Honey (Shooting Stars 4)

In my heart I knew it would come; it would come soon.

8 Making Beautiful Music

Despite his constant Bible-thumping and hell and damnation speeches. Grandad Forman was not a churchgoing man. In fact, he was highly critical of organized religion, calling it just another exploitation and therefore another playground for the devil. Mommy chastised him for this, especially on Sunday when she. Daddy. and I would get dressed up and 20 to church. Uncle Simon was too shy about meeting people and being out in public, and Mommy never pressured him, but she and Grandad often argued about his refusal to attend the Lord's house of worship.

"I don't need no preacher to tell me what God wants of me and what He don't," Grandad insisted.

"You need to bow your head in the house of the Lord more than any of us," Mommy threw back at him.

Their eyes locked and Grandad left the room or walked away, mumbling to himself. He did spend his early Sunday time alone, reading his Bible, the pages of which were worn so thin, the edges were torn and yellow. From the time I was a little girl on, I was always fascinated by the way he gripped it in his hand, holding it tightly between his thumb and fingers as he would the handle of a hatchet or a hammer, sometimes waving it at one of us. especially Uncle Simon. When he did. Grandad's eyes were always brightened, luminous and shiny, resembling stones in a brook. After seeing Star Wars. I had a dream in which I saw a ray of light come out of Grandad's Bible, which he wielded like a sword over us all, even Uncle Simon.

Every Sunday. after I returned from church and changed into my jeans. I would hurry out to help Uncle Simon weed his garden and tend to his plants. This Sunday I was very excited because I was going to give him his birthday present. Mommy had already told him about our special dinner, after which we would have his birthday cake. I found him on his knees, working around a patch of ginger lilies. Everything I knew about flowers. I knew because of Uncle Simon.

It was a particularly beautiful late spring day with a breeze as gentle as a soft kiss caressing my face. Against the western sky_ , I saw a string of clouds so thin they looked like strips of gauze. A flock of geese in their perfect V-formation were making their way farther north. What a wonderful day for a birthday I thought.

As I approached Uncle Simon. I could hear him muttering lovingly to his flowers. It brought a smile to my face. As if he had known where my uncle Simon was this morning, the minister had preached about a respect for life and how that gave us a deeper appreciation of ourselves, our own souls. and God's precious gifts.

"Happy birthday, Uncle Simon," I said, and he turned quickly and looked up at me, his bushy eyebrows lifting like two sleeping caterpillars. He looked from me to the gift box in my hands, and then wiped his hands on the sides of his jeans and stood up.

"What's that?" he asked.

"Your birthday present." I thrust it toward him. "From me. Mommy, and Daddy." I said. I wasn't going to include Grandad, not only because he didn't contribute to it, but because he ridiculed birthdays.

Uncle Simon took the box so gently in his large hands. I smiled. "It's nothing breakable," I said.

He stood there, gazing down at it, looking overwhelmed by the fancy wrap.

"Open it," I urged, anxious to see his reaction to the gift.

He looked at me and nodded. He tried taking the paper off carefully, but it tore and he looked disappointed in himself. Then he opened the box and gazed at the new garden tools.

"O000h," he said, stretching his expression of pleasure as if he was peering down at some of the world's most precious jewels. "Good. Thank you. Honey."

I smiled and stepped forward, lifting myself on my toes to kiss him on the cheek.

"Happy birthday, Uncle Simon."

He nodded and took out the tools, turning them around and inspecting each more closely.

"They're almost too pretty to use," he said. He gazed at his old, rusted, crudely made ones as if he was about to say a final good-bye to an old, dear friend.

"It'll make your flowers happier," I said.

He smiled.

"Yes, it might," he agreed and turned to scrape away some weeds.

I got down beside him and we worked in silence for a while, His garden was growing so well and was so large now, people came around to see it and offer to buy flowers from him. He cherished every plant so much, he was at first reluctant to give any up. but Mommy convinced him by telling him he was giving the flowers added life through the pleasure and enjoyment others took in them. He would have done most anything Mommy asked him to do anyway, I thought.

When Grandad Forman saw that he was beginning to make some significant money with his flowers, he told Uncle Simon he had to give him a percentage for the use of the land. Uncle Simon would have given him all of it. but Mommy stood between them like a broker and negotiated Grandad down to ten percent. She found out what a fair price was for each of the flowers. too. Recently, Daddy had brought up the idea of making a regular nursery, investing in a greenhouse,

"It would be a profitable side business," he declared.

"I can't see putting any real money behind him," Grandad said.

"Why not?" Mommy challenged. "Has he ever failed to do something you asked him to do? Has he ever neglected his chores?"

"He's got the brain of a child," Grandad insisted.