One bright Saturday morning, Mrs. Abner was brushing her hair in her bedroom, lamenting the fact that its long strands were not as silky and vibrant as they once had been, when through the window, she saw Lucas- the gardener’s seventeen-year old son- watering her English garden with a hose. The sprinkler must be broken, she thought. The young man stood erect with the hose like a weapon, so serious and intent in his endeavor, as if determined that every leaf and flower should receive a good showering from his hose.
Mrs. Abner’s stopped brushing her hair, and with furrowed brow, she quickly dressed and made her way downstairs to have a word with the young man.
Walking up to him, she said, “Hello Lucas, could you please tell me where your father is?”
When he heard her voice, he turned his head and stopped the flow of water.
“I see,” she said.
She was standing at arm’s length, but even from this distance, she could smell his musky scent. She felt a prickle run up the nape of her neck and a faint flutter in her heart.
“Listen Lucas,” she said taking a step closer to him, “I don’t mean to be rude, but I saw you talking to Martha and noticed the way you sprayed my garden with the hose. That is not the sort of thing that’s done around here.”
He adjusted the hose he held limply in one hand, and then he looked at her with his dark exotic eyes. She held her breath. His gaze was not that of a young one who has been reprimanded by an older peer, an employee subservient to his employer, nor that of a foreigner showing deference to the locals, but instead, his gaze had that violent fierceness of a passionate male trying to assert dominance over a female.
The hose dripped water on his shoe, and he looked down.
“I’m sorry, ma’am,” he finally said looking up at her. Was that a hint of a smile on his lips? “It won’t happen again.”
“Thank you, Lucas,” she said touching his arm. “I’m glad you understand. I will keep this between us, as I’m sure you won’t do it again.”
“I won’t, ma’am,” said the young man, his face turning red- though from anger, embarrassment, or both, she could not tell.
“You may call me Mrs. Abner.”
She felt terrible for being so cruel to him, but if he wanted to be a man and fight those endless battle of the sexes, then he might as well spar with the best of them. She looked at him, expecting his full lips to utter her name, and held her breath in anticipation.
His lips curved into a sly smile, then he simply nodded, tipped his cap, and continued watering her garden.
Lucas had moved to another part of the garden in full view of her window. He briefly raised his eyes, shaded by the brim of his cap, and looked towards her. He casually lowered the hose in his hand and pressing his thumb on the tip, he swayed back and forth and sprayed her flowers with wanton abandon.
In the sun, his moist skin glistened. She gently stroked her hair as the air between them shimmered, and a small rainbow arched over Mrs. Abner’s English Garden.
Animation: Mrs. Abner's English Garden
Creator:
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