Zera and the Green Man by Sandra Knauf

always faded with absence, and it stirred her to see it again. Besides the main house, there were six other buildings on the property. Zera searched for the small, robin’s-egg blue cottage with its attached greenhouse/solar energy collector. It had sat at the far north end of the property, barely visible from the driveway. This house, nestled amid apple, sour cherry, and plum trees, was Nonny’s home, or at least it had been, when she wasn’t “adventuring.” But the house had been standing empty for a few years now. After Zera’s parents died, Nonny had moved out of the cottage and into the main house so she could better take care of the dogs and chickens.
      A trio of tiny buildings sat on the other side of the driveway. Once they’d been two-room vacation cottages, rented out to tourists, but by the time Nonny bought the property they’d been empty for years. One became a chicken house. At its door hung a sign Zera made when she was six, “Fresh Eggs,” written in childish white letters on a green background and sprinkled with glitter. Her mom had praised her artistry. “It’s perfect, honey, a masterpiece .” Zera’s mother had treated every piece of her artwork as if it were a Picasso or an O’Keeffe.
    Next to the chicken coop was her mother’s art studio, the lavender cottage. In front was a fountain, a seven-foot-tall metal flower. Below the petals four fairies had been welded to a rotating rim. As the sun-powered fountain ran, the fairies appeared to fly beneath the flower, just out of reach of the glittering “rain.” Purple lilac shrubs grew on both sides of the doorway and were still in bloom.
    The last cottage, painted pink and green, was Zera’s childhood playhouse. On its small brick porch sat a life-size bronze figure of three-year-old Zera, chubby hands holding a bouquet of wildflowers.  
    Off in the distance sat a low-slung barn which was never used for livestock by their family, but had been used for parties and concerts. Another barn, this one taller and built of stone, stood near it: her father’s music studio. Zera remembered playing outside as classical, jazz, or rock -and-roll music drifted from the building. Memories came in waves, crashing through her.
    Tiffany stopped the convertible in front of the stucco main house. Two stories tall, it was painted barn red with a stained wood balcony extending across the front. The lower floor, dominated by a huge wrap-around porch, was furnished with comfortable wicker furniture and enclosed by rose-covered trellises. Hundreds of fat, pinkish-white buds swelled among the green leaves. Zera’s mouth dropped open. The roses, how could I have forgotten them? That perfume. Without thinking, she took in a deep breath, as if she could smell them now, before they even opened.
    Tiffany stopped the car and the front door of the home opened. Out flew Alice, Zera’s Dalmatian.
    “Alice, stop!” yelled Nonny, following Alice, but the command was useless. Alice leapt into the back seat and on top of Zera. Whining, the dog covered Zera’s face with canine kisses. Alice increased her whining in volume when Zera cried out in pleasure.
    Tiffany leapt out of the car and threw open the back door. “Oh, that dog. That dog!” she screamed. “She’s probably scratching the upholstery! Out of my car! Now!”
    “I can’t get up,” Zera said, laughing. “She won’t let me.”
    Tiffany grabbed Alice’s collar and Alice growled. Tiffany let go.
    “Theodore, do something! My upholstery! ”
    Zera said, “I’ll get her.” She eased out the door, one hand on the dog’s collar. Alice, pressed against her as if attached with glue, left the back seat happily.
    “Good girl, Alice.”
    The dog whined in reply and stuck her nose firmly into Zera’s palm.
    Nonny, wearing a sunshine-yellow skirt and denim shirt, surveyed the scene from the porch, then, as fast as her turquoise-topped cane allowed, hop-hobbled down the stairs to her granddaughter. Cato,