50 Years of Rhododendrons

The steam of Esther’s mug of tea swirls and disappears in the morning sun. She sits in a chair just outside the door of her small English cottage, staring out at the massive expanse of rhododendrons she has amassed in the 50 years since she and her husband moved in as young newlyweds. The sweet smell and the sound of bees buzzing to and from the purple flowers awake her senses and prepare her for the day. A lone honey bee lands on her floral-printed robe, which is welcomed by Esther, and she smiles as the bee flies off in search of food. Esther has always been fascinated by honey bees. She now has 5 hives which she cares for with the help of her nephew who lives up the road. Observing their behaviour is one of her favourite ways to pass her days, especially since her husband, Clifford, had to move into a nursing home last year. He is 82 now, 8 years older than Esther, and while his mind is sharp as a tack, his mobility has become severely limited. Esther was sad to have him leave their home, but a guilty part of her was relieved because the level of care he required was becoming quite taxing.

***

When Esther enters Clifford’s room at the nursing home, she can immediately tell that something is not quite right with her husband. He is seated at the small round table that sits a few feet away from his bed with his hands together in his lap. Esther leaves the door to the hallway open behind her and takes a seat opposite Clifford.

“Is something wrong my dear?” she asks as she places the crusty bread and soft cheese she brought on the tabletop.

“I need to talk to you about something, Esther,” he replied in a concerned tone, trying to keep his voice down. “It’s Jill.”

“What about her?” Esther asked.

Jill was a young red-headed PSW at the nursing home who had been mainly in charge of Clifford’s care during his stay at the home. She was always cheery, very attentive, and made Esther feel better about having her husband stay here. They had become very familiar over the last year, and Esther considered her a friend, not strictly her husband’s caregiver.

He hesitated before he spoke. “She has been speaking to me differently, almost like I am losing my mind, like I can’t remember things, or I am confused when I am very much not. But it’s not just that…” Clifford looked down at his clasped hands, embarrassed by what he was about to say, “She’s been rougher with me when she helps me dress or when I need help going somewhere. Sometimes when I have an accident, she will ignore me and leave me to lay there, helpless in my own filth. And things have been going missing, Esther. But when I say something about it, she says that I must be mistaken.”

Esther was floored. As she sits there, across from her husband who couldn’t even look her in the eye after revealing his mistreatment, she felt a combination of rage and overwhelming guilt bubble up inside her. How could she let this happen? How could the nursing home let this happen?

“Cliff, you need to say something. If you don’t, I will.”

Just as Esther finished this sentence, there was movement out in the hallway, like someone had been hovering at the door. Was it Jill? Did she just hear everything Clifford had to say about her?

She left her husband at the end of her visit with a kiss on the forehead and a promise from him that he would report Jill the next day.

That evening Esther’s hands would not stop shaking. She tried to brew herself some chamomile tea for the nerves, but no amount of tea would calm the feelings Esther was having. She was beside herself. She blamed herself for letting him go to that home. She pictured Jill’s smile and the way she was always so friendly to Esther, and she hated her for it. These thoughts kept her up until she could not keep her eyes open anymore.

***

Esther awoke abruptly to the sound of the phone ringing. She wiped her eyes and rolled over to grab the receiver off the mint green rotary phone on her bedside table.

“Hello, I am looking for Mrs. Esther Hart.”

“Speaking.”

“I’m sorry to call you so early in the morning. I’m calling from the Edgehill Nursing Home. I have some bad news. Your husband, Clifford, passed away last night. It appears he stopped breathing in his sleep.”

“Thank you,” was all Esther could manage to choke out before hanging up the phone.

Her head was swimming, and she could feel the adrenaline rising so fast in her chest she thought she might choke on it.

Esther spent a full three days in bed, leaving only to use the bathroom and warm the occasional helping of casserole from her fridge that was dropped off by her nephew. On the morning of the fourth day, Esther was staring at the wallpaper, losing her grip on reality, when the phone rang again. She let it ring three times before answering it.

“Hello?”

“Hello Mrs. Hart, it’s Jill.”

Esther snapped back into reality and could not believe this woman had the audacity to call her.

“Hello Jill,” she replied flatly.

“I wanted to call and see how you were. I can’t believe that Clifford is gone.”

“Yes, it was quite sudden.”

“If you’re up for it, I wanted to invite you over for tea and sandwiches this afternoon. I want to make sure that you’re okay.”

“Yes, that would be fine. I’ll see you around 1 o’clock, Jill.”

Esther hung up the phone abruptly without giving Jill the chance to carry on the conversation any further. Esther agreed to this empty gesture of Jill’s because she needed to see her for herself after everything that Clifford told her.

Esther dressed in her smartest blue frock and curled her short grey hair. She placed a small amount of rouge on her lips and even dug out her patent white leather shoes. She needed to look confident and put together, not like some grieving and frail old woman that could be taken advantage of. She looked out her kitchen window at the hives of bees buzzing about in the sun. Esther never ate any of the honey that her bees produced, instead leaving them to use it how they saw fit, but she thought to herself, “Well I think that they can spare a jar.”

***

Jill was looking somber when Esther arrived, but something about her expressions seemed shallow. Esther was welcomed to the screened sitting room adjacent to the kitchen where there was a pot of tea steeping, biscotti, and a plate of small egg salad sandwiches. Esther offered up the jar of amber honey that she had donned with a small purple bow to use in their tea. Jill accepted and placed a small amount in a dish with a spoon.

“How are you holding up, Esther?” Jill asked.

“Well, you know. These things happen. All I can do is try and live with it.”

Esther purposely said this in as nonchalant of a tone as she could muster in order to try and get Jill to express the same sentiment, which she knew is what Jill truly felt.

“It must have been hard watching Clifford slowly lose his mind like that. Always forgetting what he was doing and becoming confused by things.”

Esther’s lip stiffened, but she forced herself to soften it.

“Yes, his body going downhill was one thing, but the mind is another. I know he was fond of you, Jill. Thank you for all you did for him in his final year.”

Esther was surprised with the ease with which she was spouting these lies and stringing Jill along. Jill was simply trying to cover her tracks. Jill stirred a large spoonful of honey into her tea and took a sip. Esther continued to maintain the façade, her eyes periodically turning back to Jill’s teacup. When Jill was just about finished her tea, she began to look distracted from the conversation. Jill reached for her throat and let out a few forced coughs as she fetched some ice water from the kitchen.

“Everything all right?” Esther asked.

“Yes, I think I just burnt my throat a little bit on the tea,” she replied.

Esther watched as Jill’s attention continued to turn inward. She started to become pale and told Esther that she was beginning to feel a bit faint.

“It must be the heat,” she assured Esther.

After a few more minutes, Jill’s breath started to become more laboured, and she had to excuse herself from the table to the lounge chair next to the table in the sunroom.

Esther brought her a wet cloth for her forehead, and then went to grab her a pillow from inside. Esther approached Jill, and when she was sure that Jill was completely incapacitated, let herself drop the act she had been maintaining.

“You know Jill, I’m just remembering why I don’t eat the honey from my hives. My bees feed mainly on rhododendrons, making their honey toxic. Silly me, I must have become forgetful in my old age. You know how that goes.”

Esther could not help but smirk at the look of shock and terror on Jill’s face.

“That’s what you were telling everyone at the home, right? That my poor, sweet Clifford was losing his mind so that you could take advantage of him, and nobody would believe him. Well, I know that my husband was as mentally sound as the day I met him, and he recently had a check-up that gave him a clean bill of health. Lungs as healthy as a horse.”

Esther paused for a reply, but Jill could not speak, and only responded with ever-growing fear in her eyes. Esther took the pillow meant for Jill’s head, and placed it down onto Jill’s face.

“That was you in the hallway the last time I visited, wasn’t it? You heard that your luck was being cut short and you did something about it. Is this what you did to my husband in his sleep to cut loose ends? Killed him in a way that he was too weak to fight back from and wouldn’t show up in an autopsy?”

Jill squirmed just barely beneath Esther’s force; her muscles too weak from the grayanotoxin in the honey. Esther stayed firm in her stance, not easing back even for a second. Maybe this would be traced back to her, but she didn’t even care anymore. The guilt she felt over the abuse of her husband was enough to drive her to murder. Within two minutes, Jill stopped squirming, and Esther removed the pillow from her face. Her mouth was open, but her eyes were closed. She looked like she had just dozed off in the afternoon sun. Esther washed out her set of dishes and put them away to make it look like the table was never set up for two. Every evidence of her honey in that teacup washed down the drain, and the jar returned to her purse to be disposed of at home.

***

Esther sits in her garden, her steaming mug of tea on the table next to her. She looks out at her garden of rhododendrons, smiling at the memory of Clifford bringing her home her first one 50 years ago.