These Gilded Seas

Chapter Eleven: Flowers and Cold Fins

Turn's out, Sam's a talker.

His mouth practically never stops moving. He points out landmarks and road signs, houses of people he knows, and different types of flowers that grow along the well-worn path. At first, it's weird but helpful, so I soak everything up in silence. He's persistent, though. All it takes is one sideways glance over his shoulder, flashing me his massive, sad, brown eyes, and I cave.

"What's that flower?" I ask, pointing to a watch of tall stalks. Each has a cluster of bright purple blossoms circling the top. Their own weight causes them to droop towards the ground.

Sam laughs. "You really aren't from around here, are ya?" After pulling Milly to a stop next to a large patch, he tells me, "That's willowherb. Heard some call it fireweed, though. It grows best in ash. Guess that's where the name came from."

I point across the flatland at a cropping of white flowers that sit much lower to the ground. Their petals fan out from a fuzzy-looking yellow center. "And that one?"

"Daisies."

Sam dismounts, and my body naturally slides down into the crook of Milly's back. The horse tosses her head but doesn't move.

"My mama always likes daisies," Sam says as he cautiously tip-toes through a patch of brambles to get to the flowers. Once there, he draws a short-bladed knife out of his pants pocket and cuts a handful of them.

"Bringing her some home?" I ask as he returns.

"Nah." With a massive, dopey grin on his face, he holds the tiny bouquet out to me. "For you."

A surprised gasp slips out of my mouth as I take the stems. They're slightly fuzzy, but stiff and lively. I've read about this sort of thing—men bringing flowers to the women they're interested in and her fawning over them for days, or until they inevitably wilt. In the past, I thought the concept was sort of silly. Who would want a handful of plant carcasses as gifts?

Turns out, I do.

I stroke the petals with a single finger as Sam climbs back onto Milly's back. "Thank you," I whisper, still in awe. He glances down at me and laughs.

"Mama taught me to be a gentleman. You're welcome, o' course." He clicks his tongue, and Milly starts moving again. I smile softly at the bouquet. It wasn't a gesture of romanticism but of manners.

We bob along in silence for a few minutes. How am I going to keep the flowers in shape, considering the bumpy ride we're on? The mid-day heat has only grown worse since we left the beach, and I'm already sweating. What will happen to the flowers in these temperatures?

Holding them in one hand, I tug my hair off my neck with the other. Zula could have sent me something to hold it up with. Having an entire mane of fire-red waves doesn't really help me keep cool. I could easily braid it, but it would only hold steady for a short while. Maybe...

"Sam?"

He jumps a little, probably surprised I broke the silence. "Yes'm?"

"Do you have a string of some sort? A ribbon or small rope?"

He tilts his head sideways to look at me. "What in the worlds for?"

I laugh. "I'm going to braid my hair to get it off my neck. It's really hot out here."

"Oh!" His cheeks flush a bit, like he's embarrassed he didn't think of that. "Sure."

He reaches behind him into the bag hanging from Milly's rump and pulls out a myriad of trinkets. There's a wooden stick with a blackened tip, another small knife, some buttons and white thread, a long strand of rope with knots tied along it, a scrap of paper, and some loose seeds. Finally, he withdraws a green ribbon. It's a bit frayed on both ends but solid.