The Human Trial by Audrey Gale

Author:Audrey Gale [Gale, Audrey]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Audrey Gale
Published: 2023-08-24T20:41:52+00:00

Chapter Ten

Social Security

1935

Elizabeth sat at the desk in the library of the Archers’ new home, daydreaming about finishing its backyard. Her view of the yard was framed by the French doors open before her. The multi-arched arcade running the length of the structure at its rear added further visual framing. An abundant garden was taking form in her head as she referenced possibilities in the glossy gardening book lying open on her lap.

“I always envisioned parterres for my first garden,” she commented. “But then again, I never imagined owning a home like this.” Archer’s signing bonus and salary, aided by Elizabeth’s inheritance from her grandmother, received when she turned the specified age of twenty-seven, had drastically changed the Archers’ standard of living, seemingly overnight.

Their new ‘Mediterranean Revival’ stood on a large, unfinished lot not far from campus. The previous owners had not completed the inside, moved in, nor begun to landscape. Like too many others whose personal finances collapsed with the economy, the owners were forced into a quick sale of the home—the unfortunate circumstance which sadly assisted the Archers in its purchase.

Seated in his favorite green leather club chair in his favorite room in the house, the wood-paneled library, Archer glanced up from his reading. “What did you say, Elizabeth? ‘Parterres?”’

“I don’t know why I mentioned them. They’d be ridiculous with a Spanish Colonial home. No more prim, symmetrical Federal style for us, Randall! I mean to embrace all that’s novel and unique in our new environment, as I’ve done with this home and now hope to do with its landscaping, especially the garden I’m conjuring.”

Archer snapped his newspaper sharply and returned to his reading with an irritated scoff, “Parterres.”

“Of course we’ll have roses, lots of them. This climate should ensure a beautiful yield, year after year. I’m thinking about a gurgling fountain in the middle of the backyard,” she said, staring at the spot behind the house, unaware her husband had tuned her out. She flipped a few pages of the book on her lap, pausing to dream aloud. “Lush plantings of lavender surrounding a fountain in Moorish tiles of purples, blues, yellows, and of course terracotta to match the terracing we’ll install in the arcade. A pergola covered with weeping wisteria between the garage and house. And while I’m thinking shades of purple, I could fill in with hydrangea, ceanothus, irises, offsetting pink bougainvillea—or maybe white? And fruit trees—plums are purple. But we must have an orange tree. They’re emblematic of our new city. And lemon . . .”

Elizabeth sighed with delight at the conjured image until the voice of her mother interrupted her daydreams. ‘Gardening, Elizabeth? It’s dirty and low, especially if one puts one’s own hands in the dirt!’ Elizabeth had always found it ironic that despite such opinions vigorously offered, Eleanor Perrish had been a proud founding member of the prestigious Beacon Hill Garden Club. Mother liked her flowers far removed from their muddy roots, she reflected.

Elizabeth, on the other hand, had been drawn to the glass conservatory behind Perrish House from an early age.

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