The Keeper

Samantha knocked on the grass-green door and stepped back to wait for Mrs. Newton to open it. The door pulled inward, and Mrs. Newton raised her arm to welcome Samantha inside. The living room was small but cozy, and plants adorned all available surfaces. The furniture reminded Samantha of her grandmother’s–outdated in style, but clean and comfortable.

“Samantha, so good of you to come. I can’t tell you how grateful I am that you’re keeping my plants while I’m gone,” she smiled at the young woman, her crow’s feet bunching up in the corners of her eyes. “I’m headed to see my sister. I’d rather not, but she’s anxious to see me.”

Samantha chuckled. “It’s no problem, Mrs. Newton. I’m home for winter break, and I’m happy to help,” she said, offering her a smile in return.

“Well, dear, I’ve made you a list. It looks like a lot, but it’s just the details. Let me show you where my watering can and plant food are, and then we can go through the list.” She hobbled out of the living room into the kitchen. She opened the cabinet under the sink to reveal her watering can and fertilizing spray. “Here they are. You can fill the watering can from the tap, and I’ve made up enough spray that you shouldn’t need to refill it. It’s only a week, after all.”

“Great! That’s easy enough,” Samantha said, thinking this odd job seemed like a cinch.

“Okay, here’s my first plant, a philodendron,” she said. “He needs watered once a week. He’s not the only one, though. There’s another over there by the TV. Same instructions. Just pour the water until it runs out into the saucer.”

Samantha nodded.

Mrs. Newton moved over to the windowsill above the sink. “But this one over here is my African Violet, and you must be so careful with her, dear. You can’t water her from above. The water must be room temperature, and you need to fill the saucer, here it is, underneath, with water. But you mustn’t leave it to sit in the water. You should probably set a timer–no more than 30 minutes or the roots will rot! You’ll dump out the saucer after the time is up. Do you understand, dear?” Mrs. Newton wrung her hands and a worried gaze settled on her face.

Samantha took a deep breath and thought, I hope I don’t screw this up. “Yes, ma’am, that makes perfect sense.” She doubted every word she said.

Mrs. Newton ran her finger down the list. “The ficus is a bit testy. Do be careful not to move it. She’ll shed her leaves in an instant! She only needs enough water to moisten the soil. Don’t drench her,” she said, her chest heaving slightly.

Samantha nodded again in assent. They had only covered three plants, and the list went on and on. Mrs. Newton seemed awfully attached to her plants. What if she killed one? Could she kill a plant in a week? She started to wish she hadn’t agreed to this odd job.

“Samantha, dear, are you okay?” she asked, scrutinizing Samantha’s face. “Oh, you’re feeling a bit overwhelmed, then? It is a lot, isn’t it? Here, have a seat, and I’ll get you a glass of water. Don’t you worry a second about these plants. My sister can come visit me for a change!”

Woman with Plants, Grant Wood, 1929.