There was Dill’s house off to the right, completely visible from front to back. The roof was missing shingles here and there, and generally looked as rundown from above as it did from the ground level, but the place had a backyard as big as a soccer field – and with next to nothing in it. A rusty metal swing set and concrete patio kept the weeds company before the overgrown grass gave way to more forest.
Separating Grandfather’s property from the tiny house was the rickety fence where Peter had met Dill just moments before. Its sagging rails and leaning posts stretched down the meadow for hundreds of yards, then finally collapsed in a jumble of rotting logs beneath the overhanging tree branches.
Back in Grandfather’s yard, an untrimmed barrier of rose bushes ringed the house. Even from this height, Peter could see the different colored blooms: red, pink, yellow, white, and a dozen variations.
Funny, Grandfather didn’t seem like the kind of guy to grow roses.
“I’m surprised Mom didn’t want this room for herself,” Peter mused.
“Everyone gets the rooms I assign them.”
“Why’d you give me the one with the window?”
“In case anything ever came through it, I figured you’d handle it best.”
Peter stared at his grandfather for a hint of a smile, any indication of a joke. There was none.
Okaaaaay…
Peter turned back to the window.
A hundred feet beyond the roses was what he guessed to be the garden Dill had mentioned. It was surprisingly large, about half as big as his old school’s soccer field, but overgrown and wild-looking, with a forest of green corn stalks standing guard over twisted mounds of vines. Here and there were bright green specks that could have been watermelons, he supposed.
“I guess the garden grew back,” Peter commented absentmindedly. Only after the words were out did he realize maybe that wasn’t the best subject to bring up.
“What did that little vandal tell you?” Grandfather snapped.
“Uhhhhh, he said there was an accident. But it looks like everything’s fine now,” Peter added with forced cheerfulness.
“Stay out of that garden, boy,” Grandfather commanded.
What a relief. Unhappy visions of himself toiling and sweating in the midday sun, picking peas and cucumbers, completely disappeared.
“Are you the only one who works out there?” Peter asked warily.
“No one works out there. It’s not our garden. Stay out of it.”
Peter looked back in confusion. Beyond the garden, the vast meadow was empty except for a jumble of stones that looked tiny in the distance.
“Is it Dill’s family’s?”
“It’s no one’s. Leave it alone, and DON’T GO INTO THAT GARDEN. And don’t go down to the ocean, either.”
“What?!” Peter gasped. “That’s the ocean down there?”
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Copyright © 2008 Darren Pillsbury. All rights reserved.
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