“Hopefully not. Unless you decided to eat them.”
Eli grabbed the offered gloves. “I ain’t eating anything that could kill me!”
“Good. If we respect these flowers, they’ll shine for us later this year.”
Each bloom glowing like a royal jewel on display, shining for a single night under the moon before fading away.
“I’ll take a whack at it.” Eli dug a small hole near the water’s edge and carefully, almost reverently, placed a seed inside, mounding dirt over it like he understood the promise of new life. Come September, they would experience a magnificent harvest. A whole chorale of trumpeters.
Their world desperately needed beauty and the hope that clung to its hem. In December, Japan had dropped bombs on a harbor filled with American ships. Then Germany declared war on the United States. As the draft expanded, the turmoil had flooded into Catawba with local men aged eighteen to forty-five being called up to fight. So far, Simon hadn’t been drafted. She prayed his position at the college would keep him stateside.
While she could do nothing to battle the evil overseas, she could bring peace through her flowers. Grow. Build. Create. Write. Love others who had no family.
Eli, she hoped, would keep these flowers blooming long after she was gone.
As she knelt beside him, they planted seeds together, life brewing just under the surface of the lake and the dirt. Although she and Eli wouldn’t see any growth for months, the roots would anchor themselves before shooting up toward the light.
Much happened below the surface.
Every moment she spent with this young man was a gift. Roots deepening between them as they shared both tragedy and the wonder of nature. They’d buried Eli’s grandfather in the Ashe family plot last year, and Eli often visited the cemetery with her, then stayed for the weekend when Simon was in Winfield. As they enjoyed the forest and lake, Haven House was a refuge for both of them.
During the weekdays, words continued flowing out, some of the best she’d ever written. Simon had gifted her a second typewriter and set it upon a new desk in the sitting room, right beside the Ashe carousel horse. He thought it would help her be more productive if she could work whenever inspiration struck, and he was right. Inspiration often hit her, she discovered, during the meal hours. Random pieces of a story would converge right in the middle of her toasting bread or opening a can of peaches, and she’d dash to the sitting room, typing sometimes for hours.
Admittedly, writing sprees of that sort could be dangerous, especially when she forgot the boiling teapot or scorched her skillet on an open flame, but so far, she’d only done minor damage to the kitchen.
She and Simon had been married for five months, but their relationship was pretty much the same as it had been before their marriage except now, whenever he visited, he shared her bed. That brought an entirely new tangle of emotions, not as pleasant as she’d hoped. Instead of dwelling on the disappointment each time he left for Winfield, she threw herself back into the safe embrace of story.
Things with Simon weren’t bad, just not what she’d imagined. Then again, her expectations had been impossibly high, especially considering she’d been the one to suggest keeping two homes. How was a relationship supposed to flourish when a husband and wife spent most of their time in separate states?
Simon had celebrated Christmas at Haven House, and while she’d yet to visit him in Winfield, she was determined to spend Easter weekend with his family.
“Why did God make some flowers toxic and others safe?” Eli asked.
“That’s an excellent question.” While he was still catching up on his reading and writing, his mind was as sharp as a thistle and growing just as fast. He was naturally intuitive, and if he continued to learn, his keen intuition matched with intelligence would serve him and others well.
She staked the trowel like a flagpole into the dirt before standing. “I don’t presume to understand the mind of God, but the poison in this flower actually protects it. People like us who want to cultivate and growthe moonflowers know how to appreciate their beauty without harming ourselves. We simply learn to care for them with respect.”
Eli studied the ground as if the seeds might begin sprouting upward. “I think God likes to grow stuff.”
“I agree.” Like in the ancient days with Adam and Eve, walking alongside the first man and woman in His garden. “He sends plenty of sunshine and rain to nourish the flowers, but I think He especially likes to partner with us to grow all manner of things.”
Eli buried another seed in the ground, his trousers covered in dirt. “Maybe I’ll be a farmer like Pops when I grow up.”
“If you set your mind to it, Eli, you have the smarts and stamina to do just about anything you want.”
Those words seemed to settle over him, and she prayed they would root and grow. That this young man would do great things with the dreams God had planted inside him.
“After you go to college—”
“I ain’t going to no college.”
“Yes, you are,” Olivia said. “Then you earn enough money to buy your own farm.”
He shrugged.
“After you attend college,” she repeated, “I have a favor to ask of you.”
He glanced up at her with curious eyes, and she saw something great in him. A glimpse, perhaps, of the man he would become.
