“I have a lot of work to do,” Juan finally said.
“Can we help?” the oldest one asked.
“No, no. I don’t think so. ”
The middle child, her lips pursed, gently ran her fingers over the features of the face of the Virgin Mary statue. “She’s pretty. ”
Juan felt a sense of panic coming over him.
The oldest girl squatted down and began to dig another hole. A whole tray of flowers were waiting to be planted. They had been salvaged from yards around town by Linda and Bette for him.
“We used to do this with our Mommy,” she said finally.
Juan felt a lump in his throat and fought not to cry.
The children clustered around him, already finding things to do. The middle child began lay bits of pink granite in a little row along the walkway Juan had already laid down. People had been writing the names of their deceased family members on each stone. The oldest girl began to work at planting the next batch of flowers while the little boy diligently helped.
Unable to speak for fear of crying, Juan let them be and kept to his work.
Their tiny presences made him angry. Jenni had died to save them. They were here because she was gone.
“What is your name?” the little boy asked in a hushed, raspy voice.
As far as Juan knew, this was the first time the boy had said anything to anyone.
“Juan,” he managed.
“One,” the little boy said with satisfaction.
“No. Juan. ”
“One,” the boy said with a small smile.
Juan started to correct him and then thought differently. The boy was talking and that had to be important.
Despite his agony, despite his pain, he let them be. To his surprise they were good little workers. When he came out the next day to work, they were waiting for him. He hesitated, not sure if he could deal with their presence another day, but finally he relented to their tiny smiles.
They worked hard around him, sweating, getting dirty, talking in hushed voices, but they were determined to help. A few people came by and tried to get the children to talk, but they refrained, drawing close to Juan as if seeking his protection.
Once more, he felt angry and wanted to scream at them and make them flee, but he couldn’t.
So they worked on together.
Every morning he found them waiting for him. Peggy would make sure they had breakfast and had work clothes on, but otherwise left them to Juan’s supervision. They called him One and would ask him countless questions about the garden, but when others would speak to them, they fell silent.
Slowly, his anger faded and he began to enjoy their company. The garden began to look lush and beautiful with its red brick walkways edged with pink granite and the plethora of blooming flowers.
“I like bluebonnets,” the oldest girl, Margie, told Juan and tickled his nose with one.
“And why is that?”
“Cause they’re pretty,” she answered with a laugh and rolled her eyes.
Juan just smiled.
He began to have lunch with them and then breakfast. They began to laugh and tell him stories. Every night when they went inside to be with Peggy and her son, they would hug him and give him kisses on his cheeks.
The pain slowly lessened inside and he found himself smiling.