A Tale of Two Yards

     Peter West was going to mow his yard, whether Hendrick wanted him to or not.

     West’s grandfather always told him the property line ended behind the row of short evergreen trees his grandfather had planted years ago. Hendrick was positive that the property line was in between the trees.

     “Do you know how long I’ve lived here,” Hendrick said. Each argument happened at exactly two o’ clock and on West’s porch.

     “Never, in all my years, have I had this problem with your grandfather.”

     West knew his input in the conversation would amount to nothing.

     Both families had lost count of how many times they went head-to-head when it was time for the lawnmowers to come out. West’s grandfather complained to the point that West’s younger sister’s first word was ‘line.’ West’s grandfather was just as stubborn as Hendrick, which was what truly caused the beginning of the feud. Neither were willing to give up an inch of land.

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     West had spent a large portion of his childhood playing in the backyard, until he had gotten too close to the evergreen trees, and Hendrick would yell at him from his bedroom window. This went on even as West grew into his teenage years, but by then being outside was lame and a large colony of ground wasps took over the yard.

     As a teen, West had once been given the chore to mow his grandfather’s yard. It had been going well despite the blaring sun. Once West drew closer to the trees, he maneuvered the lawnmower to fit in between them. This ended with West abandoning the lawnmower as Hendrick ran out of the house with a broom in hand.

     “Jokes on him,” West said when recounting the story. “The ground wasps got him after.”

     Once when West was ten, he hid behind the evergreen trees and peered toward Hendrick’s house. The endless complaints about the man led West to spend his youth outside. Once his homework was complete, he would sit with his back toward the trees and allow the branches to pierce through his shirt, so he would go unnoticed by Hendrick. With the short trees still remaining a few branches taller than him standing, he’d wait till two and watch Hendrick shuffle down the sidewalk to his grandfather’s house.

     On several occasions, West would see a woman follow after Hendrick, before giving up halfway down the sidewalk. She was younger, had Hendrick’s nose, and tied her hair up with a red ribbon. West asked his mother who the lady was after he had returned home from school. She had ushered his sisters upstairs before beckoning him to the kitchen.

     “That’s his daughter, Peter,” his mother said.

     West asked why she followed him every day.

     “Who knows,” she said. “She’s fightin’ a losing battle.”

     West wanted to talk to Hendrick’s daughter. He thought she might be able to help them.

     His mother handed him the peeler.

     “Get to work, kid,” she said. “We have more important things to worry about.”

     West would peel the apples until it hurt to stretch his fingers. By then, the screaming match between his grandfather and Hendrick would be over. Pushing a stool over to the sink, he peeked out the window. Hendrick was waddling down the sidewalk on a hot summer day, when West bucked up the courage to enter his grandfather’s den to ask about the property line.

     “I planted those trees, do you understand?” His grandfather held West’s shoulders with a heavy grip. “This has always been our family’s land.”

     His grandfather’s den was always bathed in the lights of the television. Sometimes, West would feel confident enough to sit on the chair that used to be his grandmothers to watch. It would last only a few moments before his grandfather would turn to him with a smile that would sour upon seeing West.

     “Go play outside,” his grandfather said.

     Their conversions only grew shorter.

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     West took over his grandfather’s house after he passed.  At the funeral, he sat in the second row behind his family watching the snow fall outside. A bright red jacket stood hunched by the frozen pond. West watched the man while the priest took them through Mass and sang hymns. The preacher’s voice echoed through the church as West focused his hearing on the swishing sounds of the Father’s black attire.

     “I consider that the sufferings of this present time are not worth comparing with the glory that is to be revealed to us.”

     After the service, West made his way outside. The man he saw was Hendrick still standing by the pond, cradling a small box in his hands. Secured in his left hand, a red ribbon contorted itself in the wind.

     “Mr. Hendrick?” West’s voice shivered as another gust blew past. “Are you okay, sir?”

     Hendrick’s gaze sat over West’s shoulder.

     “Is he gone too?” he asked.

     “My grandfather? Yeah,” West said. “He is no longer with us.”

     Hendrick laughed. “Don’t sound too upset about it.”

     West felt the tips of his ears start to burn and a tingling sensation travel up his arm. “No,” he said. “I suppose, I’m not.”

     He and Hendrick parted, and he wandered back inside. The lights of the church drowned out the red color in West’s cheeks.

     A different priest had blessed West’s new home. His older sister had cried when she’d heard the news that the house wasn’t passed down to her. His younger sister had pulled West aside when she saw him return from outside.

     “To keep the peace with the family,” she said. They were staring at a large picture of their grandfather that sat above the casket. “Just let her have the house, Peter.”

     West asked why he couldn’t have it. Their grandfather gave it to him.

     “Peter don’t be like that,” she said. “It has been hard on all of us.”

     West said he’d be back.

     The door’s weight leaned against West’s hand, but with an exaggerated push, it swung open into the wall. His car was parked in the first row.

     The deed hung in the entrance. His signature was scribbled with red ink. It was the first change West had made when he moved in. It took him over two weeks to clean out and move in his own things. In that time, Hendrick did not visit him. West had set up a clock in the study, which would ring three minutes to two. The sidewalk remained empty, and the doorbell remained silent. In a fit of frustration, West grabbed a shovel and began to push the snow away from the row of evergreen trees. Tufts of healthy grass reached toward the sun as West dug through the snow until the head of the shovel fell off. He was duct-taping the shovel back together when he heard his doorbell ring.

     West learned the reason why Hendrick’s daughter had stopped appearing at his house. He asked his mother if she had heard why, but she huffed then shrugged.

     “Probably got sick of ‘em,” she said. “Just like I got sick of hearin’ ‘em yell.”

     His daughter had passed away.

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     Hendrick yelled until a scratching noise grated on his throat. He’d stand red faced, regardless of the weather, staring West down. He had come to the house to chew West out again, but each time, West remained silent. The two would stand still, listening to the shallow breaths escaping Hendrick’s lungs.

     They would stand there until Hendrick shuffled his way off the porch and back to his house.

     “I want to ask him,” West said. “I want to ask him why, but I’m scared I’ll get why.”

     When reading his grandfather’s obituary, he noticed Hendrick’s daughter had been buried in the same cemetery. The photo showed her standing among evergreen trees that reached so high the camera could not capture them. The outline of the photo was a crude sketch of the trees.

     Hendrick returned the next day, the sun beating down on his back. His face was flush before the yelling could even begin. With one finger raised, Hendrick’s voice flatlined as he looked at West’s face.

     “Would you like one,” West asked. “A tree, I mean.”

     Together, they walked down the sidewalk to the row of evergreens. Hendrick remained quiet as West inspected each one. The one closest to the fence had been sun bleached and needed some attention. The third one, in the middle, had a bird’s nest hidden within the branches. There were two that seemed healthy enough to move, but West knew the perfect one.

     “I think this one was her favorite,” He said.

     Near the bottom of the trunk, a red ribbon had been tied.

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     The evergreen tree closest to the road had grown to rest underneath West’s chin. He scavenged the shed to find shovels and a wheelbarrow. Before the sun peered out from the clouds that morning, West dug around the tree until he was certain he had all the roots. Cleaning it up, he hauled the tree into the wheelbarrow. His fingers felt stiff and raw, but he continued to push the tree and crossed the property line.

     Hendrick was waiting in his yard, within view of his bedroom window. West met him on the other side of a narrow, deep pit. Taking the trunk and roots, West lifted the tree out of the wheelbarrow. Hendrick, with gloved hands, cradled the branches. Together, they laid the evergreen into the damp dirt.