Green Leaves She Holds

They say plants grow because we feed them and the sun does her part but is that all there is to it? But how does one find out if a plant channels what each gardener feels? Of course there is the scientific method of attaching wires or plugging in measuring devices, but a fair few disregard those findings. Elmira Ferndale wasn’t a measure-plants type, as she wanders through life. Free to nurture any sickly plant from the back of her nineteen sixties Dodge A100 mobile home. Unfortunately for two years she had previously been trapped like a caged bird, married to a tyrant claiming to protect her from the world.

Escaping one night she rolls her wheeled home down the hill, rushing past the cliff top and into a new comforting reality.

Hanging pots by her face sway as she slips away. Lighting her way to freedom, Elmira chut-chuts her portable home past shut doors and sleeping villagers. “I want a new home where the people stay up late and dance. Please goddess moon take me to a sickly plant by the sea and away from him.”

The moon is covered by soft, silent clouds as Elmira yawns and stops at a crossroads to nap until the sun offers her a new day. Stepping out of her padded seat, she pushes open the curtain to her bed. Leans over the edge of her bed to lock the back door handle, she tugs the fabric shut to cover the night’s whispers of the tyrant she ran from.

“I suppose I should create a P.O. Box number so my solicitor can reach me. That awful man would drag me back via his thugs if he finds me though. I need to hide somewhere to soothe my aching soul.”

Her dry, aching eyes close.

Bright light has Elmira grumble, “Morning already? Time to find breakfast then head on my way to somewhere new.” Lifting her expensive back with nice face cream and Parisienne perfume she steps out of her van and walks firmly to a nearby bin and dumps her bag. “I bet he has a location tag on my phone or bag somewhere. This time I am gone for good.”

Humming her clan’s song of gaelic sea adventures, Elmira slides into her home while it chug-chugs a solid rhythm to her song, she moves slowly along a narrow lane, eyeballing plants to check if they need her help.

Rubbing her neck ache from the bumps in the road, she stops at a tiny cafe with two white chairs under a red and white open awning. “This would look perfect with a basket of healthy flowers sticking out from a duet of baskets either side.”

Heels behind her paired with a high voice says, “That would be nice, but I’m terrible at keeping plants alive. They are either yellow by the end of the week or brown.”

Turning to face the woman wearing a wide hem red polka dot dress Elmira nods, “Yes, in straw baskets the plant's roots are too hot and their flower tips are cold. It needs to be the other way around. Fill soggy moss between the straw layers and roots will soon stay cool. Rest your baskets in the evening sun while you soak the moss again, rehanging them at bedtime.”

“Thanks for the tip, what will you have then green fingered lady?”

“How about a full English with extra bacon and no eggs? With the biggest mug of tea you have?” Elmira asks.

“Sure, two rounds of toast with that? You've been sleeping in your van?”

“I’m used to it, I like being free to roam and help sickly plants.” Elmira says.

The red heels click away from Elmira as the cafe radio echoes, “Here’s the morning news for Port Sea and surrounding areas of the South Coastal bay. Polpentworth are having problems with their plants again this month and may not be able to enter the best village competition which they have won for three years running. Their hanging baskets are usually filled with moss, but this year there isn’t any moss to be found anywhere…Local officials…”

A plate of toast and a huge Boss Lady mug of tea is placed on the white metal table in front of Elmira.

“Did you hear that, green fingered Lady? Perhaps you should go to Polpentworth? They are back at the crossroads sign and turn right for six miles. There’s a bog and reeds near here where you can pick up moss and reeds to protect them.”

“Thanks very much, I might just do that, even if I just go for dinner and sleep in my mobile home,” says Elmira. She dabs her mouth and rubs her tummy. “How much is that please?”

The red heels stop, “How about two baskets of flowers for my shop? I’d happily pay for them. I’m not looking for favours.”

Elmira pops open her crochet green cardigan and pulls out some gold one pound coins, “Here’s eleven pounds for the breakfast, and maybe enough for a coffee and a bun when I return this way with your baskets. Are the red and white flowers what you want?”

A hand slips into Elmira’s.“I’m Ellie and I own this cafe, while my husband erects houses, he’s the foreman. Nice to meet you, what’s your name then?”

“Hello my name is Elmira but call me Elm I help sick flowers.”

Lifting up the empty plate Ellie’s eyes twinkle in the early morning sun, “A kind of plant doctor then? Don't they call that a horticulturalist?”

Rising from the cushioned white metal chair, Elmira replies, “I haven’t been to University to study it, I heal all sick plants, not just the ones I have grown.”

Ellie nods as she calls over her shoulder, “How much for two of your hanging baskets then? A tenner each is it?”

“Yes that works for me Ellie,” says Elmira.

A clink of china hits metal, with a pause. Click clack of heels on tiled flooring has Ellie return to continue their chat, “How about next week for delivery Elm?”

“Sure Ellie, see you next Saturday for your pair of red and white hanging baskets.” Elmira says.

***

The rattling exhaust definitely ensures Elmira is noticed driving into the large quadrant heart of Polpentworth. Wilted hanging baskets are being lowered down as a gathering mutters about curses of the fae folk.

“We need a green fingered gardener Mavis, have you tried Mrs Jones at Heath Top?”

A head of tight curled hair on an older woman wearing a floral dress replies, “Yes Mr Timms sir, we even tried asking at old Winnie's cottage, but she couldn’t remember her famous remedies.”

Elmira, in her long green cotton floral dress and crochet green jacket watches,her wavy blonde hair flapping in the soft lunchtime breeze, Elmira steps out of her A100 to watch. Stepping nearer to the crowd she crouches and her cold fingers gently stroke the crunchy petals half devoid of life.

“Then there’s the time and cost of buying new floral arrangements when we only have a week before the four judges arrive here,” says Mrs Jones. She rubs her calves, and twists to her left to watch the thin, long fingers stroking dried leaves while humming. “Excuse me, who are you, and why are you touching our sick hanging baskets?”

Elmira’s long lashes flick up and her pale skin glows, “I’m Elmira Ferndale, Ellie from Moss hill suggested I come and help your sick plants. That’s what I do, you see. She’s going to save me a nice bun and a cup of coffee when I deliver her new red and white hanging baskets next Saturday.”

“I see, well stand up let us all take a look at you,” says Mavis Jones. “I’m the Committee Chair for the village and I hold the purse strings for this special event. We have won Best Village Flowers for three years running. But this year is in doubt. What do you suggest?”

Elmira rises and shakes hands with each of the seven committee members; Mrs Mavis Jones the Committee Chair, Mr Timms the village solicitor and five shop owners around the village, including Miss Stitch the dressmaker and Mr Stout from the local pub.

Mavis Jones calls the small gathering to order, “Nice to meet you dear, but how can you help us with our sick plants?”

“I have collected fresh hardy moss and a few extra herbs to heal the plants. It looks like the wrong mix of food was pushed into the soil to absorb water, causing the flower roots to be thirsty. It happens in summer all the time. My special mix will heal them in a few days, unblocking their roots so they can drink again.”

Mr Timms glances at the exposed ankle of Elmie and her thin long fingers, “You look a delicate Lady from an ivory tower Miss Elmira, hardly real at all. If I believed in Elves or Sea Fae I would wonder if you are one of them. I’m Mr Timms, the local solicitor, nice to meet you.”

“I am a person who needs to be free to help sick plants, Mister Timms, though I have one thing left to do before summer ends, that I will ask your help with.” Elmira says.

“Of course dear Lady once our flower baskets are saved,” replies Mr Timms.

Elmira opens her van doors and touches two trays of moss. One long deep box that she had grown while still caged, where she cried everyday to run along the beach and dance in the waves at moonlight. The second shallow box of moss being freshly picked is juicy and darker green. Showing Mavis Jones her moss boxes and herb mix in twelve labelled jars, the village committee agrees that Elmira can be their plant doctor.

An old village florist shop is given to Elmira and she hands the first month’s rent to Mr Stout the pub owner who holds all the village leases. With her mobile home parked out the back of the shop Elmira fills deep stone troughs mixing water with her herb mixture she swirls it around with her hands. Singing with joy, her eyes are damp as she finally returns to her first love, healing plants. Mr Stout has arranged credit at the town’s florist merchant Jones & Jones, and Elmira books to visit them to place her order the following day using Mr Stout’s pub phone.

Clicking off the lights to her new florist shop Elmira stumbles upstairs. Pushing open one door she finds a deep bath, fresh towels, a folded fabric with lace sleeves for a night dress. Tiny tea lights and matches for a cosy bath. A gust of wind invites her into the next room full of potted plants hanging around a square window frame ledge. Each plant sways in the wind from a hook embedded into the thick old style ledge. “This is a lovely way for crochet to hang plants.” Each plant holder has their own dish of water near the roots so the plant only dips into drink when it needs it. With the sweet flora scent mixing with the cold salty air Elmira yawns.

Into the bathroom to soak in candle light her eyes droop. Refreshed she steps out with warm steam swirling around her torso, with her hair wrapped in a long towel. Back in the bedroom she sits by the window. Lifts her wide toothed comb from her green crochet jacket pocket to comb through her hair. She slides out her bed bonnet with twisted old socks inside it. Wrapping her soggy hair around the socks to curl her hair, she adds hair bands to the ends and rolls them into the green satin hat.

Lifting a dry small towel from the chair by the bed she lays it across the pillow and closes her eyes. The only movement that night is the random creak of plants being rocked to and fro in a wind lullaby. Elmira is still.

***

The next morning pushing open the florist shop front door, Elmira waves at Mr Timms entering his solicitor office with the bronze and wood sign outside.

Elmira puts a sign on her florist door which says, Gone to town, I will be back at 1 p.m. Leave a note and your number in the metal box hooked on the door and I will get back to you for your new order of flowers.

***

In the town florist supplier warehouse the array of flower colours makes Elmira weep.

A warm hand touches her wrist, “Madam are you alright? Do you need a sweet cup of coffee and a seat while you plan your florist order?” Asks the tall, dark haired man, offering his hand.

Elmira looks at his hand with wide eyes. Her skin flushes.

A warm chest touches her back, “Hey Peter I think you are scaring the lady. Just give her a chair and walk away.”

A chair is pushed towards Elmira who stutters a sorry at the two men.

Blushing and rubbing her left ear Elmira looks down at her white knuckles, and relaxes them, “My name is Elmira Ferndale at two The Florist, main quadrant, Polpentworth, TR1 7BT,” here is my order number, Mr Stout the publican has set a line of credit for me with you,” says Elmira.

“Ah yes, Mr Stout and my dad go way back. I remember he mentioned the plant doctor was coming to buy flowers for some new customers. Nice to see the closed up florist in Polpentworth in use again. My sister owned that shop until…er never mind.”

Elmira dropped a few sad tears onto a patch of red petunias, “Oh sorry she died. I remember the news..” adds Elmira.

Earlier while still locked up in the gilded cage Elmira had sobbed over the pale moss she had grown. Now her tears are on the red petunias.

Elmira bit her lip and sipped her natural fruit water before nodding to Peter, “Thank you Peter Jones, I will see you tomorrow then with my floral order. I can make decent coffee and eggs as a sorry if you get to me at noon. I open my shop at one and stay until around eight in the evening. I charge a by-day fee for healing sick plants so I need a bigger storage area somewhere.”

“Okay see you tomorrow. Can I take photos of your idea? I can chat to a few builders if that helps you? I think Ellie’s husband might help you,” says Peter.

“Okay, bye then,” says Elmira. Walking from the warehouse as heat and salty breeze mixes, Elmira hums an old sea shanty.

Peter watches the floral painted van zoom away and calls Mister Stout, “Hello is that you Jacob?”

“Who’s this?”

“It’s me, Johnny’s boy, Pete Jones. Do you know Elmira? She was pretty jumpy around me today but after a rest placed her order”

“Oh yeah boy? Probably your handsome looks unnerving her. She looks scared as though she knows someone is hunting her, I ignore it and talk calmly, she usually settles after a sip of a good wine.”

***

One day to go before the judging starts and though Mavis Jones has agreed not to touch the soil, moss or flowers she can’t help meddling. The baskets are in neat rows in an old wheelbarrow that Mister Timms, and Peter Jones from town have agreed to carry from round the back of the florists to the black flower poles in the village centre. Pushing her finger into the flower basket soil Mavis recoils her fingers. Her smile drops and her skin pales.

Her husband James touches her elbow, what is it, love?” He says.

“Hold me darling I can’t stop crying but I have no idea why.” Wet splashes on her tears and makes a path down, dripping on her white blouse edge, tainting it grey.

“Mavis love, did you take all your meds today before you came out?” He adds.

“O|f course I have. I just need a long hug.”

Elmira watches Mavis, “I expect she is tired from sorting this special occasion out, I will visit Mr Timms now the arrangements are up. Then tomorrow I will drop the duet baskets to Ellie and then think of leaving.”

Walking across the road Elmira pushes open Mr Timm’s office door, “I need to arrange divorce papers before the end of summer please Mr Timms.”

“Please come in Elmira so I can write down all the particulars.”

Elmira closes the street door and sits down in the cool air conditioned room, “However, I will likely leave here after that, in case people come from my ex husband or they will drag me back where I don’t want to be. My ex will make me squash the divorce I want. I need to be free to heal plants.”

“Oh dear Elmira, is that why you cry so easily?”

“Unfortunately it’s a bit more than that, but it must get done before summer ends. The cold weather makes me want to sleep so I need to be somewhere warm and safe by then,”

“I have a holiday home if you want to run away.”

Elmira looks into the eyes of the grey haired solicitor and shakes her head. Her golden ringlets glide across her pale neck, “I will stay until summer ends then decide,” says Elmira.

Three large silver cars park in front of Mr Timm’s office window and they both watch four suited people with clipboards step out and look around.

“I best go and check to see if they are the four judges. It is important we greet them respectfully,” says Mr Timms.

Elmira pushes at the chair with her hands and stands up. “I can come back tomorrow to give you the paperwork you need. Meanwhile I will go and deliver the duet of flowers to Ellie.”