Mr. Bradley's Garden (a short story), Page 2

Once a week during the summer months every year, the neighbors would awaken to a bagged surprise at their doorsteps. There was never a note, but everyone knew who did it. When this practice began, the locals were very appreciative of this gesture. As the years progressed, the neighborhood began to change. The generations that remained were not as grateful and began seeing the delivery of fresh fruits and vegetables as a requirement.

  Mr. Bradley’s energy started to decline. He was a man who loved being outdoors and took pride in his garden and yard. More often now than not, he couldn’t finish mowing the three acres of land in one day. Since he didn’t have the stamina to maintain a huge garden, he opted to operate a smaller garden. There weren’t as many crops grown; therefore, not as many deliveries.

  One day while Maggie was looking at TV, there was a knock at the door. She opened it, and Mrs. Murphy peered at her on the other side of the screen.

  “Oh, Maggie, it’s you!”

  “Who else would it be?” Maggie snapped. She wasn’t exactly Mrs. Murphy’s biggest fan.

  “Is your grandfather in?”

  “He’s resting. What message would you like me to give him?”

  Mrs. Murphy pulled at the latch to the glass door. “Maggie, I’d rather tell him myself. Could you wake him? It’s rather important.”

  Maggie emphatically shook her head. “I told you, Mrs. Murphy. He’s RESTING!”

  Mr. Bradley’s bedroom door opened, and he made his way towards the door. Maggie’s voice was unusually loud so he had to check on the commotion. He clamped his hand on Maggie’s shoulder.

  “What’s going on?”

  “Grandpa, I told Mrs. Murphy you were asleep, but she insisted on talking to you—”

  Mr. Bradley sighed. “Well, I’m here now. Gertrude, may I help you with something?”

  “I sure would love some black-eyed peas to go with the greens I’m cooking at the house. You think you can drop some on by?”

  Mr. Bradley regarded Mrs. Murphy carefully before replying, “Perhaps a little later. Like my granddaughter said, I was resting.”

  “You’re usually so good about these things. The peas aren’t going to do any good later since the greens are on the fire as we speak.”

  Maggie looked from her grandfather to the demanding Mrs. Murphy.

  “Fine,” Mr. Bradley conceded.

  Mrs. Murphy smiled in pleasure, got in her car and drove back to her house, which was within walking distance. Mr. Bradley sat on the couch. Maggie looked at him in disbelief.

  “How could you let her bully you like that? She went to the grocery store and bought the greens. That beggin’ ol’ bitty could have gotten the black-eyed peas there, too!”

  Mr. Bradley pointed to the half-filled bag in the adjoining room. “Take those to her, Maggie.”

  “Grandpa, didn’t you hear what I just said? Those special deliveries aren’t a right, yet everyone in this neighborhood behaves like they’re entitled!”

  Mr. Bradley gave Maggie a stern look. That was her cue to stop talking. As he made his way back to the bedroom, Maggie shoved the bag under her arm, rushed out the door and stomped up the street.

  Less than five minutes later, she had made it to Mrs. Murphy’s brick home. The dog rushed out and started barking. As soon as he saw Maggie, the dog stopped barking and his tail joyfully wagged.

  “How could you have such an old crone for a master?” Maggie crooned as she ruffled the top of the dog’s hair. The brushing of his wet nose and tongue against her palm made her chuckle for the moment.

  Initially, Maggie was just going to mimic her grandpa’s actions—leave the bag and walk away. But she just couldn’t let Mrs. Murphy off the hook that easily.

  Her knuckles rapped on the glass door. Mrs. Murphy was there instantly and flung it open. Maggie dumped the black-eyed peas out of the brown sack. The dirt from the outer shells coated Mrs. Murphy’s pink fuzzy slippers. Maggie ran back to her grandfather’s house while Mrs. Murphy cursed and raised her fist in anger.