The Mathesons weren’t expected until eleven and the Parkers planned to check in at two, so there was plenty of time to get a little gardening in after she hung the sheets to dry. Dora dressed in loose overalls and a T-shirt, stuffed her thick hair up into a wide-brimmed hat and donned her clogs and gloves. A riot of birdsong greeted her when she stepped outside and the bright May morning coaxed a smile to her face. The climbing roses, draped like a gem-studded stole down the side of the house, were almost garish in their ruby profusion. She knelt before the peonies, whose buds were about to burst with bright fuchsia petals, and started weeding. “I should really have divided these in the fall,” she muttered, “but I reckon they’ll make it one more summer.” Soon, she felt lulled into contentedness by the repetitive action and the immersion with nature. She began to sing a favourite Aretha Franklin song, ‘Natural Woman’, as she worked. By the last line, Dora was overcome by the power of the Queen of Soul.
