6 Happy Easter Truly a Floral Tribute by Vivian Farmer Chap. 8 Samuel Monday peered warily through the narrow opening of the mausoleum door. Seeing no one, he opened it just wide enough to slip out and close it behind him. Again he peered around, the pillars of this ornate structure, serving to shelter him from observation, should anyone be passing nearby. His coat, an ancient, once navy, now purplish grey, ail weather coat, sagged at the pockets, with the weight of their contents. As he made his way from tomb stone to tomb stone with a peculiar crab-like gait, the bottle shape was clearly visible in the pockets. He arrived at the wheelbarrow of tools he had left by the patch he had been digging up for fresh planting. Quickly the emptied his pockets and hid the contents under the mound of sod in the barrow. Looking pleased with himself, he trundled the barrow across the churchyard to his back door. That would replenish his stock for now. The week-end had not been a busy one. Only Charlie had come for a bottle and then there was the one he drank himself. Amy poured a cup of coffee and took it out onto the patio, Below where she stood, her father worked at his roses. She had looked out the kitchen window a few minutes ago, and on not seeing him, had assumed he was gone to the post office for the mail. It was about the time he usually went. Such creatures of habit we become, Do something once, then twice and it becomes part of a routine. She was becoming much the same. But he was there now, so he must just have been getting something out of the tool shed, "| just made fresh coffee, Dad" she called. "Would you like a cup?" William looked up the sound of her voice, and waved his secateurs. "I'll only be a minute. | want to finish this first." "Con'tbetoo long, Dad. I'll sunburn if | stay out here the rest of the morning." she laughed. She made herself comfortable on the wicker chaise and sipped her coffee letting her thoughts wander back the evening with Edward. It was surprising how much they found they had in common. They liked music, from Baroque to the Beatles, from folk to folk-rock, but could not listen to the nasal country singers always bewailing their fate. They both cross-country skied as well as doing some down-hill. They liked canoeing. They enjoved comedy to the current genre of crime movies. They both enjoyed reading, with eclectic interests that not only included their fields of learning, but also a wide variety of fiction, read for relaxation. It was enjoyable to discuss ideas, astheir dinner was served. And itwas truly pleasantto spend an evening with somecnewho did not mention gardening once. She was still chuckling to herself when her father stepped onto the patio. "Now, what's so funny?" he demanded. "Ch. | was just thinking how nice it was to spend an evening without having to listen to the various ingredients of environmentally friendly sprays for ridding roses of nematodes." "Am | to understand from that, that you and young Edward got along well last evening?" There was an edge to her father's voice, but a fond smile on his face. "Yes. We had a lovely evening ..... agood dinner ..... a funny movie." "Don't get too attached to him. Remember, you're going outwest soon," her father advised. "In any event, Edward's a bit of a feather weight, intellectually." "Come on Dad. Just because he won't discuss politics with you, doesn't mean he has no opinion." *Hmmf! Even so, it's not fair to play him along, then go out west. | have to remain here and his parents are my friends." The argument was reasonabie, but somehow sounded more of a warning. Rising from her chair, Amy set off for the kitchen to bring out the coffee. "Don't you think that Edward and | can manage a friendship? We've both had plenty of oppor- tunities while we were at university to have a lasting relation- ship with someone, and managed to survive." "Just don't get too involved." This time there was a "warning to her father's words. "Now how about that cof- fee?" Amy poured him a cup, then set the pot back on its stand on the tray. It seemed quite natural to be keeping house for her father. She had done it for years while she was in high school after her mother died. She fell easily into the habit each time she came home from university. He was quite capable of fending for himself, but she knew he liked to be waited on and pampered, and it had always seemed to be expected of her to do so. She had not consciously thought of this until this visit, when she had found herself almost resentful of his assumption that she would succumb to the old habits as soon as she came home. These few weeks before she continued on with her life were to be by way of a vacation, and she wanted the freedom to enjoy them. Quickly she shoved aside her selfish thoughts. After all, she could take a break when she got out west, and really get to know her new surroundings. The nurses at Mill Memorial Hospital regarded Dr. Fegan as their friend, from the Director of Nursing, Margaret Struthers, who had been just starting high school as he Tribute cont'dpg 8