Flower’s Tongue

Daisy = protection

My father drew a masterful picture of a house covered in all sorts of flowers when I was little. He framed it and hung it in the common room of the house.

“Is it a real place?” I had asked him with big eyes.

“Yes,” he answered simply.

“Who lives there?” I asked unable to peel my eyes away from the artwork.

“A flower keeper and her younger sister used to live there,” he answered with a soft smile but sad eyes.

“Used to?” I asked surprised that anyone would want to leave such a place.

“They live in heaven now,” he answered and I could tell that it was the end of the conversation.

When I grew up a bit more, I was allowed the true story. A pair of sister’s really did live in the house until the town turned on them and deemed them witches. The house was lit aflame. My mother was staying there at the time and wouldn’t have made it out alive if it wasn’t for my father. I was told the older sister was gentle and made bouquets of flowers with messages for those who needed them. The younger sister was bright and made a mistake that the family didn’t mind but strangers wouldn’t forgive. They took my mother in as one of them when she had no family of her own. My grandmother died when she was just a little girl. She didn’t have enough time with her to remember the small details, but she had more than enough time to adore the woman. The wild woman who would swim in ponds with her at home, and the tame woman who would mind her manners in public. My mother was not taught to tame herself before her mother left this world. It is one of the reasons the flower house ended the way it did. I won’t make the same mistake.

Now I sit on a train to visit a friend’s garden. I bring her eggs from my mother’s chickens in exchange for herbs and flowers. I use them the same way the older sister did. I do so in whispers that the prosecutors cannot hear. I teach what I learned from my mother’s story and what I learn from the older women I meet to the other young women who need it. Sometimes I overstep but I have more empathy for those who need my help than fear for those who wish to burn me. I remain cautious though. I don’t share this part of my life with my mother and I ever intend to. She’s been through enough already.

The train had to make an unexpected stop which wouldn’t be much of an issue if it wasn’t for the darkness that has seemed to come early tonight. The only other person in my train cart is a boy, around my age, scared looking. The train comes to a stop, and I walk right up to him before he can stand up from his seat.

“Sir, would you hurt me?” I ask even toned. I find putting them on the spot leads to more truthful results.

“No, why would I?” He asks with slightly widened eyes and softly blushed cheeks. He’ll do.

“It is dark outside. Would you please walk me home?” I ask with no grief about putting him out of his way.

“Yes Ma’am,” he answers surprisingly quickly. He grabs a briefcase from under his seat, and I lead the way off the train.

The boy walks anxiously besides me. I loop my elbow through his. Men usually respect another man enough not to mess with his property. I play the part well despite my hatred for the need to.

“Your mama raised you right?” I ask to break the thickly uncomfortable silence. Rocks fly away from our feet as we make our way down the gravel road of town.

“Did not have one to,” he answers bluntly.

“That is no fair, I am sorry,” I say sincerely. “What is your name?” I ask as I can’t help but notice the sight of the multiple story wooden buildings. This town is not much bigger than my own but quite a bit more modern.

“Caleb,” he answers with a small nod.

“Nice to meet you Caleb, I am Belladonna,” I dutifully return the gesture. I hear horses nay as they stand outside of pubs waiting to pull home their owners.

“Like the flower?” He asks.

“Exactly. I come from a long line of flowers,” I say with a confident smile.

“Is the belladonna flower not poisonous?” He asks a bit perplexed.

“But beautiful, is it not? My mother hoped I would be both,” I answer unafraid of the implication.

“What is her name?” He asks avoiding my statement a bit nervously.

“Venus, like a Venus fly trap,” I answer.

“Makes perfect sense then,” he amends with a small smile.

“Perfect is not a part of nature, Caleb,” I say with a small amount of lecturing to my voice.

“Are flowers not perfect?” He asks like he has already outsmarted me.

“Careful, you might be admiring life despite your nervousness,” I say with a small squeeze of the arm of his that I have mine looped through.

“You could use a little nervousness yourself, Ma’am,” he says matching my tone.

“How do you mean?” I ask looking right at him.

“You are not even frightened of walking with a stranger at night.” I stop walking.

“Should I be frightened of you, Caleb?” I ask now completely facing him.

“No, Ma’am, I beg your pardon,” he says with his already signature demeanor.

“You do not have to be frightened of me either,” I amend.

“I am not,” he says as we continue walking.

“I would not think less of you if you were. Being scared is already an awful feeling without adding shame to it, do you not think?” He nods his head. “My friend’s house is right up there. Thank you for your service, Caleb.”

“Quite the garden they have got. What does someone do with all those flowers?” He asks.

“You would be surprised how useful beauty can be,” I say while continuing on without him.

“Wait, will you be staying here long?” He asks after me.

“I should be cautious with strangers, should I not? I cannot tell you that,” I call over my shoulder to him.

“I will be at the inn if you need someone to walk with you again,” he says with his first bit of true confidence that I’ve seen. I slowly walk towards him, closing the gap between us. I take one of the daisies I had tucked behind my ear and place it in the front pocket of his shirt. Grabbing a small paper scrap from my satchel, I scribble a quick note on it before folding it up and placing it in the pocket as well. I walk away without another word. The note a definition of how a flower can be more useful than beauty.