The Rugged Edge

Chapter 27: Where the Fiddles Went

Flowers to seedlings,
Smiles to frowns.
Silence, no laughter,
Quiet, unease.
Chasms tangible,
Sadness so clear.
Where did the joy go?
How could it leave?

. . . . .

The lady at the flower booth was grumpy.

"Well, what kind of flower do you want?" she said huffily.

"Mauve, what was that light pink flower called?" I asked the girl. "The one next to the chrysanthemums?"

"Snapdragons!" Mauve said excitedly. "I like the pink ones, but Rosalie used to have some orange ones and they were so pretty. Maybe she has some of those!" she finished, gesturing to the florist.

I smiled. Mauve was so sweet.

"Do you have any orange snapdragons?" I asked the woman.

"Yes, Miss," said the woman at the table, her annoyed expression unaltered. With a little wooden scoop, she tapped a jar full of little grey seeds. "A silver piece for a half-scoop."

I furrowed my brow. "Mauve, is that expensive? I have money, of course, but that seems like a bit much."

"I don't know. She usually asks for a couple of copper pieces for a half-scoop, but it depends on the flower," answered the girl.

"A silver piece," said the seed seller. "There's no demand. No one gets the flowers to grow, 'cept at Vereniva. I need the money at home. Your nice little step-father wen' and took it all last doomsday."

I was quiet for a moment. Yes, I was sure she needed the money, but I didn't know what to do about it. Should I give her back Collum's money? Was that right? She didn't need to ask for so much, though. Was it right to take from others thrown into poverty for her own needs? Or was she only doing so to me because she knew who I was?

"I'll give you two silver pieces," I said finally. "For two full scoops of seed."

The woman considered me. "Alright. What else do'you need? Surely you don't want two scoops of snapdragon."

"No," I said. "Mauve, was it roses that Rosalie has?"

"Yes," said Mauve amiably. "Rose spray."

"A half-scoop of rose spray, then," I said. "And Mauve, the bright orange ones?"

"Lily," said Mauve. "Asiatic lily."

"Alright then. And..." I thought a moment. Then, I realized that I wanted the first dainty pink flower I'd seen, the one that had looked so alive. The one that had seemed to be laughing sweetly with its gaping mouth. "The pink one, the first one you showed me. What was that called?"

"Cymbidium orchid!" chimed Mauve.

"Cymbidium orchid, then," I said.

. . .

We wandered around the market for the rest of the morning.

Everything was quiet, and everything was grey. No one spoke to us; they only looked at us, some with curiosity, some with wonder, and some with a certain menace. It was disquieting to see so many people hate me just for what my stepfather did. I had to remind myself over and over: they can't possibly know anything about me. I'd been locked up in a castle all my life.

This silence, as if the world was at a standstill that could break at any moment, continued as we rode between the market booths.

I noticed that many of these weren't booths at all; some of them were wooden boards simply for something to set things on, and some were quilts laid out on the ground. I even saw one or two women using upturned washtubs as tables.