We Could Get By

v.

Damn weeds. The last thing Nellie needed was for her garden to get overrun. She refused to be responsible for letting her yard become an eyesore. It was hardly sprawling, but extracting the clumps of thick grass from between the daylilies and bleeding hearts without accidentally uprooting a flower was far more time consuming than she would have liked.

"I ought to get Mister Todd out here to do this instead," she mumbled to the plants, pushing their leaves aside to inspect the dirt for any stray clusters or sticker bushes. He most certainly would not be enthusiastic about it, but she learned long ago in her own quiet epiphany that enthusiasm was something she would seldom receive from him; Sweeney's cooperation was more than enough to be grateful for.

 It was unlike Saturday mornings to be so still. Even their street seemed practically deserted. She could have sworn she heard the bar door swing open, but nobody came in or out of there so early- especially not on the weekend.

Nellie turned back to her plants. Perhaps there was a way she could fit some white lilies in among the rest of her garden. She'd had them in her bouquet and adored them ever since. They would look lovely by the white fence, she thought, or sprinkled in the nearly-empty patch by the front steps.

"Well, hello, Mrs. Lovett!"

Nellie had to carefully arrange her features into a polite smile before she turned around to face Maureen Babcock. She should have expected Maureen to come sauntering across the street; it was common knowledge that Mrs. Babcock stationed herself at the window of her bedroom above the bar and watched the street like a hawk. If anyone so much as opened their front door, she saw it. "Hello, Maureen. You're out 'n about early, aren't ya?"

Maureen twirled her parasol, pink-painted lips stretched in a too-tight smile. Nellie wondered idly if Maureen kept a book somewhere of everyone in town. "I saw you out here and just thought I'd drop by. How have you been, Mrs. Lovett? How about that fascinating husband of yours?"

"Oh, well, y'know how Mister T is- busy, busy. Always work to be done."

"And what about your boy, Nellie? He's getting so tall! He can't really be yours, can he? Doesn't look much like you, though. How old is he, anyway? I dare say, I didn't think you were still young enough to-"

"How 'bout that fascinating husband of yours, Mrs. Babcock? Where is he?" 

Maureen's delicate features twisted into a look of vague disgust. "Waiting for me, actually. I'd best get going. See you, Mrs. Lovett. Nice chatting." Everyone knew the only reason Mr. Babcock kept his bar running was to fuel his own borderline alcoholism, just as everyone knew Maureen was fond of winking at other people's husbands when they stopped by for drinks.

"Hmph."

The door swung open after Maureen was safely perched at her window once more, and Toby came trotting outside, shielding his eyes from the sun with his hand. He settled himself on the ground beside Nellie, moving her small garden trowel out of the way. She grinned at him from beneath her floppy straw hat.

"Oh, hello, darling! Ain't you got work today?"

He shook his head. "Not today, mum. Mister Green says he'll do it this mornin'. Was that Mrs. Babcock?"

"Unfortunately. She's a nasty ol' thing. What do ya think about that ivy there?" She pointed to the tendrils that had begun their slow creep up the side of the house and towards Sweeney's parlor window.

"Just leave it, it'll be dead come winter anyways. Have ya seen Mister Todd yet?"

"Not that I know of. Why?"