the time she knocked on the Lowells’ door, her heart was pounding so she could hardly breathe. She tapped twice on the wood of the door and then laid her hand gently against it. It was her tree!

The door opened, and Ruth yanked her hand from its surface. She felt for a moment that her greed must be evident, but Nancy ushered her right in. She had seen nothing.

Later, over drinks, Ruth waved her hand to include the entire house: “This is just marvelous,” she said.

Nancy was pleased. She reached to take David’s hand. “We like it, too. It’s everything we ever wanted.” They looked at each other and smiled.

They had misunderstood. Of course the house was beautiful. But it was more than that. “I’m told that all this is from one tree,” Ruth said.

“Well,” said David, “we had to stretch it some. But most of it is that old cedar.”

“We felt so guilty,” said Nancy, rearranging the appetizers to make them more accessible to Ruth. “That giant must have been standing since the beginning of time. I’m so glad we were able to use it.” She got up to look out the front window. “Your gardens are so lovely, Ruth. You must give me some pointers on landscaping this place.” She adjusted a fold in the curtain and returned to her seat beside David.

“Well,” Ruth said, replacing her glass on the little table beside her chair, “I have to thank you, and gardening tips might just be the way to do it.”

“Thank us for what?” asked Nancy.

“I’ve lived here fifty years. I’ve had that big cedar beside me all that time.” She saw David look at Nancy: he thought Ruth was going to complain. “It was there when my husband died.” She paused, remembering the rough presence of the tree during that horrible time. “I never thought that I would actually get to be inside my tree. That’s why I have to thank you.”

Nancy, relieved, turned to David. “Isn’t it lucky we felt as we did about the tree? Someone else might have just cut it into firewood.” She turned back to Ruth. “Oh, I’m so happy for you!”

Ruth didn’t hear. Her attention was fixed on the blank wall at the end of the room. Seeing her preoccupation, Nancy started to explain that they still had some way to go before they were completely finished decorating.

Ruth interrupted. “Would you excuse me for a moment?” she asked. She got to her feet, looking down at the startled couple but still seeing the empty wall in her mind. She brushed aside their questions and started for the door. “I’ll only be a minute. Just stay where you are.”

Inside her own house, she removed the framed needlepoint sampler from the wall of her living room. It would do perfectly. It was copied from an old museum piece and contained Ruth’s name as part of its design. It had taken the better part of a year to complete.

She rushed back, clutching the intricate piece of work. “Here!” she said, thrusting it at the couple. “A housewarming gift. For your wall.”

Nancy took it from Ruth’s hands. “Oh, Ruth,” she said. “It’s lovely! But it’s yours.” She looked closer at the gift. “It must have taken months to complete!”

Gratified, Ruth resumed her seat. “It did,” she said. “And it’s yours. I won’t take it back.”

Nancy held the needlework against the surface of the wall. “First thing tomorrow,” she said. “We’ll hang it, and it’ll be the focus for whatever we do to this wall.”

During dinner, Ruth learned that the Lowells had moved from an apartment in the city. “This is our first real home,” said Nancy. “The first place to have actual earth around it.” She dabbed at her mouth with her napkin. “That’s why you’ll have to teach me about gardening.”

Ruth smiled absently. She was preoccupied. She wanted to live in the cedar house.

Later, snug in bed, Ruth admonished herself for her greedy thoughts during dinner. Covet not, she thought. She drifted down into sleep while her needlepoint stood guard.

“Well, Ruth,” said Vera, snapping the flowered cloth to cover the wooden table on the deck. “How was your dinner with the new neighbors?”

Ruth opened the screen door with her elbow, juggling the silver and the plate of pastries. “It was nice,” she said putting her load in the middle of the table.

Vera went inside to get the rest of the tea things. She brought the pot and cups back with her. “They look like nice people,” she said. She filled the two cups. “And it was certainly kind of you to give them that sampler I’ve always admired so.”

Ruth sipped at the hot beverage, ignoring the arch tone. “Nervous,” she said, with the air of one who has just found the answer to a bothersome question.

“What?”

“Nancy seemed nervous.” Ruth took a bite of pastry. “She was jumpy the whole time.”

“Well, of course she was!” said Vera. “She was meeting a new neighbor.”

“No, it was more than that. She was nervous. And her husband — a traveling salesman, he said. But he doesn’t travel.”

Ruth leaned across the table the better to confide in Vera. “He’s home every night. Traveling salesmen are supposed to be gone for weeks. Isn’t that right?” She reclined in her chair, measuring the effect of her words on Vera. To her disappointment, they had little impact.

She went on, thinking out loud: “They moved here from the city. She’s nervous, and he’s not what he says he is.” She waved her cup at Vera. “Maybe they’re smugglers!”

Vera laughed. “Really, Ruth!”

“No, think about it, Vera. There’s a lot about drug smugglers in the news these days. And it’s always young people, living in city apartments or in nice neighborhoods.”

Vera, still laughing, shook her head.

Ruth snapped. “It’s a possibility, Vera. That’s all. It is something that might be true.”

Vera, realizing she might have overstepped herself, quickly agreed. “Oh yes, Ruth. I never said it wasn’t possible. I just meant that it seemed so unlikely. They are so nice looking and all.”

Satisfied, Ruth looked back at the Lowell house, thinking that i^f they were drug fiends they would get caught and sent to prison and she could buy the house.

She closed the door behind David’s retreating back and considered just how wrong a person could be. Nancy had been attacked, he’d said. “It’s been over a year, but she’s still jumpy about it. That’s why we moved out here.”

He asked her to keep an eye on the house. “It’s getting to be my busy season, and I’m going to be away from home a lot more. I’m really sorry to impose on you, Ruth. But I’d feel a lot better knowing that someone was sort of watching out for Nancy while I was gone.”

Of course she agreed to keep an eye on the place next door. She felt it to be the least she could do, given the uncharitable thoughts she’d had about her new neighbors. That afternoon, seeing David leave, Ruth put a note on their door inviting Nancy to dinner.

Nancy smoothed her napkin down beside her plate. “That was delicious, Ruth. Just excellent.” She sat for a minute, watching Ruth’s pleased smile. “David asked you to keep an eye on me, didn’t he?”

“I’m an old fool,” Ruth said. “Yes, David asked me. But I was supposed to be discreet about it.”

“It’s not a problem, Ruth. Truth is, after what happened, I don’t mind knowing there’s a good neighbor living next door.”

“Would it hurt to talk about it?”

“Oh, I don’t mind.” Nancy told Ruth about the attack. “The police said he must have used a tire iron. I threw my arms up to protect my head. Otherwise, I’d have been dead.” She held out her arms, showing the scars. “As it was, he broke both wrists.”

Ruth shuddered. “No wonder you wanted to get out of the city,” she said.

“David’s idea, really. I’m a city girl, born and bred. But I’m beginning to think he was right. I love the quiet, and I do feel safe.”

They sat quietly for a moment, then Ruth got up to clear the table. Nancy helped her, and while they were both in the kitchen, Ruth asked whether they had caught the man.

“No,” said Nancy. “I never saw his face. All I could give the police was a description of his clothes.” She shuddered. “He wore a cape and a wide-brimmed hat.”

Three nights later Ruth sat in her kitchen trying to catch her breath. She’d almost been caught! She shivered with fear and excitement. The rain pounded on the roof. Drops splashed from her poncho onto the floor.

She didn’t know what had waked her. The rain, perhaps. A single light was on next door. She checked the time: three in the morning. Maybe that was the source of her disquiet. David gone. Some noise from next door. Nancy in trouble perhaps.

She had pulled on her poncho and rain hat and squelched across to the sliding glass door in the back of the Lowell house. She could see Nancy sitting in the kitchen, reading.

Relieved that nothing was wrong, Ruth had tapped on the glass. Nancy, startled, looked up and screamed.

Her breathing now returned to normal, Ruth got up and looked at herself in the mirror.

I should go right back and explain, she thought, removing her wide-brimmed hat. I shouldn’t have run. Why didn’t I just stand there until Nancy could recognize me? She pulled the poncho off and shook her head: best to let it go for now. She’d have them to dinner and figure some way to explain.

Nancy’s voice shook. “It was probably nothing, but it did look similar.”

Ruth passed her the salad. “You should have called me.” With an apologetic look at David she went on. “After all, I’m supposed to be keeping an eye on you.”

“Oh, Ruth, it’s not your fault.”

“Well,” said David, “I don’t think it could possibly be the same guy.” He patted his wife’s arm. “But I’ve reported it to the police.”

“Probably nothing at all,” said Nancy.

Ruth had planned to explain, but the opportunity never came up. After all, David had told the police.

Ruth took advantage of the unseasonably warm Sunday to till some compost into her gardens. Nancy, cup of coffee in hand, came over to watch. Vera, working in her own yard, put down her rake and joined them.

“They catch that prowler yet?” she asked.

Nancy shook her head, smiling. “No. No, they haven’t.” She took a sip of coffee. “Chances are, there’s nobody to catch. Just my imagination in an empty house early in the morning.”

Vera shivered. “Well, I hope you’re right,” she said. “I don’t like the idea of somebody sneaking around this neighborhood.”

When Vera had gone back to her own yard, Nancy confided that David had bought her a gun. “Not necessary, really,” she said. “But it makes him feel better.”

“Oh my!” said Ruth, thinking it wouldn’t be a good idea for anyone to go looking into the windows of the Lowell house. “Oh my goodness!”

“Well,” said Nancy, “it does make him feel better.”

“I’m worried about her, Vera. She’s had a terrible shock.”

Vera looked up from her sewing. “I thought they were smugglers, Ruth. Why are you so concerned about dopers?”

Ruth snapped, “Nonsense! Vera, that’s just silly!” She straightened impatiently in her chair. “I’m talking about a poor, fragile girl who is in trouble, and you prattle nonsense!”

Dismayed, Vera protested, “Oh, Ruth! I’m sorry. Really I am. I didn’t mean to be insensitive.” She laid her sewing on the table. “I’m just as worried as you are, Ruth. The poor child.” She thought for a moment. “Of course, I don’t know her all that well.”

Ruth had intended to tell Vera about the gun. But it was an embarrassment, since Ruth was the cause of the weapon in the first place. It wasn’t necessary, really. The important thing was Nancy’s future wellbeing.

“We must help her, Vera.”

“Of course, Ruth. Of course.”

The unseasonable warmth had left. Cool, wet weather settled in. Ruth could feel a sore throat coming.

The place next door was empty: too early in the day for anyone to be there. Ruth made herself a cup of tea and sat in the kitchen, her housecoat wrapped tightly around her. She sipped her tea and watched the Lowell house.

She saw Nancy come home. Lights went on, cheerful against the wet gray day. As the day grew darker, more lights went on until the whole downstairs was lit. It had been that way since Nancy’s fright — it told Ruth that David was not at home.

Placing the teacup back in the saucer, she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. Her image startled her. Her eyes glittered with fever, and the skin on her face was drawn tight to the bone.

It rained harder. She watched the lights burning steadily next door from the center of her own dark room. She pictured Nancy safe in the pooled light inside the house built from Ruth’s tree.

Her throat was getting worse, and she definitely felt feverish now. She made up a bed on the couch, near the phone. She wanted to be immediately available should Nancy need her. Sick as she was, she must keep an eye on Nancy while David was gone.

Sometime later she woke. Rain drummed on the roof. She rolled over on the couch. The lights were still on next door. She checked the time: two in the morning. The wind rattled a loose fastening.

She looked back at the house. It seemed to her that something moved in the shadows outside. She held her breath, watching. She couldn’t be sure. It might be wind. Her throat hurt. She shivered. She’d catch her death if she went out there.

She phoned Vera, who answered on the fourth ring. “I need your help,” Ruth croaked.

“Ruth? Do you know the time? Ruth!”

Ruth cut through the shrill voice. “Vera, get over here. You must help me!” She hung up, cutting off further protest.

Vera arrived, holding her coat over her head. She dropped it on the back deck before entering the house. “Ruth? Ruth, I’m here.”

“In here,” Ruth wheezed. “In the living room.”

“All right, just let me turn a light on.”

“No lights! Vera, get in here.” Vera navigated by the light from next door and found Ruth on the couch, covers bundled tightly around her chin.

“Oh, Vera,” said Ruth. “Thank God you’ve come.” She held out one hand from under the covers. Vera took it. “You are a good friend.”

“What is it?” Vera quavered, overcome by Ruth’s emotion.

Ruth nodded her head at the window. “Over there,” she said. “Something is wrong, and I’m too sick to go check. The lights are on, Vera. At this hour!” She squeezed Vera’s hand tightly. “Please, Vera. Go look, for me.”

Vera returned the squeeze. “Don’t worry, Ruth. I’m sure there’s nothing wrong.”

“You always were the strong one, Vera.” Ruth saw Vera’s breast swell; the head rode a little straighter on the neck.

“All right, Ruth.” She patted Ruth’s hand. “I’ll just pop over and take a look.”

Ruth propped herself on one elbow. “Take my poncho,” she said. “Your coat is soaked through. And take that hat on the peg.”

She heard the back door open, letting in the violent sounds of storm. “Vera?”

“Yes?”

“Knock on the glass door in back. That way Nancy can see who it is.”

“All right, Ruth.”

“Goodbye, Vera.”

“Back in a minute, Ruth.” Ruth heard the door close. The storm’s noise continued unabated. Then she realized it was her heart’s wild rhythm. She held her breath, listening for Vera’s return.

She heard a scream and shots and the sound of glass shattering.

She rolled over. “It was so noisy out there,” she muttered. “With the wind and the rain I couldn’t hear anything. I was ill.”

She snuggled deeper into the covers. Vera Frye? Good heavens! What was she doing out at that hour in that weather? She slept.

The charge was manslaughter. Surely Mrs. Frye had been the first-reported “prowler.” Old people living alone could be affected mentally, the judge decided. The sentence was suspended.

The Lowells put the house into the hands of a realtor and moved. Ruth made a deal with the same realtor and swapped the house for the place next door, pointing out that her own house with its established landscaping was by far the more attractive purchase.

She began moving in as soon as the deal was consummated (it had been accomplished without her having to see Nancy again, and Ruth was grateful, knowing the guilt Nancy would feel at having shot Ruth’s best friend).

The needlepoint occupied the living room wall. It felt right that it should still be there.