Chapter 13 - Eleanor’s Garden
Eleanor’s cottage in the northern hills was small, drafty, and smelled perpetually of cedar wood and drying herbs. When Julian and Clara visited in the spring, the snow had melted, leaving behind thick, black soil that smelled of renewal.
Eleanor was kneeling in the dirt, wearing gardening gloves and an oversized flannel coat. She was planting heirloom tomato seedlings, her small trowel turning the earth with slow, methodical precision.
Julian sat on an overturned wooden crate beside her. "The settlement was signed yesterday, Grandmother. The foundation is officially dissolved. The harbor docks are now owned cooperatively by the dockworkers' association."
Eleanor did not look up from her planting. "And your father's monument?"
"The city council voted to take it down," Julian said gently. "They are renaming the harbor park after Samuel Ortiz."
Eleanor paused, resting her dirty gloves on her knees. She looked out over the rolling green hills, where the morning mist was burning off beneath the weak spring sun.
"Arthur thought he could purchase immortality," she whispered. "He thought if you carve your name deep enough into granite, the universe forgets how you acquired the chisel."
She took Julian’s hand, leaving a smear of dark earth on his palm. "You gave him the only gift a son could truly give a father like that."
May you like
"What gift?" Julian asked.
"An end to his theft," she said. "Now, help me with these roots. The frost is gone, and the soil is hungry."
