The Artist

Two hours and a keyboard...

Herbert Henderson's front yard was a mess. A very well-known mess to most of the citizens of this small, sleepy Midwestern town. Almost as well known as the yard's owner, who was an unhappy old grump most of the time, and an unhappy old grouch the rest of the time.
He insisted that it wasn't his fault. Not really, anyway. He had to use a walker, it hurt to kneel and pull weeds, and if the dang Boy Scouts would live up to their promise to take care of his yard, it wouldn't look so bad. Granted they did mow the lawn every now and then, but that had resulted in three broken sprinkler heads so far. Heads he had resorted to covering with rocks to keep them from geysering like Old Faithful and wasting water instead of sprinkling...
His train of thought trailed off as he stood on his porch, staring. Not again. Someone had kicked the rock off the broken head on the far corner. Now he had to walk across the lawn and replace it. Grumbling all the way, he did so, settling it over the broken sprinkler, then turned around and surveyed the lawn from the other direction.
It had been nice, once. His late wife, Janice, had lovingly tended the flowerbeds, chatting now and then with the various lawn ornaments she had scattered throughout. He had teased her once about talking so much to a bunch of wood and metal. She had teased him right back, insisting that the butterfly was a great listener, and the ladybug never interrupted...
The ladybug. It was gone.
Blistering fury filled him from head to toe as he hobbled quickly across the half-dead lawn to the flowerbed. Right there, between the wilted and stunted lilies, was an obvious hole. He was quite used to the neighborhood kids' "pranking" him, but they had never resorted to outright theft.
It had to be around here somewhere. He noticed vaguely that whoever had pulled up the ladybug had also pulled quite a few of the weeds, but that was only to be expected. They couldn't get hold of the wooden stake that held it up without removing the giant bull thistle that had once warded it like a jealous lover.
After nearly an hour of searching, he had to conclude that his first suspicion was right. The sun-faded ladybug with the peeling paint and only one black glass bead eye was gone. He felt a rising sense of mingled rage and helplessness.
Janice had loved that ladybug. They had traveled a lot in their youth, visiting flea markets and artists stands in large cities. She had fallen in love with the small yard ornament immediately, to the point that she insisted that the artist autograph it. About half of her beloved garden guardians had been signed.
He wondered who had taken it, and why. Some kind of vicious prank? Would he find it on the roof in a week or two, broken and useless? Or would they display it in their own yard like some kind of sick trophy? Of course, if they did that, they ran the risk of adult intervention. Most of the adults in this town didn't like him, but they at least tolerated him, and they didn't let the kids "disrespect the old man".
With a heavy, pained sigh, he forced himself back up to his feet, and over to the porch. With the coming of late spring, the weather was nice enough to sit and watch, waiting for the pranksters to return. The evergreens that had once been sculpted in graceful spirals now resembled hair monsters, creating a perfect screen for him to hide behind.
The school bell rang, and he heard the chatter of youngsters headed home for the day. He watched them closely, his face twisted in an angry frown. Would they give themselves away? Would he see the guilt on the face of the miscreant that had so blithely walked away with one of the few memories he had left of his wife, the light of his life?
A group of girls passed by in front of him. The town was small enough, they didn't have a separate middle and high school. All of the older kids attended the joint secondary school, though there was talk of building a middle school soon. These girls looked like they ranged in age from seventh to ninth grade.
All... but one.
He had noticed her before. She looked no bigger than a third grader, with long, braided pigtails that hung nearly to her knees. The other kids were still friendly and kind to her, keeping her in the middle of their "pack", as if to ward her from predators.
His eyes narrowed. Usually, if she noticed him watching her, she would at least attempt a small smile and a wave. To which he would respond with a tolerant nod. But not this time. She ducked behind a larger girl, keeping her eyes averted from the house. Guilty as sin.
He pulled himself back to his feet and hobbled to the railing. "You! Hey, you! Small fry! What did you do with it?"
The girls slowed, staring at him in confusion. The small girl was still behind a friend, who had pulled herself to her full, admittedly impressive height. From her designer tennis shoes and basketball shorts, he guessed she was some kind of sport captain. "What did you say?" she shouted back.
"I ain't talking to you, girl. I'm talking to the shrimp. What did you do with the ladybug?"
The girls turned to each other, whispering angrily now, while the tall once put her hands on her hips.
"I don't care who you think you're talking to, nobody talks to her like that! I don't know what bug you are talking about, but she hasn't done anything wrong!"
He felt his blood boiling as he hobbled down off the steps. "Shut your mouth, kid! Someone stole the ladybug ornament from the flowerbed, and I want to know who! She won't even look at me, it's gotta be her! Where is it?" he demanded, finally approaching the group close enough to see her.
But only for a moment. The others closed in around her protectively, two of them actually having the gall to assume karate stances. "You mess with her, you deal with all of us, old man!" one of them shouted from the back. "She's not a thief, she didn't steal anything!"
He glared at them, noticing that a few of the neighbors were now starting to take notice, one of the pulling out a cell phone and quickly dialing just three digits. It didn't take much brains to guess who they were calling.
He turned his head to look down at the small girl, raising a hand and shaking a finger at her. "I'll give you one chance, girl. I want the ladybug back in my yard by tomorrow morning, or I'll call the police on you! Don't forget, my cousin is the chief, and he don't take kindly to thieves. Even shrimps like you. Got it?"
The tall girl got right in his face, making him stumble backward a step in shock. "I said leave her alone!" she practically screamed. "She didn't do anything to you, and I don't care who your cousin is! You don't have the right to harass her either! Leave her alone or I'll call the looney bin to lock you up!"
With that parting shot, the girls put their arms around each other and hurried down the street, muttering and shooting him angry looks. Only a minute later, a car pulled up with a very tired and aggravated Chief Paulsen inside.
"What is it this time, Herb?" he asked. "I have more than enough to deal with than deal with your constant calls about kid pranks."
"Someone stole Janice's ladybug," Herbert said, pointing to the flowerbed. "I think I know who, and I want you to force her to give it back!"
Paulsen rolled his eyes. "Herb, the law don't work like that, and you know it. Yeah, sometimes I'll cross the line just a tad to save time, but you can't just accuse someone without proof. You don't have proof, do you?"
"She's acting all guilty--"
"Behavior means nothing in the eyes of the law, Herb," the chief snapped. "Unless you have proof, my hands are tied. If you don't want your garden critters stolen, then take them inside. And get rid of these weeds, will ya? You are breaking a half dozen city codes."
With that, Chief Paulsen returned to his car and drove away. Herb fumed, noticing a few of his snoopy neighbors watching the scene closely. With a glare at them, he turned and went back to his porch.
What if he was wrong? No, his instincts were usually right. The girl knew something, even if she wasn't the guilty party. He was going to get answers, and he would get them any way necessary.

The confrontation occurred on a Friday afternoon. Saturday and Sunday were rainy, which made it uncomfortable for any kind of surveillance. He came back out on Monday, ready to cuss a blue streak. The rock had been moved from all three broken sprinklers this time.
Stomping across the yard as well as he could with a walker, he checked the first one, and stopped dead, just staring. The broken sprinkler head had been replaced entirely with a brand-new one. Carefully, he spun it. The head had been perfectly calibrated to spray across his hard. He then examined the other two to find the same thing.
"Well, 'bout time," he muttered, assuming that the Boy Scouts had finally come to repair the damage they'd caused. After all, the assistant Scout Master lived three doors down. Maybe his wife had told him about the stolen ladybug, and out of pity, they had tried to make up for...
He stopped again, blinking. It couldn't be.
Walking slowly this time, thinking that he had to be dreaming, he approached the flowerbeds. The ladybug was back. Not only was it bad, it had been completely restored, right down to the black glass bead eyes. Gently, he tugged it out of the ground and examined it carefully.
Whoever had done the restoration was a master artist. They had even traced the signature of the artist very carefully with red paint, and sprayed the whole piece with a fresh coat of hard lacquer. It would last another five years after such treatment, easily. He put it back in its place, noticing as well that more weeds had been pulled, and the telltale signs of scattered fertilizer could be seen around the struggling lilies.
He just stood there, leaning on his walker, staring. Who? And why? If it was the girl... no. It couldn't be. But maybe...
It would explain why her friends had been so angry and defensive. But how could they have known? Had they helped her?
That afternoon, as school let out, he was careful to conceal himself behind the bushes where they couldn't see. He needn't have worried. They crossed the road before walking by his house, avoiding even looking in his direction. The shrimp was once again concealed in the center of the group, with the giant in the sports clothes keeping herself positioned to block any view of his house.
He tried to maintain his feeling of righteous indignation. After all, even if she had restored it, she had lied about not taking it. Or had she? What had the older girl said, 'she didn't do anything wrong'?
Wordplay, to hide the truth. If he said or did anything about it now, it would be a poor way to repay her kindness. And perhaps she'd had something to do with the sprinklers as well. He would just have to watch and wait, and maybe he could figure out her game.

A pattern formed over the next few weeks. Overnight, one of the ornaments would disappear, along with the weeds that had once concealed it. The beehive with the fluttering bees on wires around it, then the boy and girl gnomes sitting on a bench together, then the tall, graceful heron standing on one leg... all lovingly restored by expert hands, and returned to his flowerbeds within a few days. The flowerbed itself was also restored by someone who obviously knew a thing or two about gardens.
He kept watching the girls, hoping to catch the eye of the little one. He never could, but he did notice that she looked ill. Very pale, and sometimes she shook, and had to be helped along by her companions. He felt terrible, worried that her midnight excursions into his yard were taking too high of a toll on her.
But he hesitated to approach her directly, not sure how the others would react. He just waited, figuring that when the work was done, he could possibly send her a thank you card by way of the school office. Surely they had to know who this tiny, fragile girl was.
The day came that the final ornament vanished. A beautiful stained-glass butterfly nearly as big as his head. His midnight elves had also done some trimming on his bushes, but left the one he hid behind, which told her that they knew very well that he was watching them. He didn't mind. He felt confused, but grateful, that these strange people were choosing to be kind to the most unpleasant person in town. Though he didn't feel nearly so grouchy these days. It wasn't as it had been in the old days, with his wife. But he held doors open at the senior center, he nodded and tried to smile at people at the grocery store... and they noticed. They would give him a smile, and nod back, and continue on their way.
He waited with anticipation for the butterfly. But this time, it didn't come back. He waited for a week, and then two. He started to worry... what if it had broken? It was glass, after all. Were they having to restore it completely, rebuilding it from scratch?
He promised himself that no matter what happened, he wouldn't get angry. Or impatient. He would wait until the butterfly came back.
Four weeks after it had vanished, he was sitting on his front porch, dozing in the summer heat. School had been out for three weeks, and he hadn't seen the tiny girl or her friends. His garden was flourishing under the attention of his unknown helpers, nearly as glorious as it had been under Janice's care.
He smiled to himself, remembering... on the last day of school, he had overheard an older boy talking to a friend, worried because he had forgotten to get his girlfriend flowers for her birthday. In a move that had surprised himself as much as the boy, he had waved the boy over and cut a few roses from the towering rose tree in the corner of the yard. He had wrapped them carefully in a piece of tissue paper from his closet, and given them to the boy. The kid had been utterly shocked, but thanked him profusely. After school, he had seen the boy and his girlfriend, hand in hand, walking home with one of the roses tucked in her hair.
It wasn't so hard to be nice. He often felt that life was unfair to him, ever since his wife's tragic death. But now... it didn't have to be hard. Lonely, yes. But he had friends. People that cared about him, and his wife's beloved garden.
"Mr. Henderson?"
He opened his eyes and looked out to the sidewalk. Standing at the stairs, looking up at him expectantly, was a woman from the school.
In her hand was the butterfly. As with all the others, it had been restored to its former glory, as beautiful as the day it was created.
A few tears came to his eyes as he stood and walked over, accepting the butterfly from her hands. He was confused. He had been so sure... had the girl been taking the pieces to her teacher to fix? That would explain the mastery of the restorations.
"Thank you," he managed finally, looking into her green eyes. "Thank you so much for all of these... they mean everything to me."
She smiled sadly. "I know. I knew your wife, you see. She was my art teacher when I went to this school, and after I took over, she helped me out for the first few years."
A name came to mind. "Chase...Melody Chase, right?"
Melody nodded. "Yes. You wife was my favorite teacher in all my years of school, even college. She talked about her garden so much, it was almost like her ornaments were her pets. She even had names for them."
He had forgotten about that. "That's true... this one was... Lily?"
"Loralei, actually."
Of course. The name they would have given their daughter, if they'd had any kids.
Then, as he watched in surprise, Melody turned and clapped her hands twice. From the bushes around the porch emerged some familiar faces. The schoolgirls. All were dressed in grubbies and wore gloves. As she nodded at them, they pulled garden tools from a bag and started to work.
Noticeably absent was the tiny girl. He looked from them to Ms. Chase. "Where is she?" he asked.
She sighed. "That, actually, is what I came to talk to you about. The girls wanted to bring the butterfly back, but it had been so long, they were afraid you would be angry, and try to arrest them."
He nodded guiltily, waving her over to the porch chairs. "I might have... once. They've been doing all this?"
"Yes. It was Gennyce's idea."
He blinked a few times. The similarity of the name to his wife's was unmistakable. "Is that the girl's name? The little one? She did all this?"
"Yes, her name was Gennyce Lawless."
He stared at her, his heart sinking. "Was...?"
She nodded, staring down at the butterfly. "She passed away last week," she barely managed in a choked voice.
Now, he felt even worse than ever. She was gone, before he had a chance to say anything. "I'm so sorry to hear it," he said. "I noticed she wasn't looking too good, those last few weeks of school."
"She was failing, but none of us knew it. I guess I should tell you everything from the beginning."
He just nodded.
Melody sighed, her eyes taking on the faraway look of a storyteller. "Gennyce was always a small girl, but it wasn't until the middle of grade school that her growth seemed to just... stop. Her parents took her to a few doctors, but they couldn't find anything wrong. And I'm sure you know, around here, our doctors don't exactly have a lot of resources to figure out stuff like this."
"Yeah, I know," he mumbled. They had caught his wife's cancer entirely too late to save her. He was all too familiar with the disinterested staff in the county hospital.
"This year, she knew something was badly wrong. I don't suppose you knew that she was actually the oldest girl in this group?"
That was interesting. Oldest... and no bigger than an eight year old? Really?
"Her friends knew too. That she was sick. When you yelled at her--and yes, I overheard that argument-- that was why they got so defensive of her. They didn't know about the ladybug yet, she asked them for help after that fight. They would come and do the yard work, and trade out the finished ornaments for her. She was the one that did the restorations on them. She has always been too sickly to do anything but sit, and so her parents made sure that she had plenty of things like art supplies. She is a far better artist than anyone in the school, even me."
As he listened, he watched the faces of the other girls. Even turned away, he could see the sadness and grief. They had lost one of the sweetest, kindest friends they could possibly have known. And he finally realized that he recognized one of them. The tall, athletic girl was clipping at his branches like a professional landscaper. Her face was the spitting image of the town florist. Of course his plants were thriving, under her expert care.
"But when she came to the butterfly, she was lost. She had never done glasswork like that before, and she was getting too weak to hold it for any length of time. So, she brought it to me and told me the whole story. I had noticed the yard, and after the argument, I figured... well, anyway, I got the work done, but with end of year exams, it took me longer than I thought. She collapsed one day in the library and was taken to the hospital, then airlifted to the city."
She pressed a hand to her head, as if in pain. "They found cancer. Loads of it, tumors everywhere. It was so advanced, there was nothing to be done. At least she died peacefully, no longer in pain. But she wasn't able to see the finished work in your garden."
"And... I couldn't ever tell her... how much it meant to me," he murmured in anguish. "I was going to... to send a note... to her. Through the office. But I had no idea she would be gone so soon."
They fell quiet for a minute, then he looked up at her again. "But... why? Why did she do all this in the first place? I'm the mean old man in town... why did she care?"
"If you remember, Janice also volunteered at the day care. Every one of these girls knew her, and knew about her garden. As to why they helped you... Gennyce knew she was sick, and she told me that she hoped if she did something really nice, she might earn a miracle. That her good deed could help save her life. Unfortunately, it didn't work out that way. She didn't get her miracle."
"But... it was a miracle all the same," he pointed out quietly. "Not for her... but for me. I don't think she'll ever understand what she did for me."
Melody smiled. "Oh, I think she did. She heard about the roses, by the way. That boy you helped? That was her cousin. He just graduated, and he is now engaged to his girlfriend. They will be married in August before going off to college."
He couldn't say anything to that. He just nodded.
After another long silence, she stood and held out a hand. "Would you like me to put that back in place for you?"
He stared at the butterfly for a long moment, then he shook his head. He stood, grabbing his hat from the edge of the chair, and putting it on. "Miss Melody... could you show me where she is? Little Gennyce?"
She stared at him in surprise, then nodded. "Of course."
He handed her the butterfly to carry, and hobbled down the stairs with her at his elbow. The girls had overheard and set aside their tools and gloves, falling into step with them. The tall girl, who identified herself as Jordan, walked on his other side and helped him avoid tree roots and cracks in the sidewalk.
It was only ten blocks to the city cemetery. He followed them toward the back, where he could see some yellowed sod laid over an area that was newly turned. It was only five lots down from where Janice rested. He paused for a moment, laying a fresh rose over her stone, then continued with the rest to the new grave.
He stopped and looked down. A wooden grave marker lay in the fresh turned dirt, already a bit cracked from the heat of the sun. It had been carved with roses and butterflies dancing around the girl's name and vitals.
He glanced at Ms. Chase. She sighed. "Her father has been out of work for a while, and they didn't have money for a marker. They asked me to make one, so I grabbed a chunk of wood from the shop class bin and made this."
He nodded, turning and staring back down at it.
"Afternoon, Herb."
He looked up, shading his eyes, and spotted Jack Tate, the caretaker of the cemetery. "Afternoon, Jack. Got a question for ya. What's the policy on decorations here? Can I leave one permanently?"
Jack approached, his eyes on the butterfly. "Really? Thought Janice wanted her critters to stay in her garden."
"She did. This one is for the little one," Herbert said, nodding at the wooden marker.
Jack's eyes lit up in understanding as he smiled, his face wrinkling under his broad-brimmed hat. "I see. If there was anyone in this town that deserved a giant butterfly, it's that one. She was my granddaughter's best friend."
"So, can I leave it here safely?"
"Sure thing. When winter comes, I'll just put it in the shed to keep it safe. Not sure how safe it'll be with that marker, though. I can usually mow around most of the stones, but that wood won't last long."
Herb thought, and an idea came to him. "I can take care of that."

One week later, Herbert Henderson stood with about half of the town around him, watching as cement was poured around the newly carved granite headstone over Gennyce's grave. He had requested that the butterfly's iron stand be set in the concrete, safely out of the way of Jack's mower. The butterfly itself could be easily detached with a couple of bolts removed.
The headstone itself was a replica of Melody Chase's painstaking woodcarving of roses and butterflies. Herbert had paid for it with his savings. Gennyce's mother and father were so overcome, they could hardly say a word as they marker was placed.
But his best surprise was yet to come.
The county had managed to come up with just enough money to build the new middle school, but not the land. Herbert donated the lot his house was on, as well as the large farm field behind it, which had been bequeathed by his grandfather and had been leased out to a local farmer for years. He had moved into a senior home across the street, watching in satisfaction as the building went up, day by day. In the process, Mr. Lawless had also found a job, as the head janitor of the new school.
Once it was finished, Herb pulled out a box from his closet, and walked over to the school. He stood at the window of the art class, where Melody Chase would work, and called up each of Gennyce's friends. They reverently placed each of Janice's beloved ornaments in the flower garden beneath the art class window.
Her pieces would be kept safe, for many years to come. He knew that Janice was smiling, wherever she was. And yet, as he watched the girls in their work to tend the school flower, chattering happily, he knew that Gennyce was just as happy with his thank you. She knew. Somehow... she knew.
And that, more than anything in his life, made him happy.