Angels and Fairies

“Mama?” I picked a fluffy yellow flower from the trays she had bought at the nursery. “Why are you planting marigolds at Elisa’s grave?”

She continued digging holes in front of my sister’s tombstone. “I told you, sweetie. This is the October flower.”

“Elisa didn’t die in October.”

“No,” Papi said, “But the cempasuchitl, or the flower of many petals, tempts our beloved departed back to us on Dia de los Muertos. That’s tomorrow, November first.”

“November’s not October.”

Mama sighed. “No, Elena, it’s not.”

Papi scooped me into his arms. “Abuela is baking pan de los muertos and decorating calaveras de azucar for tomorrow. Do you want to go help her? Mama and I going to be here for a while.”

“Do you think she’ll let me eat any of the bread or sugar skulls?”

He smiled. “Not too many. But I’m sure she’d let you taste them. We need to save most of them to decorate the ofrendas.”

I wriggled out of his grip, then plopped down near Elisa’s headstone. “I want to stay here. My sister might come back early, and I don’t want to miss her.”

Mama took off her gloves to wipe away the tears flowing down her cheeks. I didn’t get why she was sad. Most days I understood. I was, too. But today she should be happy. Elisa was coming back.

Papi squeezed her shoulder before squatting beside me. “Mijita, I think we need to talk. Do you remember any of the other Day of the Dead celebrations you’ve come to?”

“Sure. Last year, we came here and put up pictures of Abuelo. We planted marigolds at his tombstone. And Abuela made pan de los muertos and calaveras de azucar for him. I like the sugar skulls better than the bread, but both are good.”

He nodded. “But do you understand why we do these things?”

“We decorate the ofrendas with food and flowers to lure our loved ones back to us. Abuela says the Veil is thinnest on Dia de los Muertos so they can cross over then.”

“The Veil,” Mama muttered. She rubbed her head.

“Do you know what that means?” Papi asked.

“Isn’t that what a bride wears for her wedding?”

“Why would a dead soul walk through a bridal veil?” Mama snapped.

I recoiled from her.

“Sofia!” Papi stood, then stepped between us.

She shook her head. “I’m sorry. This is too much. You need to talk to your mother. I can’t have Elena waiting here for something that’s—” Mama broke into tears.

Papi pulled her into his arms while she sobbed.

I twirled the gold blossom between my fingers while I waited for them. Mama’s family wasn’t Mexican like Papi’s were. Her people came from all over Europe and believed different things than Papi’s family did. When Elisa died, Tio Jorge told me she was an angel now and would always be with me. Tia Maria told me the Day of the Dead would bring her close to me if I built a good ofrenda with photos and candy skulls and marigolds.

But Aunt Penelope told me that was all hogwash.

I didn’t know what hogwash was. My teachers told me pigs were smart animals, so I thought maybe that was a good thing, but Aunt Penelope didn’t make it sound good. She told me her ancestors believed making a tea out of marigold petals let you talk to fairies.

In the seven long years I’d been alive, I’d never seen a fairy. But I’d also never had marigold tea. I wasn’t allowed to boil water.

But that got me thinking.

Maybe the fairies my mother’s people saw and the angels that crossed the Veil—whatever that was—that my father’s people talked about were the same thing. Angels and fairies both had wings. They were both beautiful. And they were both drawn to this little gold flower.

I brought it to my nose and took a deep sniff. It definitely didn’t smell like pan de los muertos or calaveras de azucar. The bloom had a strong scent, not sweet. Bitter, bold. Sharp.

It didn’t seem like it would make a good tea. Not that I could make one, anyway.

But if I wanted to increase my chances of seeing my sister, I had no other choice. I had to drink it.

Or, rather, eat it.

So, I bit off the head of the bloom.

Whoa! I thought it had smelled bad. It tasted far worse. I managed to swallow some, but the velvety petals got stuck in my throat, and I started coughing. I spat fronds of yellow onto the ground and nearly vomited the few I managed to get down.

“What on earth are you doing?” Mama ran over to me. She patted my back until I stopped choking. “Why in God’s name would you eat a flower? No, you know what? I don’t even want to know. Luis? Take her home. I’ll finish here. And when you get there, please talk to your mother about this nonsense.”

“It’s not nonsense, Sofia. It’s tradition.”

“It has our daughter eating flowers and expecting the impossible! What are you going to do tomorrow when…” She broke into tears again.

He sighed and took my hand. “Come on, mijita.”

As we walked to the car, I looked over my shoulder.

A petite, winged figure hovered over my sister’s grave. I blew her a kiss, and then she was gone.