The Means to an End
From her sitting room window, her old Labrador Lucy at her side, seventy-year-old widowed Barbara Anders, watched her gardener Albert wheel his bicycle up the side path. Albert drooped. He had problems she knew, but so did she. Although he had only one eye, having lost the other many years ago in a fight, he was an excellent gardener, reliable and loyal.
For twenty years their relationship had been friendly and understanding, but lately she could sense a strain of resentment emanating from him. He needed a loan desperately that she couldn’t afford to give him.
“Mrs Anders,” he pleaded, “you know my daughter, Joanne, is the first person in our family to pass high school and is now a second-year student in mechanical engineering. I wish my wife had been alive to see this miracle.” He’d looked down. “The bursary has run out. Please help us like you did before.”
True, some years ago she’d helped him buy his cottage. “I’m sorry, Albert, but I haven’t the money at present.”
She didn’t think he knew much about the stock market which affected her high pension and her investments. “I haven’t spare money at present but I have promised to leave you something one day.”
“Too late,” he’d muttered, as he wheeled his bicycle to the garden shed.
She’d watched then, too, a few minutes as stooped, he pushed the garden tools in the wheelbarrow towards the rose beds. He cared for two fig trees, the grape vine, the vegetable garden, the rose creepers. She could smell the lavender from here.
She shook her head. Now here he was again, pricking her feelings. She truly did not have the funds to help him. In addition, after a visit to her doctor last week, she’d had further shocks.
“What did the doc say?” her daughter Anita asked, “that you’d have to give up golf, gym, hikes, the book club?”
“I’m afraid it’s not funny, Anita. He says I must slow down.” She bit her lip.
“You, slow down. B..b..but why?”
“Heart. Heart’s taking a bit of strain. It’s not urgent. He’s arranged a test for next week, just to be sure.”
Anita gave her mother a reassuring hug.
To Barbara even this prognosis spelt doom. Being broke and ailing, were two conditions she’d kept at bay all her life. She’d rather be dead if they overcame her.
“Oh, Mom,” Anita groaned.
“Don’t fuss. I’ll … be okay.”
But she wasn’t okay. She worried about herself, the future, she was concerned about Albert. They were two desperadoes, she and Albert.
“Come Lucy,” she said now. “We’ll go to the pine forest for a walk.”
Lucy thumped her tail in reply.
But she didn’t move. Her head swam like a twirling top. Ideas whirled in her brain. Wasn’t there always a way out of problems. She still had possessions. Followed by her dog and, as if sleepwalking she went into her bedroom.
In her cupboard, she took out a jewel box. She opened it and lifted out her diamond and opal necklace. It was worth many thousands, a thing of beauty and value. She put it over her head and it hung down low. It didn’t quite match her khaki slacks and brown jacket but that did not matter.
Outside the house she looked up at the mountain. Although the housing development where she lived had been built near the forest edge it still took about ten minutes to reach it. The bigger part of the forest extended up the lower slopes of the mountain, forming a dense green mass. A soft mist hung over it giving it an ethereal appearance.
Barbara loved going to the flat part set aside for dog walkers and picnicking. The small pool surrounded by a low wall also gave her much pleasure.
Before taking out her car she went to brief Albert, digging in the compost heap.
He nodded as she spoke, staring at her chest. “Mrs Anders, you aren’t going into the forest with that, that necklace. There are muggers even there, I’m sure.”
“It’ll be all right, Albert. I think it’s too cold for most people. See, I’ll cover it with my scarf.” Because it was a coolish autumn day in the week, the recreational area was quite empty. Barbara let old Lucy amble about which was all she could manage at 10-years-old.
Barbara strolled to the pond, gazed into its depths but no beautiful Narcissus was reflected, only a grey-haired depressed image. If … she leaned a bit further over … if she could ever be the lady of Shallot and float peacefully away face down. Lucy could find her way home.
No – she’d have to be pushed. Her rare necklace hung over the water, its fire and sparkle disturbing the mirror-like surface. But – what if the heirloom fell into the pond?
Well, why shouldn’t it disappear, if not here, somewhere else. There was no tomorrow. What she had to do had to be done now. The drizzle was growing, the sky brooding. Lucy snivelled at her knee.
“All right, Lucy. We’ll go now.” There was decisiveness in her voice now that she had a plan.
Albert was waiting near the gate. “I must go now,” he quavered, “It’s getting dark.”
“I’m so sorry, Albert, but you can’t go yet. You must help me. Something terrible has happened. I’ve lost my necklace. In the pond.” She fingered it in her deep pocket. “Please.”
“But it’s getting dark.” He looked up. “And more rain comes.”
“Please, Albert. I’ll, I’ll reward you.”
She felt the sudden shaft of burning anger shooting from Albert. He was asking her silently how she could do this to him, he with one eye and who hated the dark.
“I’m begging you, Albert.”
It had to be now. Miriam, the domestic worker was returning from her holiday tomorrow and she was as sharp as the proverbial needle.
“All right,” he muttered, shuffling his feet.
“Don’t forget that big torch on your bicycle.”
The lights outside the entrance to the forest had gone out. Nobody came to the forest at night. His employer must be mad, Albert decided.
In the gloom she led him towards the pool, tottering a bit. “I must have lost the necklace here.”
They slid over the fallen pine needles, searching. Some light filtered through the trees exposing the faint sheen on the pool.
Albert turned the flashlight on the area around the pool, pushing aside the sparse undergrowth.
Barbara’s mouth felt dry, fear mixed with excitement. “Come Albert. It must be in the pool. Bring the lamp.”
She leaned over the pool. Albert, nervous, stood behind her, the lamp held high, so she could peer into the motionless water. He wanted to shout, “Careful, Mrs Anders,” but she was determined to examine the pool, her fingers riffling the water.
“Come closer, Albert.” Her voice sounded faint, far away. Her face was almost touching the water.
She was asking for it, egging him on, pushing him over the edge. Albert raised the lamp, tapped it on her head, with little force. She was practically in the water anyway.
She sank gently into the pool, face down. Albert watched, trembling, the flashlight dangling from his hand. He swallowed. She looked so peaceful, asleep on her stomach; no struggle, as if she’d fainted, slipped in willingly.
Albert shivered again, his hand holding the lamp, clammy. He was too stunned to realise what had happened, about his part in her end. It was so dark and silent, not even a bird chirped.
Then anger fought with his fear. Because he was regarded as somewhat stupid, she had been able to lure him into the forest, tempt him. Looking for the necklace had been hopeless from the beginning.
Stumbling, lurching, he muddled his way to the entrance of the forest. He stood by her car for a moment but all he wanted to do was escape.
The house stood in darkness except for a light at the front door and one over the back door. The dog made no sound at his approach.
In the shed he refastened his torch-lamp to his bicycle. He felt cold, his clothes like wet washing squeezing him. He turned on the shed light to make sure the shed was tidy. Even in this moment of disaster, Albert remained a creature of habit.
He picked up the letter on the tool counter. He read that Mrs Anders was sorry that she was unable to give him any money but he could sell the opal necklace in the drawer below, which would help his daughter for a while.
Albert took out the long necklace. The diamonds sparkled, sending out a myriad of beams, while the opals gleamed with green, orange, and blue flames. He let it run through his rough fingers. Taking a shuddering breath, he threw it back in the drawer.
He wheeled out his bicycle, mounted it and wobbled down the lane in the rain. Tears mixed with rain dribbled down his cheeks.
At least, he thought, no one can call me a thief.
Pinelands Writers Circle