“It’s just the way of the world, Miss Beth. Everything changes, and there’s not much you can do about it.” Then he brightened. “Except my garden,” he added. “Every year, I try to make it look just the way it always has. ‘Course, even that doesn’t work out, when you get right down to it. It’s always a little different, and every year the soil gets a little more worn out.” He smiled ruefully. “Sort of like me, I guess. Every year, a little more worn out. Now, you run along, and let me get my work done, all right?”
“I could help you,” Beth offered, but even as she uttered the words, she knew what the old man’s answer would be.
“Not for you to help me,” he said. “It’s for you and the rest of the Sturgesses to pick ’em. It’s for me to grow ’em. Which is just as well, since growin’ ’em is what I like to do.”
His grip on the trowel tightened, and he rocked forward. A moment later a clump of tulip bulbs appeared, and Ben Smithers carefully brushed the dirt away from it before slipping it into a labeled bag. A moment later, a young marigold had replaced the tulip.
Beth watched for a few minutes, then silently continued on her way down to the stable.
Beth let herself into the stable and heard Patches whinny softly. Fishing in her pocket, she found a stump of carrot, then scratched the horse affectionately between the ears as the animal munched the treat. There was a movement at the back of the barn, and Beth quickly withdrew her hand from the horse, afraid that Tracy Sturgess was about to appear, but when she looked up, all she saw was Peter Russell, the stableboy, grinning at her.
“Hi, twerp. Come down to help me muck out the stalls?”
“Can I?” Beth asked eagerly.
Peter looked puzzled. “Why not?”
“I just—” Beth hesitated, then plunged on. “Peter, am I any different since I moved up here?”
“Jeez,” Peter replied. “How would I know? Why don’t you ask Peggy? She’s your best friend, isn’t she?” He handed a shovel to Beth, and pointed to a large pile in one of the empty stalls. Making a face, Beth let herself into the stall, and gingerly slid the shovel under the pile of manure.
“But Peggy never comes up here,” Beth replied. Peggy Russell was Peter’s younger sister and Beth and Peggy had been best friends since second grade. Balancing the shovel carefully, Beth moved outside and added the manure to the pile that grew steadily behind the stable each week until a truck came on Monday afternoons to take it all away. When she went back into the stall, she found Peter staring at her with the contempt he usually reserved for his kid sister.
“You know, you can be almost as dumb as Peggy sometimes. The reason she doesn’t come up here is because I work here. Mom says if she came up here it would look like she was tagging along on my job, and then Mr. Sturgess might fire me.”
Beth stared at Peter. “He wouldn’t do that!”
“Tell that to my mom.”
“I will! Peggy’s my friend. Uncle Phillip wouldn’t fire you just because your sister came to see me!”
“Uncle Phillip?” Peter echoed, his voice suddenly tinged with scorn. “Since when is he your uncle?”
Beth felt herself redden, and turned away. “It … it’s what I’m supposed to call him,” she mumbled.
“Why don’t you just call him Dad?” Peter asked.
Beth spun around to face him again, the sting of his words bringing tears to her eyes. “He’s not my father! And why are you being so mean? I thought you were my friend!”
Peter stared at his sister’s friend, wondering what she was so angry about. Didn’t she have everything now? She lived in a mansion, and had servants, and a tennis court, and horses. She was living a life all the other kids in Westover only dreamed about.
“We’re not friends,” he said finally. “You’re the kid who lives in the mansion now, remember? Since when have any of the kids like you ever been friends of the rest of us? Now, if you want to help, help. If you don’t, just go away. Okay? I’ve got work to do.”
Beth dropped the shovel and ran from the stall, certain her tears were going to overcome her. She started toward the door, but before she could get out of the stable, the big black-and-white horse in the first stall whinnied again,