Elderberry Croft: The Complete Collection Read online

  ELDERBERRY CROFT

  The Complete Collection

  BECKY DOUGHTY

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  Elderberry Croft: The Complete Collection

  Copyright 2014 Becky Doughty

  Published by BraveHearts Press

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any form, stored in any retrieval system, posted on any website, or transmitted in any form or by any means, without written permission from the publisher, except for brief quotations in printed reviews and articles.

  The persons and events portrayed in this work of fiction are the creations of the author, and any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental.

  All Scripture quotations, unless otherwise indicated, are taken from the New American Standard Bible, Copyright 1960, 1962, 1963, 1968, 1971, 1972, 1973, 1975, 1977, 1995 by The Lockman Foundation. Used by permission.

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  Author Information: www.BeckyDoughty.com

  ELDERBERRY CROFT

  The Complete Collection

  Becky Doughty

  Table of Contents

  January Breeze

  February Embers

  March Whispers

  April Shadows

  May Enchantment

  June Melody

  July Madness

  August Memories

  September Longing

  October Mourning

  November Awakening

  December Dawning

  Juliette and the Monday ManDates Excerpt

  About the Author

  JANUARY BREEZE

  Chapter 1

  A new neighbor.

  Kathy expected her at any minute now. She coughed into her elbow as she peered through the narrow opening of her kitchen curtains at the empty cottage across the driveway. It wasn’t much more than a shack, really. The roof needed new shingles, the ancient wooden siding was chipped and peeling where the sun beat down mercilessly upon it, and the roots of a massive eucalyptus tree slowly churned up the river-rock patio. Screens were missing from a few of the windows, and the green front door hung at an angle to accommodate the frame that had been put in with a blatant disregard for plumb lines. Its one redeeming quality, a charming little creek that danced along the edge of the patio and on through the The Coach House Trailer Park, seemed slightly incongruous with the rest of the ramshackle structure.

  The inside, according to Myra, wasn’t in any better condition. She’d stopped by to visit the day before after doing a thorough cleaning of the place in preparation for the new tenant.

  “Filthy, Kathy! Horrible! And the carpet! Aiee!” Myra often spoke in exclamation marks, bobbing her head for added emphasis, her dark, chin-length hair doing the cha-cha around her face. “It’s disgusting! When I told Eddie it needed to be replaced, he said they won’t do it because it’s less than five years old! But that carpet looks more like fifty-five to me! And the shower!” She went on and on until Kathy interrupted her with a glass of her favorite boxed wine, kept chilled in the refrigerator for just such visits.

  “Why are you so worked up? This new one will come and go just like all the others.”

  Myra took a long sip. “I know, I know. But this one,” she shrugged her bony shoulders. “I want her to like it.” The sweet-tart drink puckered her lips. “I want her to like us.”

  “So? What’s new? You want everyone to like us.”

  Myra left a few minutes later, her basket of dirty rags and cleaning supplies hoisted on one scrawny hip. “Don’t let her catch you spying on her tomorrow, Kathy-la. I mean it!”

  A few minutes before ten, a truck pulled in, one of those little Toyota pickups that simply refused to die, its once royal blue paint faded and oxidized by the California sunshine. The woman driving wore a pair of over-sized, blue-tinted sunglasses, and her mahogany-red hair threatened to escape a clip at the crown of her head.

  “Young,” Kathy quickly labeled her. “Probably between boyfriends. I give her six months, tops.”

  Her eyebrows lifted with surprise as the woman maneuvered into the parking space in front of the ramshackle house, giving her a full view of the contents of the truck bed. Plants. No mattresses, no dressers or coffee tables, no boxes covered in packing tape and black marker. Plants in huge clay pots and delicate ceramic bowls, hanging baskets and galvanized steel buckets. Verdant bundles wrapped in twine and burlap to protect them from the brilliant January cold. She shot a guilty glance over her shoulder at the one scraggly philodendron on a plant stand in the corner of the room. Between her irregular watering schedule and the fact that the dogs couldn’t resist chewing on the few brave tendrils that managed to creep over the lip of the yellow pot, it was a miracle the plant was still alive. Kathy loved plants, but she spent too much of her time and limited resources in futile efforts to add them to her life.

  She turned back to the window just as the woman threw open her driver’s side door and started talking, gesturing, and nodding effusively. It took a moment, but it finally dawned on Kathy that she was conversing with the plants themselves, making her way around the truck bed, cooing and smiling, fondling leaves and petals, cheering, and clapping her hands.

  Kathy muttered to the old and rather obese Labrador that wandered out from under the table. “She’s talking to her plants. Like they understand her or something.” She twirled a finger around in circles at her temple and rolled her eyes. “I just don’t get some people, Heidi.” The dog responded by licking her hand and flopping its tail against her legs.

  She turned away from the window, and coughed deeply again. She hated the way her lungs felt, as though they were being shaken around inside her chest like a baby’s toy rattle, but the cough was something she’d earned after forty years of smoking, and she’d learned to live with it. When she caught the seasonal cold, however, it always frightened her a little. Sometimes she’d cough so long and hard, she feared her insides would fly out of her mouth.

  She made her way through the obstacle course of her kitchen to the sofa and dropped into one corner, strategically situating herself so she could monitor both her favorite morning soap opera and the activity outside the window. Heidi clambered up onto the cushion next to her. “That’s all we need, huh, little girl? Another crazy neighbor.” She sighed loudly and leaned her head back on the cushions behind her. Heidi blinked once and sighed, too.

  She woke with a start, her open-mouth snoring loud inside her stuffed-up head, and peered up at the clock again. She’d been asleep for over an hour! Heidi stood at the front door, scratching to get out, and fat, little Trixie waddled out from the tiny bedroom to see what was going on, her stubby tail wiggling frantically. Bella Basset let out one deep woof from where she lounged on the end of Kathy’s bed. Kathy sat up, massaged a crick in her neck, then turned to check on her new neighbor.

  She could hardly believe the transformation that had taken place outside her window while she napped. She forgot all semblance of subterfuge and pulled the sheer panel back to see more clearly. Squinting, her eyes bleary from sleep, she struggled to comprehend what she was seeing. She turned and snatched up the set of binoculars off the end table beside the sofa. They still technically belonged to her ex-husband, but he’d never been back to claim them, so she put them to good use keeping an eye on the comings and goings in the park. It was rather convenient that the park’s laundry station was practically outside her front door.

  On the stoop of Space #12 sat a huge terracotta pot overflowing with fluttering yellow honeysuckle—in flower!—that stretched its tendrils up to the roof and along the low eaves. It formed a natural archway leading to the front entry of the house, and it l
ooked like it’d been growing there for years. Delicate clusters of pink and purple flowers fire-worked out of a peat moss basket hanging from a decorative hook mounted on the wall below the porch light, softening the askew lines of the door frame. She thought they might be nemesia, or some kind of salvia, but she wasn’t certain.

  On the patio, in huge pots, red, pink, and white petals hovering over dark foliage had to be cyclamen. Kathy recognized them because they grew right outside her own picket fence, but the only time she’d seen them look so healthy and bloom so enthusiastically was on the shelf at the home improvement center where the plants were all on steroids.

  Troughs of bushy geraniums were just on the brink of flowering, what looked like a huge camellia was in full bloom, and were those yellow blossoms African daisies? In January? An old-fashioned hydrangea and a spike-leafed aloe vera odd-coupled in a pedestal urn that was dark with the patina of age and countless waterings. Begonias, blue forget-me-nots, and frilly ferns were tucked into shady spots all over the patio, and nestled among the roots of a mulberry tree that spread its branches over the little creek.

  In the flowerbed beneath the front window, thick-leaved jades—standard issue in most rentals in Southern California—showed off the last of their winter blooms. Some quick and aggressive weed excavation had uncovered the two rose bushes that had somehow survived over the years, and exposed a few saucy snapdragons and a blanket of alyssum the weeds hadn’t choked out completely. The roses had been hacked back to sticks, and Kathy wondered if the woman realized it was way late in the season for trimming roses.

  Wind-chimes and friar bells hung in the rafters of the porch, their various tones creating harmonies in the breeze, while sun-catchers sent rainbows of light dancing across the tiny yard. She looked over at the clock on the wall for the third time, feeling a little like Rip Van Winkle waking up from his hundred year snooze.

  “How the hula did she do that?”

  Chapter 2

  Heidi and Trixie were snuffling and scratching with renewed fervor, and Kathy realized she had a perfect excuse to spy on her neighbor more openly. “Oh, all right. Let’s all go outside for some fresh air.”

  She pushed open the front door and was nearly bowled over as the dogs scampered past her and out into the yard. “Hey!” she cried out, unprepared for their exuberance.

  “Are you all right?”

  Kathy’s eyes flew to the gate, even more unprepared for the woman who stood there. “Oh! Oh my! You scared me!” She pressed a hand to her chest and took a few deep breaths. “I have a heart condition, you know.” Her words came out more gruffly than she’d intended.

  “Oh dear. I did not know that. I didn’t mean to startle you. I just came by to introduce myself; I’m your new neighbor.” By now the dogs were snuffling and pawing at the gate, trying to get out. Heidi was actually up on her two back legs, her front paws resting on the crossbar as she leaned her head into the woman’s stroking hand. “Hello, pretty girl. You are a lovely old dear; yes, you are.”

  Kathy frowned. “Careful. They don’t really do well with strangers.”

  “Of course they don’t. Neither do I. I mean, strangers are so strange, right?” She gave Heidi one last scratch behind the ear, reached over and ruffled Trixie’s mop, then held aloft the rectangular twig basket she carried. “This is for you. And your pups, of course.”

  “Oh. Well. Thank you.” Kathy fumbled for words. Oh dear. What would Lucy say when she saw treats for everyone but her?

  “And I don’t want to forget this.” The woman withdrew a small drawstring pouch from her pocket and tucked it inside the basket. “This is for your kitty. She came by earlier and fell in love with it. When she wandered this way, I guessed you were her person.”

  Kathy made her way down the two steps and across the small yard to the gate. She thought she smelled vanilla and cinnamon, and her mouth began to water in anticipation. The image of a large kitchen, a small boy, and the floury aftermath of several batches of Christmas cookies flashed through her mind, and she smiled at the memory. She would have to call her Makani tonight. She wondered if he was eating well.

  Her neighbor thrust an open hand over the gate. “I’m Willow. Willow Goodhope.”

  Of course, Kathy thought as she took the proffered hand. Even her name sounds organic.

  “I’m Kathy. And welcome. I was going to come over and see if you need anything. Or any help. I mean, moving can be so much work. But... well, I.....” She was flustered again, at a loss for polite excuses.

  “Work? On a day like this?” Willow waved a hand dismissively. “Oh no. This is a day for doing absolutely nothing. In fact, I’m going to go put the tea kettle on, curl up with a good book, and revel in my new home. I just had to make sure the plants were settled in first. But the rest? Well, moving in will take care of itself, you know?”

  “How did you do all of that so quickly?” Kathy jutted her chin in the direction of the cottage. “It just doesn’t seem possible.” She didn’t intend to sound rude, but she really wanted to know. She loved her little yard and put hours into it every week, but she’d lived here over ten years now, and she couldn’t remember it ever looking so lovely. Somehow, this Willow Goodhope had turned the preexisting eyesore across the way into a greeting card. In little more than an hour!

  “The plants? I know! They just settled right in, as though they belong here.” Willow held up her hands, palms facing Kathy. “God’s incredibly creative, isn’t he? And he gave me green thumbs, so I get to participate.” She beamed, as if that explained everything.

  The hands she held out for examination were roughened and callused, dirt under the nails. It seemed inconsistent with everything else about her, but it made perfect sense, really. The plants didn’t climb into those pots on their own volition.

  “Well, thank you again and...welcome. Again.” Kathy patted the basket, then snapped her fingers at the dogs. “You girls stop sniffing the neighbor! Go on inside, now. Go!” She looked up, a little embarrassed by their exuberance. “I’m really sorry. They usually just bark at folks, then run away.”

  “It’s fine. They’re just curious. Yes, you are, aren’t you?” Willow reached down, gave Heidi’s ear a gentle tug, and turned to leave. “Don’t hesitate to visit, Kathy. I mean it. Anytime, okay?” She fluttered her fingers in the air and headed back across to her own place.

  Kathy stood for a few moments longer, watching the woman’s long, full skirt sweeping along the ground behind her. What an odd cookie, she thought. Remembering the promise of cinnamon sugar cookies, she glanced down at the basket in her arms. She lifted the cloth that covered the contents and studied them, perplexed and delighted at the same time. The Christmas cookie aroma was gone.

  Nestled in the folds of a currant-colored dishtowel was a set of two oriental-style mugs with no handles. Inside one was a small honey bear bottle; in the other, two old-fashioned tea balls on chains. A muslin drawstring bag was stuffed with something crinkly and lumpy, and a stitched-on label gave a description of the contents in pretty, scrolled handwriting.

  Elderberries, flowers, ginger, and lemon zest,

  Add a dollop of honey and you’ll be sure to get some rest.

  Colds, coughs, fevers, and malaise,

  They’ll all flee and the flu will fly away.

  The bag for Lucy held a stuffed crocheted ball on the end of an elastic string. Kathy could smell the pungent catnip, and something else earthy and pleasant, and she had no doubt Lucy would, indeed, appreciate the toy.

  The basket also contained a wax-paper packet of peanut-butter cookies, the tell-tale crisscross pattern on top of each one. She lifted them to her nose and wondered if perhaps she’d been mistaken—maybe it was these she’d smelled earlier and not cinnamon sugar cookies after all. She tore open an end of the package, pulled a cookie out, and took a bite. Not very sweet. In fact, they were almost a little salty, but the peanut butter flavor was rich and robust, making up for any other minor defects the crunchy cookies m
ight have. They’d probably taste better dunked in cold milk.

  She lifted the edge of the towel, searching for the promised pup treats, but the basket was empty.

  “Oh!” she exclaimed, realizing her mistake. “These must be for you!” Her dogs still sat pining at the gate for the neighbor who had disappeared inside her little home. Kathy, on the other hand, was greatly relieved that Willow hadn’t been there to witness her faux pas.

  “Come on, you naughty kids. Look!” She waved a cookie above their heads and laughed out loud. “I have treats for you. And I have to admit they’re the best doggy treats I’ve ever tasted!”

  Chapter 3

  Willow’s hair was woven into a braid that swished back and forth behind her as she worked. The yard was covered in leaves that had swept in during the heavy winds the night before, and she was busy raking them into heaping piles. She hummed to herself and paused periodically to look up into the branches over her head at a bird that seemed to be conversing with her.

  Kathy and Myra stood at the window together, discussing the new neighbor.

  “I just don’t get it. How did she know I was sick?”

  “Don’t look at me,” Myra shrugged as she poked around through the contents of the gift basket. Holding up the bag of peanut butter cookies, she giggled. “Can I try one? I’ve never tasted a dog treat before.”

  “You’re such a silly old lady, Myra.” Kathy didn’t mean for her words to be unkind, and she knew Myra knew it. They were both silly. And old. That’s why they got along. “Do you want some tea with that biscuit? We can be proper British ladies while we spy on the new girl.”

  “Your skin is too brown to be British, Kathy-la, and my accent is too strong. No one would believe us.” Myra bit into a cookie and reached over to pull back the curtain.