Front Yard by Norman Draper Page B

tea roses. The symmetry should work out just fine. It’s good to have a few manmade items sticking out of all the natural stuff.”
    Mary, meanwhile, had gotten up and was inspecting the backyard gardens, which were poised to spring to life once the temperatures rose, now that the rains had stopped and a bright, direct May sun was shining down on them.
    â€œAny day now,” Mary said, sitting back down at the patio. “God knows we’ve had plenty of rain. I can see the tips of hosta, there are buds on the creeping phlox, and the bleeding hearts are three inches tall. Hope they shoot up before getting covered by hosta leaves. Nothing wrong with the columbine. Another couple of days and they’ll be bursting out. Silver maples, ash, locust, and sugar maple just starting to leaf.”
    A white sedan of uncertain make, but which looked vaguely familiar, pulled into the driveway.
    â€œWho might that be?” wondered George.
    A lanky middle-aged woman wearing oversized sunglasses got out of the front passenger side of the car, followed by the driver, a shorter, stouter woman, also wearing sunglasses.
    â€œMy God!” cried George.
    â€œMy God?” said Nan. “What are you ‘my God-ing’ about?”
    â€œKeep looking. Because you will soon recognize Marta Poppendauber, accompanied by one Dr. Phyllis Sproot.”
    â€œMy God!” cried Nan.

9
    Reunion and Reparation
    â€œM ary, Shirelle, you girls go ahead and scoot. Go around to the front yard and continue staking out your plots, or whatever it is you’re doing now. Go on, shoo. George, a couple of gin and tonics for us, please. Mixed strongly. I think I’m going to need to fortify my constitution for this. Chop-chop!”
    â€œSo that’s the infamous Dr. Phyllis Sproot,” said Mary. “Ha-ha! I guess I better go fetch the shotgun and shells, huh, Ma?”
    â€œYou got a shotgun?” said Shirelle, who had grown up in the western part of the state, where you had to have bagged a minimum of four Canada geese and three mergansers before you could attend high school or get your driver’s license. “What kind? At this range, I’d say a twelve-gauge pump action. Five-shell magazine capacity. Yep, that should do the job just fine.”
    â€œScat, I said!” yipped Nan, and the two girls scurried off toward the back, then around the corner.
    â€œGeorge, are you armed?”
    â€œSure am,” said George, setting two freshened gin and tonics on the table. Nan took a quick sip, then puckered up her lips.
    â€œWhoa, George, are you loaded for bear or what!”
    The two women had been making their way deliberately up the steps from the driveway to the patio. Halfway up the steps, the tall, lanky woman stopped, seemingly oblivious to the two seated persons anxiously awaiting her arrival, and made a slight pivot to her right, turning her head to take in the full panorama of the still-dormant backyard.
    â€œThe season’s late this year,” she said, either addressing everyone or no one. The shorter woman smiled up at the Fremonts, then grabbed her companion by the crook of her arm and moved on slowly up the steps.
    â€œNan and George,” she said. “Long time, no see. How are you? How’s everything progressing this year?”
    â€œSlow, Marta,” said Nan. “Slow. As you can see. I’m afraid we don’t have much to show you yet. Dr. Sproot, I presume.” The taller woman nodded, her face largely shielded by her sunglasses. “And to what do we owe the pleasure of this visit?”
    Nan noticed that Dr. Sproot was carrying what appeared to be a miniature house; not a dollhouse or a birdhouse, but something in between. It looked a bit like an A-frame cabin open on one side and made of twigs and bark with flooring fashioned from stained popsicle sticks. Sphagnum peat moss and grass clippings had been stuffed into the corners of the structure,