“Honey, I give you this in love.” She handed Rebecca a pale-blue scrap of paper. On it was printed in a precise, firm hand: Do not be overcome by evil, but overcome evil with good. Romans 12:21.
Rebecca raised her eyebrows.
“Don’t let them get under your skin, is all.” Millie’s voice was quiet, the words soft as butter and the accent just as smooth. “But remember: If you do the right thing, you’ll come out on top.”
“Thanks.” Rebecca tried to smile. “Well, at least for tonight, I’m going to make like Madonna and celebrate. The paper is done, it looks fantastic, and I’m ready for a bubble bath and a good book.”
“Who’s Madonna?” Tiff blurted from her desk, then looked immediately like she wanted to eat her words. Even Millie turned to look at Tiff this time.
“Madonna, the pop star? You know—‘Material Girl,’ ‘Vogue,’ ‘Lucky Star?’” Rebecca waited for Tiff to remember. Nothing.
“Sorry.” Tiff blushed, tapped way-too-high stilettos against the base of the chair in a nervous click-click. “Before my time?”
Rebecca bit back a barb. “See you tomorrow.”
Pocketing the scripture, she slung her purse over her shoulder and headed out.
???
Back at the house, Rebecca found Granny on her knees in the rich brown dirt, her face shielded from the late afternoon sun by an oversized straw hat and her gloved hands buried in a mass of tangled roots and soil. She looked supremely, gloriously alive—nothing like her eighty-four years on this earth. She hummed to herself as she worked, occasionally speaking to the delicate baby plants.
“There you go, little one, into the soft ground where you’ll stay snug and safe,” Granny murmured as Rebecca approached, smilinga little as she guided the young plant into the dirt and patted the excess back around, just right.
Granny always said talking to her plants made them grow faster, stronger, and healthier than when she didn’t. She also said when you earned your wrinkles you earned license to do as you darn well pleased. Well, within reason.
Rebecca watched as Granny scooped up the rest of the leaves and one sad, squished half-root and piled them into a mound, then seemed to decide to bury them, too, and see what happened.
Her face broke into a grin as she looked at Rebecca.
“Never hurts to take a risk when it comes to growing things. In my experience, sometimes the worst mess of nothing can sprout the most vibrant testament to life.”
Rebecca grinned back. “I like that philosophy.”
Granny offered her cheek for a kiss.
“How’s the newspaper? Did you finish layout?” She peeled off her gardening gloves and slipped them into the bucket, along with the rest of the tools and scraps.
“Thankfully, yes.” Rebecca sat on the edge of the porch, briefcase at her feet, and rubbed her neck. “It wasn’t difficult so much as tedious. And it takes forever to do layout here. The computers are old, and my reporter is just out of college and—I don’t know, Granny.” She paused, unsure of how much to say, then shrugged. “It’s not what I’m used to.”
“I know, honey.” Granny gave her a sympathetic smile.
“You do?”
Granny cast her a look, settled on the porch step next to her granddaughter.
“I know what it’s like to be a long way from everything you’re used to, feeling like a square peg in a round hole, where everyone knows the customs and ways and manner of dress, and you’re left stumbling along, figuring it all out on your own.”
Rebecca looked over at her, remembering.
“It was hard for you, wasn’t it? After your parents died.”
“That’s right. I was fourteen, and my sisters and I were lucky enough to be taken in by our aunt and uncle here in Dahlia, though all of us were far more accustomed to farm work than town life. But you sink or you swim. I swam. Though it doesn’t make the process any easier. And Dahlia, well, I know it’s a long way from the Big Apple.”
“It really is.” Rebecca nodded, throat suddenly tight. “I know it’ll take time. But some days, Granny ...”
“The paper needs a lot of work.”
Rebecca’s eyes flashed. “Yes. And my reporter is a kid. She needs training on absolutely everything. The ad rep practically requires a shove for me to get her out of her chair to sell ads, unless it’s to her five best friends in town. And the secretary always gives me these disapproving glares or ‘helpful suggestions.’ It’s like I’m fighting an uphill battle.”
