“That’s a good question.”
“I’m sorry…” Finn said. “I’m just…curious.”
“No, I thank you for asking it, actually.” She stared off into the distance. “Who was I, once? I was younger, for one thing.” She laughed, shifting on the horse. “I rode horses, and I scribbled stories in my diary, stories that I would read to my parents and friends, usually stories about love, orphans, and royalty. But then…my parents died, and I fell in love with the wrong man. Became obsessed with him, actually. Henri was his name, but…I recently discovered, that he has his own set of problems. That he likes to make people fall in love with him. It is his purpose, in a way, to feel loved and desired but not to desire himself.” Marigold looked at Finn. “That’s enough for now, I suppose. I’ve already said too much to a stranger. I’ll go look for my horse now.”
“Wait,” Finn said. “I’m coming with you.”
“There’s no need.”
“Please,” Finn said.
“To deliver another truth, I’m not used to talking to people these days, and it is a bit of a trial to try to make talk with you that isn’t strange or too personal. So I’d rather go alone.”
“I don’t trust you,” Finn said frankly. “Not that you don’t look trustworthy, but I don’t know you. I’d be more comfortable. I promise not to talk.”
Marigold seemed as if she couldn’t argue with that.
“Alright.” She slid off the horse and let Finn saddle it. She got on first, and then he rode behind her, holding the reins and, by necessity, cradling her in his arms. Finn felt her stiffen beneath him, but just as quickly, her mind seemed changed. She leaned into him, relaxing, as if she hadn’t felt so fine in a long time.
Finn felt something, too, but he wasn’t sure what. The strangeness of their situation, perhaps, and the natural heat that comes from holding a foreign, beautiful woman in one’s arms. Wherehadshe come from?
“I’m sorry, are you, um?”
Marigold turned toward him and pursed her lips.
“Right.” Finn laughed. “No talking.”
Finn took her all around the perimeter of the farm. He showed her the horse pastures and the pig pens, feeling that he’d like to prolong the tour, though he didn’t know why. This woman interested him, and the silence that at first felt strange, soon became comfortable. He took in the beauty of the landscape, the scent of Marigold—like lavender—the feeling of the beast underneath them, and the delicate spring wind as it washed over them. Finn knew all along where Marigold’s steed was, and he felt a bit guilty for possibly leaving her in distress by taking a circuitous route, but Marigoldseemedso content—it was hard to describe. It was almost as if she had fallen into a blissful trance with her surroundings, and he could feel a small part of that trance just by touching her.
When they came to the field where carrots grew, Marigold almost didn’t see Charger bending his head for a snack. Not wanting to break whatever magical silence had descended, Finn simply pointed in Charger’s direction. Marigold nodded, dismounted his horse, and walked slowly across the fields to her hores. She stroked his neck while he munched, allowed him to eat a few more carrots, and then mounted him.
“Thank you,” she said. “And thank you for the carrots, too. I’d better be off.”
“I suppose so,” Finn said.
They rode side by side toward the road, again not speaking. Finn had already resigned himself to dreaming about the mysterious woman who came out of the woods, to longing for her in odd moments, to remembering this magical apparition and the sense of truth and destiny that surrounded her. It wouldn’t be cheating; his fiancée, Hestia, surely dreamt of other men, and he would never know.
But that was before his sister came charging out of the rambling farmhouse.
“We have a visitor?” she called.
They stopped their horses at the sound.
“Yes,” Finn called. “But she will not stay for long.”
“Is that because you haven’t invited her?” Rosemary said.
Marigold first spoke up, and the sound of her voice astounded Finn. It sounded so crystal clear. So pretty after her long silence.
“I am intent on travelling today,” she said. “The weather is so fine.”
Rosemary had caught up to them now. She was that minute placing her discerning eyes on Marigold, no doubt seeing things that were absolutely invisible to Finn. Rosemary noticed everything. Finn was used to this, and he knew enough to know that if Rosemary found anything amiss with Marigold, any signs of hunger or loneliness, she would move the very earth they stood on to convince this stranger to come in for something to eat.
Evidently, there was something amiss.
Rosemary put her hands on her hips and introduced herself. Marigold told the story of how she lost Charger and found him.
“Marigold,” Rosemary eventually said, “this is rude of me, but I’d like to ask you to come inside. Firstly, because I want to show you hospitality, but secondly and more importantly, I need your help.”
