Marigold nodded.
“But Rosemary wants you downstairs,” Finn said. “Do you feel ready for that?”
“Yes,” Marigold said. “Actually, I’m starving.”
Marigold started following Finn down the staircase. Halfway down, Finn stopped. Marigold remembered the heat of their bodies when they fell together here…his scent of fresh grass…his piercing blue eyes…
“I just want you to be prepared,” Finn said, turning around to face her. “Rosemary wants you to stay for the summer.”
Marigold couldn’t quite process what he was saying.
“Me?” she asked. “I know Rosemary is exceedingly generous, but she’s only just met me. I could be a mad woman. I might have been a mad woman.”
Finn turned around and continued down the stairs.
“But you aren’t,” he said, “and Rosemary knows this. It’s one of her special powers, in addition to putting a meal together. She collects good people that can benefit from her–um–aura, I suppose. Almost like the healers you have in the water and fire kingdoms. And besides, even if youwerea mad woman, no one here would judge that.”
Marigold remembered the confession she had made while William and Finn were present–one of her many confessions, she supposed–it was the confession that, like Melinda, she knew what it was to be on the brink of madness. To be a woman wandering barefoot in a tower in search of what eluded her–sleep. How close had she been to locking herself in that lifestyle forever?
It’s not as if she wasn’t trying to lift herself up–for her children at least. She tried hard every day, but reflecting on it now, she determined that the trying was part of the problem.
But while her scars hadn’t healed completely, her recent transformation–into someone who sleeps hard and says what she thinks–seemed almost magical. Spiritual. She credited it to both the land and herself. She had made the unthinkable decision, and it made all the difference.
She thought of Knightley and Nestor constantly. But she assured herself that, with the exception of Nestor’s heightened sensitivity, they were both like their father in that their spirits were naturally high. Topaz was happy-go-lucky and friendly with everyone. With such genes, and with all of the comforts that a rich palace could afford, Marigold couldn’t rightly worry about them. So she didn’t suffer on their behalf–exactly–she suffered on her own behalf. She missed watching them grow and play. She missed their unabashed love for her.
As she entered the kitchen with Finn, Marigold wondered if she could be like Topaz, Knightley, and Nestor, while still maintaining some of the traits that were natural to her. Could she be happy-go-lucky? Could she practice saying yes, the way Topaz did? To company, experiences, conversations? Shouldn’t she practice these habits herself if she wanted her children to have them?
So when Marigold sat down at the table, bleary-eyed from her nap and comfortable amongst such a wonderful family–where she didn’t feel in the least like an outsider–she was feeling impulsive. She said yes, yes, yes, over and over in her head.
And when Rosemary asked Marigold if she would like to stay for the summer months as her paid farm and cooking assistant, Marigold, without any hesitation, told the truth.
“Yes.”
Rosemary looked stunned.
“I was sure that would take some convincing,” she said. “But, thank you, Marigold, for saving me the argument.”
“I love it here,” Marigold admitted. “And if I’m not worried about imposing, the truth is that I’d like nothing more than to see out the summer in this beautiful place.”
“Don’t worry about imposing, because I’m insisting,” Rosemary said cheerfully.
They had a light dinner of toasted bread and cheese and sliced figs with fresh lettuce on the side straight from the garden and, for dessert, there was cut strawberries with cream. The family let Marigold stay quiet and didn’t ask her about what had happened that afternoon. Marigold sat at the table and let their chatter wash over her, not in the way she used to watch conversations–it was different this time. She simply felt comfortable and patient. There was no pressure to participate, no pomp and circumstance. The light became dark and the chatter died out soon enough, and the family members peeled away from the table to either go to bed or to attend to their hobbies. Freddie and Rosemary took up their knitting, Rosemary teaching Freddie a particular design, the two of them laughing over some memory. Julianne was home now, heading upstairs for sleep. Luke had already moved to the couch and was dozing. That left William and Finn and Marigold lingering at the table.
William decided he would light a fire outside and hone Rosemary’s cooking knives for her. He asked Marigold if she would like to come along.
She said, “Yes.”
Finn looked up, as if surprised.
“I want to show you something first,” he said to Marigold.
“What?” William said sharply. “She’s seen the house.”
Finn motioned to Marigold.
“Come along.”
Finn took up a lantern and they made their way to the stables. He saddled up his horse and motioned for Marigold to mount him. Finn got on in front of her, and he reached back for her hands and wrapped them around his waist. Marigold leaned forward, nestling her head into his back. She sighed with pleasure and comfort as she appreciated the sweet evening chill contrasted with Finn’s musky warmth, and she didn’t care who heard it. He was so solid, so strong, so real. A part of the landscape, they rode carefully through in the darkness.
