PART 3: There was a fence with a hedge

Could she turn John onto women? Could she manipulate him to like her? If she did, then what would happen if she stopped manipulating? Would he go back to his truth of disinterest in women? What if she chose him over God? Then her life’s dedication to helping others and serving God would have been completely wasted. What was the most important thing in her life? God. John hadn’t even mentioned anything spiritual and he never replied “God Bless” when she said it to him. She got the feeling he wasn’t a man of God, that he hadn’t chosen God, and that would mean that God wouldn’t let him anywhere near her: “I shall protect you”. Her aunt had told her once that she may still be single because the man God made for her had not chosen God yet. Why? Why was he denying what his soul must know? Why? Mary battled through the month, the tears, the frustration of knowing she loved John and knowing the ludicrousness of the situation… maybe she was right the first time and he was gay. All this time battling within herself over this guy and he hadn’t even knocked on her door, or got her number, or sent her a card, or even a Christmas token. Who was she kidding, God was calling, God wanted her, God gifted her, there was only one choice. She prayed over the situation and was blessed with John 14 v 28 – 29 “You heard me say to you, ‘I am leaving, but I will come back to you.’ If you loved me, you would be glad that I am going to the Father; for he is greater than I. I have told you this now, before it all happens, so that when it does happen, you will believe.” Mary believed it was a response to her prayer to be loved and love in return, the prayer to which God responded with John 15 v 7 “If you remain in me, and my words remain in you, then you will ask for anything you wish, and you shall have it.” She had wished and now God was telling her to leave, so that he could bless her to believe when His time was right.

Mary accepted the offer, signed the contract, booked her flights and arranged to have all her belongings shipped to her parents place. She sent out an email and her sister’s friends signed on as tenants indefinitely.  The hedge grew. She knew she had to cut it. She knew she had one Saturday left and she prayed that John would be there so she could see “the painter who wasn’t interested in women” one last time. God’s will be done, not hers.

She stepped out of the house in the cooling afternoon sun. The removers had been around and carted all her boxes away. She was left with two suitcases and the odds and ends in the kitchen she was leaving behind in the morning. She went to the shed and took out the ladder and the cutters. How different it would have been if she had been lazy and paid the treble fee for weekend garden services. She smiled at the shears as she remembered the butterflies that had flown around them, as she remembered holding on to them for dear life when she had recognised John’s voice intrinsically. She knew she would be leaving the shears behind in the shed, no point in carry inexplicable memories with her. She carried the step ladder, listened to the birds, placed the ladder and began cutting. Minutes later she heard his door open and close, heard him retrieve what he needed and then there was silence.

She couldn’t help herself, “John?”

He sounded like he was grinning as he replied, “Hello Mary.”

She shook her head to herself smiling, “Hello John.”

“Shall I go to the bottom end, dear?” He asked, and her heart clenched at the “dear”, her mind raced ahead to her old age and his voice saying that very word to her. It felt incredible.

She choked back the tears, swallowed, “Yes, please.” The visions like that had been coming at her non-stop for the past month. She prayed every time for God to take them away if they weren’t of Him. Yet, they stayed and she cried.

The cutting went quickly on her side and slowly on his, as he cluelessly thought that all was well with his muse for life. Two thirds of the way down they met. She cut the last branch this time, defiantly, almost angrily, and he knew something was about to change. He looked at her, she cut, grabbed and through the branch on to his side of the fence, normally they kept the debri of their own on their sides, he looked at her and she whipped past his expression of confusion and focused on trimming unnecessary bits of branch. From the brief sight he saw of her eyes he could see that they were shining like eyes that had been washed with tears. He didn’t know what to say and she didn’t appear to be going to let him have a chance to speak. “Thanks so much for all your help with this fence over the years John.”

Her tone was so businesslike and clipped; he barely got his “You’re welcome,” in.

“I’ve accepted a work contract in another country and I fly out tomorrow. Such a fantastic opportunity. Like your painting in a rain forest, now I get to live a glorious experience too.”

His heart stopped, his muse, work contract, another country… what? When?

She motored on, “I leave tomorrow and will be near my parents, you know how they need help in their old age, so this is good on so many levels,” keep going Mary, good girl, get through it nice and perky and happy, you can do it, don’t cry, keep going, keep going, “I’ve got some great tenants moving in. I’m sure they won’t be a bother. They have my contact numbers if you need them and my sister will be popping around every now and then, so all should be good. I’m also hiring garden services so you can focus on your painting instead of cutting silly hedges growing above fences. I’ll cover the costs, so don’t worry about it.” Yes, you’re doing well Mary, almost done, just say good-bye, get down the ladder and get inside. Mary stretched out her hand to John, automatic pilot took over him as he shook her hand back, “You look after yourself and your daughters. Take care John, you are such a wonderful guy and I pray that you find all it is you are looking for. God bless John, God bless.” She let go and climbed down the ladder to disappear into the house for the last time. She didn’t stop crying for 18 months after that good-bye.

His brain was in shock, his hand was still mid-air. Moving countries. Tomorrow. Tenants. Garden services. Contact numbers. He lifted his eyes from his hand, realisation dawning: she was gone. His muse was gone. He dropped his hand and his eyes welled up with tears that overflowed without his even noticing. He was numb. He looked at the hedge he had just cut back and a family of ladybugs, beautiful red and black ladybugs, were perched as frozen as he was on the branches. He stepped down the ladder like all of his blood has been replaced with lead. He made it into the house. His phone rang, his daughters were waiting, he had a show to go to. Numbly he picked up his keys and left. For the next five years he created dark and disturbing work, he fought with God, he hated God, he blamed God. He cursed her for saying “God bless”, a childish joke. God never blessed him. He never met or spoke to the new neighbours; he locked himself away to wallow in his misery. Defeated. Yet, somehow, in every painting there could be found a butterfly or a ladybug, nestling in a corner or on a drop of blood. The true anguish of his paintings, the raw emotion of his new era awarded him great fame and income, but they never created the joy for the audience that his earlier ones had. In those five years he never forgave God.

On the sixth anniversary of his last interaction with Mary, he went out into the garden to cut back the hedge as he did each year, even if it hadn’t grown to a necessary height because of Mary’s Garden Services. He climbed the ladder and was midway when he heard the door opening and closing, he sat and listened to people whispering, the mood didn’t feel right. He wasn’t sure if he should stay or go. In his unsure state he dropped the shears onto Mary’s property, a voice like Mary’s asked “Who’s there?”

Could it be her? His spirits rose, he felt exalted, maybe, just maybe… “It’s John. Mary is that you?”

“John? Oh. No John, its Mary’s sister. Please won’t you come around I need to speak to you in person. Mary asked me to give you a message,” her voice was wavering, something was odd, maybe there was a problem with the tenants, maybe he could help. Maybe Mary needed him.

“Sure,” he replied without missing a beat. He ran into the house and out the front door. His mind racing with what he could tell her sister so he could see Mary again, he knew he was miserable without her. He went across to Mary’s place, the door was open. He went in and stood there. He felt her presence; he loved the essence of the house, the paint, the windows and light she had added. Wow, if he’d been living here, he could have done so many more awesome paintings, why didn’t he ever visit her? Maybe there was still time, maybe… where was that sister? He walked past a wall, and stopped dead, there was one of his paintings, the one of her he had painted first, she must know! He wondered if it was the tenant’s painting or Mary’s. Maybe… He found his way to the kitchen and got to the door; he went outside then froze midstride. Everyone was in black. Everyone was crying. Time collapsed around him. He melted right there into the step. No, no, no, no. Realisation hit him in his core, no, it can’t be, it must be someone else…

The lady who was unmistakably Mary’s sister walked over to his broken being. “Hi John,” she managed through sheer will power, “I’m Lisa, Mary’s sister. Mary asked me to carry out her last wishes if anything ever happened to her,” Lisa was battling, John was numb, “and she told me that whatever happened she wanted her ashes scattered near you, because your presence was the only moment in her life where she felt truly loved and happy. She always spoke about you in glowing terms and always joked that if you had been interested in God and girls she would’ve nabbed you…” That was all Lisa managed to get out before she broke down and ran to the arms of a man who looked like her father…