The first that they have ever shared. Her arms sit atop Lottie’s rigid shoulders, and her hands connect underneath soft red hair.
“I am so sorry, Lottie. I did not mean it.”
She feels Lottie start to move, but instead of running away, Lottie does the most unexpected thing—she returns the embrace, her arms tight around Marigold’s soft waist.
“You did mean it,” Lottie whispers. “But you were right. Again.” She pulls away from Marigold, but not completely. Her palms lay flat against Marigold’s sides, her fingers flexing in the soft fabric of the dress. She turns to August and says, “I am scared of losing you.”
“Oh, Lots,” he says as he joins the embrace. “You are never getting rid of me, and I cannot believe you would ever think otherwise.”
“A girl can dream,” Lottie says with a breathy laugh, her harsh jokes and stone walls already rising up again. She pulls away from the embrace and picks up the vial at the end of her necklace. Marigold mirrors her, grabbing her grandmother’s ring that hangs from her neck.
“So, how do you claim that this thing works?” Lottie says.
And the moment is gone. Marigold sighs, wishing she could have held on to it for a little bit longer. When Lottie abandons her callous facade, when she admits her feelings, it is the most beautiful wonder to witness. But it never lasts long.
“The spell essentially weaves itself into your intuition, guiding you to make decisions that lead you where you want to go. In this case, it is to your soulmate. When you feel the pull, you’ll know.”
“Well, I, for one, cannot wait. And I’m thrilled to be going on this adventure with you, Lots. Who knows? Maybe we’ll both fall in love this way.”
In this moment, Marigold’s heart feels as though it has turned to bone and fallen to the pit of her belly to rot. Her friends are going to fall in love, and it will be beautiful, and so lonely to watch. She realizes now that she has the same fears of which she accused Lottie—she, too, is absolutely terrified of being alone. But she has chosen a life path that ensures she always will be, and it can never be changed.
A knock echoes through the cottage.
“Well, that was fast! Will it be Lottie’s soulmate or mine?” August chirps. Marigold smirks and opens the door to reveal Mr. O’Connell, a sweet, middle-aged man with short black hair, constant stubble, and a humble beige cotton shirt untucked from his trousers.
“Hmm,” August says, crossing his arms over his chest. “A bit old for me, but I suppose age is but a number!”
She gently places her hand on August’s back and guides him to the table. “August, take a seat. Mr. O’Connell, how are you? How is your wife?”
August’s eyes go wide. “Oops,” he mumbles.
“Oh, we’re fine. Howya doing, Marigold?” Mr. O’Connell says, bringing his floppy hat to his chest.
She grins. “Fine myself,” she says, stepping out of the doorway to allow him inside. Mr. O’Connell came to see her once or twice after Althea passed away. He brought ripe vegetables and fresh yellow flowers from his garden, which made her wonder if Althea had sent him there from wherever she is watching. It was such a comforting gesture, and she can never say no to new ingredients. She has Mr. Benny, who cares for her and provides her with ingredients from his farm, of course, but he is so old. Mr. O’Connell is decades younger, and the work doesn’t hurt him in the same way. He still has the bones for it. Thinking of Mr. Benny working the day away in the hot summer sun makesher feel guilty; she shouldn’t allow him to push himself so far. That conversation with him would go nowhere, though. She can envision his exact response in her mind: “Miss Marigold, you aren’t asking anything of me. This is my job. Now let me work how I want to work.” That man would push himself to the brink of death if he thought that it would help her in any way. She does not know why—she certainly hasn’t earned it. Perhaps it is his promise to Althea to take care of her that inspires such devotion, but even then, why would Althea’s wishes hold such weight over him, especially after her passing? It would be better, certainly safer, if Mr. Benny went easy on himself, though he never will.
She leads Mr. O’Connell to the empty chair at her kitchen table across from Lottie and August.
She turns to a cabinet to grab a cup. “Hungry? Thirsty?”
“No, thank you, miss. Forgive me for not bringing anything to offer you now. The garden is not well.”
She pours him some tea anyway and places it in front of him. He takes a sip and lets the heat of the drink undo some of the tension in his shoulders. “It’s burnt.”
“The tea?” August asks, confused. Lottie sighs.
Mr. O’Connell shakes his head. “No, the garden. Burned to all but ash.”
Interested, Lottie leans in. “A wildfire?”
“Too contained to be a wildfire. My garden borders the Hazelwood Forest, but nothing else was touched by the flames. Not even a slight singe on an overhanging branch. I haven’t a clue how it happened.”
Marigold takes her seat next to him and across from Lottie. She eyes the soulmate spell around Lottie’s neck as tension still stretches between them. Clearing her throat, she says, “That’s strange, Mr. O’Connell. When did it happen?”
“Last night. Tried everything I could to put it out, but it just wouldn’t die. You’ll think I’m bonkers for this one, but I swear water couldn’t even touch it. Those flames didn’t go out until they finished what they started in my garden.”
She stiffens against her chair with every word. It sounds exactly like her nightmare. Lottie fidgets with the hem of her long sleeve.
Marigold pushes herself up from the table. “Give me a moment to gather what I need, and then we will return to your garden together.” She nearly invites Lottie to attend so that she may witness the magic she is about to perform. Plant resurrection is no small feat, especially at the scale necessary for a garden of that size. But the nature of this destruction, those undying flames and only ash left in their wake, wouldn’t be good for Lottie to see. Telling her story last night and showing her burns was so distressing that it caused nightmares for both of them. Lottie should never have to relive that.
