"I'm surprised you caught me. I'm usually outside until dusk, and hardly answer the phone after dark."
Her voice was light, even friendly. The man had been surprised when she had picked up the phone. He had been calling her number since Monday, and knew for certain that her phone would ring fifteen (sometimes fifteen and a half) times before going to a fast-busy signal.
"I just seem to lose my energy after the sun goes down." She had continued before he could say anything.
What an oddly intimate comment, he thought, considering who he was.
"Ms. Lennon, you have not responded to our offer of settlement." He knew better than to beat around the bush. The original adjuster and her supervisor had passed on detailed notes of the obstinate behavior he could expect.
"Oh, dear. I thought for sure that I had." Her voice showed genuine concern. "Didn't Mr. Simmons tell you that I couldn't replace my tractor for less than forty-five-hundred dollars?"
Kevin Colvin sighed. His company, like any other insurance firm, used valuations based on nationally tabulated matrices. PurpleBook for autos, and Cockey's Ag Report for farm implements.
"Ma'am, the base value of the vehicle in question, a 1986 John Deere 300, is thirty-seven-hundred and fifty. You had preexisting damage. Our offer was formulated...."
"But the man who hit me was drunk." She had interrupted him, and the feeling in her voice was still genuine, only now it was annoyance, not concern. "And he fled the scene."
The man paused for a moment. He sighed again. "Ms. Lennon, none of that changes the value of your...."
"Let's talk about the value of my tractor." Her genuine emotion had switched again. Now it was palpable anger. "I checked online and in the different classifieds; the cheapest replacement I could find was an '85 up in Hawley for forty-five-hundred. Most of what I found was in the six to seven thousand range."
"Ma'am, we use Cockey's Ag Report for our valuations, and by their tables, with the preexisting damage...."
"You don't value a tractor based on its scratches and dents. Have you ever even seen a tractor?" She had cut him off. "It's for working, not looking pretty."
Their conversation lasted another fifteen minutes, with Kevin continually explaining the company's policy on establishing value, and the woman trying to explain that in a free market, value is set by supply and demand.
In the end, they made an appointment for him to come to her house on Wednesday at noon. He took it as a capitulation, making sure she knew he would be bringing a check for three thousand two hundred and ninety seven dollars, the established value minus deductions for preexisting damage, plus sales tax.
He parked where she had told him to, on the shoulder of the road next to a copse of trees, about a hundred feet from her drive.
He could see why he needed to. Just past the trees, the shoulder narrowed to nothing, crowded out by some kind of shrub with yellow flowers. It pushed out to the road and was so thick he could not see even a glimmer of what lay on the other side.
A car passed and he crowded off the road, pushing into the shrub. The branches clung to him briefly, the little knobs where the flowers sprouted providing grip of sorts.
He trotted the rest of the way, and made it to the gate by the drive. It was choked with vines, hopelessly tangled shut. The vines had purple and blue trumpet-shaped flowers. When he turned to walk further down to a just visible gap in the hedgerow, he thought he saw several of the flowers turn toward him, but when he glanced back, they just fluttered as if caught by the wind.
The gap in the greenery, which was now some kind of shiny, sharp-leaved affair, held a wooden gate. It was about four feet tall and had affixed to it a wreath of intertwined vines. Hanging in the center of the wreath was a small plaque, hand lettered to read 'Glory's Garden' and decorated with little grape vines painted around the edge.
He pulled on a little knob hanging from a rope coming out of a hole in the gate. He heard a latch click, and the gate opened outward.
Beyond, a path led through the hedge, and into a yard thick with fruit trees. A brick path started on the other side of the gate, winding through the trees and off to the left. He stepped onto the bricks and down the path.
There must have been a wind above, because he saw and heard the branches in the treetops swaying. Something seemed odd about the ground around the trees, but he couldn't quite place it.
He followed the path around to the left, still looking at the ground. Then it came to him. The grass was thick and lush all around, even though the apple, pear, and peach trees should have blocked out the sun that the grass would normally need. He kept walking, not watchful, until something in his peripheral vision made him stop.
There in front of him on the path was a woman. He had almost run right into her. They were still mostly under the shade of the trees, but just barely. The brick path continued, cutting through a a lawn that ended at the steps to a ramshackle porch. The porch was attached to a brick house, but looked like the only thing holding the two together, or keeping either standing, was masses and masses of tangled vines. None of the windows were overgrown, but that was about it.
Dotted here and there around the lawn were topiary, cut into fantastic shapes. There was a kind of dinosaur or dragon, a Pegasus, and even what looked like the loops of a sea serpent, its head facing the house.
He took all this in, and then looked back at the woman. She had long brown hair, loose but not messy, and a face that held a benevolent expression. Her blouse was a cream color, embroidered with tiny vines. It was fitted and covered the top of her skirt.
The skirt was made of a material he couldn't quite recognize. It flowed one moment like a silk or satin, and the next it looked rough and stiff like denim. He didn't normally pay much attention to clothing or the material of which it was made, but this was a true oddity.
The woman cleared her throat, and Kevin looked up at her face. She held out a hand and he shook it. It was surprisingly soft. His aunt, who had been an obsessive gardener, had rough hands with dirt ground into the seams and cracks.
"How do you do? Are you Mr. Colvin?" She asked the question with a smile on her lips, and he couldn't help but to smile back.
The conversation did not, however, stay so pleasant. She led him over to a table and chairs made out of what seemed to be braided twigs and vines. He didn't think his chair would hold his weight, but it did, almost molding itself around him.
Then the conversation took much the same turn as it had before. He held firm on the company's offer, and she tried to explain how it wasn't enough. Her face soon lost its friendly mien, clouding with anger.
Eventually he stood and opened a folder he had brought. He opened it and offered it to her. "Ms. Lennon, this is our offer. If you choose not to accept it, you have options as detailed in the attached documentation."
He watched her, watched for the signs he usually saw at this point in these kinds of conversations. Recognition of the end of the road; an angry sort of resignation that only people in his line of work witnessed, with the possible exception of civil servants at the various Motor Vehicle Administrations. They often witnessed a similar form of frustrated compliance.
He thought he saw it. She sighed, and with what seemed like heavy limbs pushed herself to her feet. She took the folder and leafed through it, glancing up at him as she read the boilerplate attached to the check.
She closed the folder, then squinted up at him. "I don't really care for these options."
He opened his mouth to come back with a firm reply, but she cut him off. He was confused; she looked more resigned than the average client, but what she had said didn't follow logic.
"Here, you can hold this." She handed him the folder, and took a step back. "Maybe your replacement will bring a check for forty five hundred. I'll even forget about the sales tax."
His brow furrowed but he took the folder. My replacement, he wondered.
She closed her eyes and traced a little design in the air with her finger. When her eyes opened, she was smiling again, and seemed more confident, less resigned.
In the distance he heard a screeching noise. It wasn't an animal's call, but rather the sound of metal scraping on metal.
"I keep kudzu in those trees by your car. It's a lot of bother keeping it alive through the winter up here in the Poconos, but it comes in handy. Strong stuff; It will fold your car up into a tidy little ball."
He let out a little laugh, and nervously fingered the folder.
She laughed too, only hers was a bit more genuine. "I don't even really need the money for a new tractor. My old International tractor runs just fine. It's really the principle of the thing. That tractor was worth forty-five-hundred and I don't like getting pushed around."
As she said this, the fingers of one hand dipped into a small pocket in her blouse, while the other hand seemed to scrape away a swatch of her skirt, exposing her thigh.
He watched, open mouthed, as the chunk of skirt in one hand crumbled into dirt, exposing a wriggling earthworm. The patch of exposed skin was quickly covered; ragged edges seeming to grow roots. The roots stretched out, joining others, and knitting themselves together, closing the gap.
As the hole finished sealing itself, he looked back up at her. She had mixed some black seeds into the dirt gently, careful not to crush the earth worm.
"Morning Glory, Mr. Colvin. Its my favorite, and not just because we share a name. It grows so fast, and the flowers are so pretty and abundant." She threw the dirt and seeds at his feet.
He watched them arc down, and looked back up at her. "Wha - What is...." He couldn't even finish the question.
She had her eyes closed again and was tracing something else in the air; a series of curlicues.
He looked down, alarmed to see vines shooting up from the ground between his feet. He should have turned and run. He might have made it through the orchard. Probably not, but maybe. Then it was just through the gate to freedom. Of course the towering holly hedges would have cut his clothes to ribbons, but naked, bruised, and bleeding is better than being living fertilizer.
But he didn't run, because she should have accepted the offer. They always did. Now five vines curled up and around his legs, and running was no longer an option. He could only gape as he felt the vines tighten around him, and the big green leaves tickled him where one vine went up his trouser leg.
"Morning Glory doesn't like the taste of flesh, so we'll have to find a more permanent...." She stopped and snapped her fingers. "That's it. Here Nessie." She called this last over her shoulder. Even as she spoke, he felt tendrils shoot out and wrap around his wrists, pulling his arms back into his chest.
The coils of topiary sea serpent came to life. It's head turned, and the man thought he saw eyes form in the tiny leaves, and blink.
He would have screamed then, but the vines had reached his neck and coiled up into his open mouth, choking off any noise.
As the sea serpent seemingly swam its way over to them through the lawn, he felt the ends of the vines snake up through his sinuses from the inside and tickle their way out of his nostrils.
He was having trouble breathing around the vegtation in his mouth as the serpent arrived, dipping its head over the women's shoulder. He watched her reach up and carefully pull off one of the giant, bushy fangs from the serpent's mouth. The vines had found his ears but they only dipped part of the way in before pulling free. This let him hear her bend down and scrape at the ground, even if the vines held him so tight that he couldn't look down.
"Mr. Colvin, ichor makes a wonderful rooting compound. You really should have been more reasonable." That was the last thing he heard, as he watched her stand and close her eyes, then slowly close one fist, squeezing it shut as if squeezing out the juice of a lemon. The vines tightened around him, and he knew no more.
...
The woman walked up to the gate, annoyed that he had left it open. As she pushed it shut, hearing the latch click, her neighbors walked by across the street, walking their shaggy mutt.
She smiled and waved at them. "Hi Robinses. Hey Skip, I'll have some bones for you Friday, boy."
"Hi Glory. How's your garden?"
"Oh, you know; I always seem to have good luck. I'm working on a new topiary, a bear this time. You'll have to come see it in a week or two. It will be just perfect by then."
They agreed, and walked on. Gail Robins turned to her husband and said, "That Glory is so nice." He nodded in agreement, and they turned in at their drive.