The Tragic Tale of Teddy Woven

Chapter 3

The gardening shed had all the necessary supplies. Teddy took a step back, allowing me to venture into the darkened space to examine the gardening equipment. It was an unusually large shed, with a few odd trinkets strung along the sides of the wooden wall. It was clean, a strange imitation of his ancestral home that was just outside of his shed. “You should have everything you need in here,” Teddy informed me in a clear tone of voice. “And I will leave the key on this hook.” He waited for me to turn around, allowing my eyes to follow the slow movements of his arm before he latched the key ring on a silver hook. “And you know where I will be if you are in need of me.”

“Yes,” I answered him quite breathlessly, for his visage was eclipsed in darkness from the natural lighting of the shed. He stood there motionlessly for a moment, and then swiftly turned around to make his way back towards the house again. An involuntary shudder seized me. My jaw clenched with the realization that there was something alluring about me that Teddy could not ignore.

Bent on the need for a distraction, I pulled out the wrinkled note I wrote last night. Daphne described the areas she would like me to focus on for this week, and I was ardent on following them to the letter. A long green hose was unlatched from its holder, and slowly but surely, I pulled it out to bring the nozzle to the edge of the house. I had to water the flowers first, so I thought to start at the front of the house. The water gushed from the hose, spraying over the greenery of plants that had been shielded from the drizzle of rain earlier this morning. I looked to the rugged brown door, and then the thick green vines that curled around the edges of the right side of the house. Bird songs filled the air, high enough for me to take in the clear blue sky. There were seldom any clouds now, and if I listened carefully enough, I could hear the hush roaring of the sea. The sound of fingers pressing quickly over the piano keys filled the air around the house as Teddy played his instrument. He was a talented pianist, the accuracy of his execution as he played a piece by Beethoven only proved that. The window in the living room was barely cracked open, allowing music to seep into the air and come wafting its way towards me. I listened attentively, marvelled by the sheer sound that this man was able to produce.

I moved to the right more, finding the flowers had been well watered. My attention was soon focused on a small section of yellow daffodils, watching them sway to the left and right as water poured down to their very roots. The music continued to play at a quick pace, crazed and hurried as if this man was holding his very breath. The depths of his passion were portrayed in his music, a world of emotion that he tried to hold back. I moved to the corner of the house, only to find there were no flowers that needed to be watered there. There was a strange sense of regret since I had to move further away from the brick building, knowing the closest set of flower pots were at the very back of the house. The music gradually became distant, and once I was standing over a circular rocky pathway with a green hose dangling in my hand, the homeowner’s music was but a distant memory for me.

***

An hour and a half later I was trimming unruly hedges when I heard soft padding of shoes against the grass. My hedge scissors were lowered to my waist after I turned around to face him. He was dressed in the same apparel, though he looked more relaxed as the natural shelter of the brick wall blocked out the harsh noon day lightening. “It is almost time for you to go,” he noted. “I suppose I can’t convince you to stay.”

“I have to return to my regular job.” My arm was brought upwards to wipe sweat from my brow. I could feel my dark brown hair clinging to the side of my face, since the heat from the sun caused me to sweat profusely. “I will have to leave right at noon.”

“In another half an hour,” he noted, without ever looking at the time. He stood perfectly still, simply watching me for a moment. “I think you should come inside for a break,” he suggested. His right leg stretched forward, causing most of his weight to lean over to the left.

“I still have this to finish,” I pointed out.

“Come in for water at least.”

“Oh, alright.”

He nodded his head in contention, and then took a step backwards to create more space. I made sure the hedge scissors were safely closed. Teddy watched me lay it down on the grass, for I was intent on completing the task before I would have to leave his estate for the day.

He waited for me to take a place by his side. The movements of his feet were impeccably smooth upon the grass, almost gliding in a way while he raised his chin upwards to admire the scenery.

“Teddy?” I called out to gather his attention. “Who taught you how to play?”

“My guardian.”

“Guardian?”

“Yes,” he murmured. He gave me a look to ensure I made no further inquiries. I turned my gaze fearfully from him, allowing my eyes to take in the wall of his house that was hidden away from the bright sunlight. “Tired?”

“Oh, it is the sun,” I confided. “I should have brought a hat.”

“It would help.”

“What will you do for the rest of the afternoon?”

He shrugged his right shoulder. “Paint, I suppose.” I noticed how he kept his gaze straight ahead, almost not wanting to look in my direction anymore. “It is a fine day for it.” Content © copyrighted by NôvelDrama.Org.

“Do you ever get lonely?” I asked of him, after we turned a sharp right to strike the rocky path that led to his front door. “Living out here alone?”

“I enjoy the silence of it all.”

I believed him for some reason; Teddy did not strike me as the type of person that wanted a companion. The front door was gently pushed open, and then he instructed me to lay my boots on the designated mat that had been cleaned while I was gone. He removed his shoes as well, letting me see the large size of his feet as he stood there in dark burgundy socks. “We will go into the kitchen,” he suggested. “If you would like to go to the washroom to freshen up, it is on your right.”

“I think I will go now,” I informed him. We parted ways once we reached the end of the hall, prompting me to open the plain white door to step inside of the space. His washroom was incredibly narrow, leaving me barely enough room to breathe. I found it flawlessly clean, however, taking note of the fresh flowers he had trimmed for a tall white vase next to the sink. Lavender-scented hand soap was placed over a circular bowl in the shape of a leaf; the mirror was short and narrow to let me catch a glimpse of my wild hair. When I had first entered his house it was tied up, but now my stray brown hair had slipped out of the tie to go over the sides of my head. I had short wavy brown hair; it reached the tips of my shoulders when I let it all down. I decided to comb my fingers through it, and let my hair fall downwards and to the sides. My hands soon cupped cold water to splash it over my face, letting the salty sweat pour down my brow and go dripping into the large white sink. It took me a few more minutes to freshen up, and once I was done, I patted a carefully folded towel over my face to have me nice and dry. Soft brown eyes stared back at me in my reflection, calm and full of life as I gingerly smiled back at my reflection. My fingers did their best to push back my bangs, and with that I dropped the towel in a waste basket and left the tiny room.