The Stone Necklace, page 35
“Hey.” Joe squatted down, ignoring the tweak of pain in his knees.
The boy pointed at one of the flowers.
“You like that?” Joe cut the bloom and handed it to the little boy.
The child squeezed the stalk with long-fingered hands. “Bonito.”
“That means pretty.” Miss Abby appeared, lifting the boy into her arms. “Joe, this is my son, Esteban.”
The child looked nothing like Miss Abby, but rested his head against her chest, the flower clutched close to his chin, like those arms were where he belonged.
“Bath time,” Miss Abby said. “Ring the bell before you leave, Joe. I have something for you.”
Joe nodded and returned to his work. He’d leave the giant bush alone for now, let the beautiful flowers have their way. Next he’d tackle the grass, scatter fertilizer across the speckled patch of green so it could grow thick and lush, a soft place for a running little boy to land, a beautiful stretch of yard like Mr. Mitch liked it.
Mr. Mitch’s garden would thrive, as long as Joe Booker walked the earth. The Lord told him to tend it, and that’s exactly what he’d do.
Carla Damron, The Stone Necklace
