Chapter 28 Chapter XXVII A Tale for Tom Lange

"It was 1895," said Hattie Bartholomew. "Tom, you and I skated down to Ely: that year was the year of the Great Freeze that is famous in history. That was the day we came home from Ely. We met Barty on the way, and he offered us a lift in his carriage." she laughed. "Before then, I had hardly spoken to Barty because I was always shy around people—and I still am, Tom. But that day was different: Barty and I were alone, and we talked a lot. It was very speculative, and I began to get to know each other slowly. Batty often said later that, in fact, he had already made up his mind to marry me as his wife before he turned the carriage into the side road.

"And so, after some time, he proposed to me, and I accepted him, and Aunt Melbourne was very anxious to get rid of me as soon as possible. “I got married on John the Baptist a year or so past the Big Freeze. The night before John the Baptist was my wedding eve. That night, as I was packing the last of my bags, I remembered my skates and Thinking of you, Tom. I put my skates where I promised you, and I knew I had to put them there, even though I hadn't seen you in a long time. I wrote a note explaining the situation , put it together with the skates." "I see it," said Tom, "and it's signed and dated."

"The date is the eve of John the Baptist in a certain year at the end of the last century. It was very hot and muggy on that eve of John the Baptist, and there was thunder in the sky. I couldn't sleep because of tossing and turning. I thought about the wedding the next day and the first I think for the first time of all that I am going to leave behind: my childhood, the times I spent in the garden—with you, Tom, in the garden. "A storm was coming, and there were streaks of lightning in the sky. I got up from my bed and looked out of the window. I could see the meadow, the big elm tree, and even the river bank—I saw it in the light of the lightning. all of these.

"And then I thought, I'm going to look at the garden by this lightning light too. How I longed to see the garden. I went into a spare bedroom at the back of the house that looked out on the garden, and it was a spare bedroom. " "I think I know which one you mean," said Tom, "I put my head in that door once." "Yes, I stood at the window and looked down at the garden. The storm was coming, and the lightning lit everything up. I could see the yew trees, and the greenhouses, as clearly as in daytime Same. Then I saw you." "Me?" exclaimed Tom, startled, "but I don't understand. When did I not see you?"

"You haven't looked up. I think you were walking around the garden, for you emerged from a path in the corner, across the lawn, to the porch of the house. You looked so faint and thin, like a patch of moonlight You were wearing pajamas—they were called pajamas, Tom? And in those days, most boys wore long shirts, and I didn't know short pajamas. I remember, your pajama top was unbuttoned. "You came to the porch, and I think you went in, because I never saw you again. I was standing at the window. I said to myself, 'He's gone, but the garden is here. The garden will always be.' Here, it never changes.

"Do you remember that tall fir tree, Tom—the one with the ivy all over its trunk? When I was little, I stood under that tree many times when the wind blew up and felt the earth beneath my feet. Rhythmically undulating, as if the roots were tugging like muscles. On that Baptist eve, when the storm was at its worst, I watched a gust of wind blow through the fir trees, and—oh, Tom , how dreadful was the sight!—the lightning struck it, and it fell." Then there was a silence, and Tom remembered the silence after he had heard the tree fall, and the cry he had heard from the upstairs window.

"I learned later, Tom, that gardens are always changing, because nothing stays the same except in our memory." "What happened then?" asked Tom. "Oh, the next day, Abel complained about the fir tree falling and smashing one of his asparagus fields. But I forgot about the fir tree, and I forgot about the garden, and I forgot about you, Tom, because that's where I had my wedding Days. When Barty and I got married, we went to live on one of his father's farms in the swamp, and we were very happy." "and after?" "We lived well - much better than our cousins ​​here. All three of them started out in the family business. Then Hubert and Edgar pulled away and James was on his own. He got married and had kids, but his wife died and things went from bad to worse at the company. Finally he decided to emigrate abroad. He sold everything before he left—the house, the furniture, and what was left land.

"Barty and I came to the auction. At that time, the big house was beyond recognition. James has never been rich. He sold first two lawns, then he sold the orchard, and finally he sold the garden. The garden is basically They built their house where the bottom of the garden used to be, and made their garden where the yew trees and lawn used to be. All the old trees were cut down, except for the 'Smooth Ghost' .Now you can still see the Narrows standing in one of the gardens there." Tom said, "It turns out that's 'The Narrow'." "At the auction, Batty bought some pieces of furniture that I liked—that barometer you see, and the grandfather clock, which I've always loved to hear. When I was little, Tom, I used to make Wrong hour. Early in the morning, before the maid was up, or even daylight, I got out of bed, and slipped downstairs to play in my garden."

"But you can't take the grandfather clock away and move it to your house in the swamp," said Tom. "It can't be moved." "No need to move at all," said Mrs. Bartholomew, "because Barty bought the house too—whatever I like, he'd buy me if he could. But he says the garden's gone now, It wasn't a decent house anymore. He just built it into apartments and rented it out." "You moved here at that time?" "Not then. Barty and I were very happy in the swamp. We had two kids - both sons. They both died in the Great War - now known as World War I." Barsey Mrs. Lomew did not cry, because her tears had been dried up many years ago.

"Then, many years later, Batty passed away and I was alone and moved here, and I've lived here ever since." Mrs. Bartholomew fell silent, as if her story had been told, but Tom continued to press her. "Since you've lived here, you often go back in time, don't you?" "Back in time?" "return to the past." "When you get to my age, Tom, you'll be living in the past a lot. You remember the past and dream about it." Tom nodded.Many things became clear at once: why the weather in the garden was always so beautiful;It all depends on what Mrs. Bartholomew chooses to recall in her dreams.

However, Mrs. Bartholomew was probably not the only one responsible for the garden being able to appear there night and night during these few weeks.She told Tom that she had never dreamed of the garden so often before this summer, and never before this summer had she felt so vividly what little girl Hattie felt—longing to be with her Playing together, longing for somewhere to play. "But these are the things I long for here this summer," said Tom, suddenly recognizing himself in Mrs. Bartholomew's description.He just longed for someone to play with him, to have a place to play.That great longing, quivering slightly in the great house, must have somehow crept into Mrs. Bartholomew's dreams, and reminded her of little Hatty long ago.Mrs. Bartholomew was back when she was a little girl and longed to play in the garden; and Tom was able to go back with her, and into that garden. "But in the nights before last night," said Tom, "you hardly dreamed of the garden at all. You dreamed of winter and skating." "Yeah," said Mrs. Bartholomew, "dreams of skating down to Erie--that was the furthest I ever got from home. Dreams of growing up, dreams of Barty. I dreamed of gardens and your Time is running out, Tom." "It's out of your control, I suppose, because you're growing up," said Tom. "I noticed that in the carriage the night before last you'd been talking only to Barty and not to me." "Every time I see you in the winter, you're getting thinner and thinner—insubstantial," said Mrs. Bartholomew, "on the drive home with Barty, and at the end you seemed to disappear altogether. gone." Tom was not angry. He said, "So, last night—" "Last night, I dreamed about my wedding. I dreamed that I would leave here completely and live in the swamp." "Last night," said Tom, "I went downstairs and opened the garden door, and the garden was gone. That's when I screamed. I called your name, but I never expected you to hear me." "You woke me up," said Mrs. Bartholomew, "and I knew it was Tom calling for help, though I didn't understand it at the time. I couldn't believe you were real until I saw you this morning. " Tom said, "We are all real, then and now. Like that angel said: There will be no more days." Downstairs in the hall, there was the sound of a grandfather clock striking.It struck two, and Mrs. Bartholomew—who seemed to understand the language of clocks—said it must be eleven.Tom's aunt must have wondered where he had gone.Tom went downstairs to ask his aunt if he could have a cup of morning tea with Mrs. Bartholomew.Aunt Gwen was so surprised that she forgot to object or ask. Tom returned to Mrs. Bartholomew, who had just made tea and brought out the sesame cakes that were eaten with tea.They sat down and talked about that garden. The two exchanged some stories and secrets with each other.Tom asked about Abel, and Mrs. Bartholomew said he married Susan, had many children, and lived happily.Tom then tells her that, besides her, only Abel can see him. "My God!" Mrs. Bartholomew was shocked. "Aunt Melbourne is always looking down on Abel, and always says that Abel is as stupid as a cow in the meadow." "Well," said Tom kindly, "a cow in the meadow can see me, but she never can." Mrs. Bartholomew laughed at this--she could laugh at Aunt Melbourne now as much as she could.Then she told Tom a secret about the garden.She admitted that she did a disobedient thing a long time ago. "You told me not to carve signs and letters on the trunk, Tom. But after you taught me to rub the 'snoot' against the trunk, I carved our two marks on it: a long, thin cat , representing you, Tom, wearing a hat, representing me—oh, my God, how absurd it is to think now! I never told you." "I was going to climb over the fence once to see the 'Smoothman,'" said Tom. "I don't know if I'll ever find that mark." "It will still be seen." They went on and on about the garden in this way, until the grandfather clock struck twelve, and Tom got up, and said he must go.Lunch must have been prepared downstairs, and after lunch they were going to drive him home. "You must come again!" exclaimed Mrs. Bartholomew. "How is your brother, the one I saw at Ely—what's his name?" "Peter," said Tom, and he remembered with guilt that he had forgotten all about Peter, that he had been first dismayed by the loss of the garden, and then surprised by the rediscovery of it in Mrs. Bartholomew's memory. happy. He sat down again, and talked to Mrs. Bartholomew about Peter, and specifically how Peter liked to hear the stories of the garden, and their various adventures there. "You must bring him to me," said Mrs. Bartholomew solemnly. "You must tell Peter that I am expecting him, will you?" Tom agreed.It was only then that he realized that, after all, he couldn't wait to go home.When he got home, after everyone had finished speaking, he would quietly pull Peter into the small back garden and whisper to him, "Peter, I have a secret to tell you about another garden, and I brought Hattie's invitation to you." And at this moment Tom must really say good-bye to Mrs. Bartholomew, or he would be late for lunch and home.Aunt Gwen was already anxiously downstairs looking for him.Tom saw his aunt waiting for him from the door of Mrs. Bartholomew's apartment, and Mrs. Bartholomew saw it too. "Good-bye, Mrs. Bartholomew," said Tom, shaking her hand politely. "Thank you very much for your hospitality." "I look forward to seeing you next time," said Mrs. Bartholomew, with the same seriousness. Tom walked slowly down the top stairs.At the foot of the stairs, he hesitated for a moment, then turned around impulsively, and ran upstairs two steps at a time. Hatty Bartholomew was still standing there... Later, Aunt Gwen tries to picture the two farewells for the second time to her husband. "Tom ran to her, and they hugged each other tightly, as if they'd known each other for ages, and not just this morning. And, Aaron, but I know you'd think Even more incredible... Of course, Mrs. Bartholomew was such a wizened old lady, not much bigger than Tom, but, you know, Tom took her good-bye with his arms around her, as if she was still Like a little girl." (full text)