Garden Child

What if you were told that magic was real, would you believe it?

Magic is all around us; in the water that surrounds you, the grass under your feet and the breath in your lungs. Freya knew this with all of her being, she felt it live within her and tuned into it with all her being.

She and her sister, Greta, had lived in their little cottage since they were children. When their parents died they only knew the life they had so they carried on as they always had. Nobody, not even themselves, knew how old they were but they were as nimble as youngsters living off the land as one would expect two wild women to live. At one time, they had both longed for families of their own but it was never to be. They had one another, finding comfort and a life of serenity, with little influence from the world outside their fence. Greta was a small woman with grey hair to her waist. She dressed in dark clothes with very little skin to be seen. Her wrinkled, hooded eyes often made her look like she was plotting and thinking things over. Her loneliness had made her bitter to the world. Freya, on the other hand was very light and made everything around her feel warm, perhaps that is why they were drawn to one another. Her long blonde hair was often filled with twigs, leaves and other things she had picked up from her time outside. She rarely fretted over her time in this world and made the most of what she had.

Their home was small and full to the brim with knickknacks and trinkets they had collected over the years. Dust and cobwebs coated most of the items and many housed spiders who had also found a home in this strange little place. Greta could not bring herself to shoo the little creatures away so left the cleaning well alone. To one side there was a small kitchen area with a large pot, much too large for the stove it sat upon. The large pot often gave off a strange aroma from the concoctions Greta would cook up for their supper. Both were happy living in the little cottage, but it was nothing compared to their bountiful garden. The love and happiness the pair felt for their large oasis was incomparable. Rows of fruits and vegetables lined one side of the garden whilst the other side had towering shrubbery and flowers that could take your breath away - so many colours, so many smells. Bumble bees and butterflies could be seen all year round resting on delicate petals and collecting pollen. Hours were spent in the garden: dancing, laughing, pruning and sowing. It was a happy place, a place that helped them forget their lives of longing and sadness.

One sunny morning whilst Freya sat amongst her flowers, she hummed an old lullaby she had once heard her mother sing and felt that familiar sting of loneliness. She had no children to take care of, or pass this garden to when she had left this world. Tears sprang in the corner of her eye. They rolled down her wrinkled cheek and hit the soil below her. She felt silly for crying over the same thing she had cried over for so many years.

“Freya! Freya!” she heard Greta call from the courgette patch. “These courgettes are just about ready!”.

She couldn’t help but smile at the delight in her voice. Wiping her tears from her damp cheeks, Freya went to help. The moment quickly forgotten, as it always was.

Whilst Freya and Greta saw to their courgettes something incredible began to happen in the soil where a single tear had fallen. Shoots of green made their way through the dirt, writhing up towards the glow of the morning sun. Golden petals began to bloom creating a flower bed in a perfect circle. Delicate golden yellow and fierce orange shimmering with dew drops from the moist morning air.

“My goodness Freya! When did you plant the Marigolds?” Greta beamed in astonishment at her sister’s green thumbs. “They are beautiful! So bright! An excellent addition to the garden”. Freya looked confused from across the garden. She couldn’t recall planting marigolds or seeing them earlier. She made her way to where Greta was standing. “Well done Freya! You never cease to amaze me!”.

“I’d love to take the credit Greta, but I don’t remember planting them!”

“That’s old age my dear. Time for dinner, are you coming?”

Freya nodded slowly, unable to take her eyes away from the petals. With a warmth spreading inside her and a smile growing on her face, she took Greta’s hand and they made their way into the cottage to go about their day. That warm feeling stayed with Freya until she was tucked up in her blankets, dreaming of bright gold flowers, golden eyes and Auburn hair.

She awoke suddenly to a strange sound. Perhaps she had dreamt it, but she could swear it was the sound of gurgling. Freya turned on her side to get more comfortable. ”Hopefully I can get a few more hours” she thought to herself, after all it was still very dark outside. Just as she was drifting off once more she heard it again! This time she was sure there was something in the garden. An animal perhaps? Or a trespasser! Anxious images flicked through her mind as she tried to gather more logical thoughts. With her ear pressed against the cold window she listened hard.

“There it is again!” she gasped. It sounded like a baby. “I’ve finally gone cuckoo” she chuckled with nervous laughter.

Making as little noise as to not wake Greta, Freya tiptoed across the open space, wrapping her tattered blanket around her shoulders. With the cold night nipping her nose and fingers, she turned the front door handle and with a quiet creak she was outside in the fresh air. She inhaled deeply, letting the frost fill her lungs. A distant giggle followed by that delightful gurgling danced through the air almost pulling her hand to find it. Freya felt light and ecstatic not really knowing why.

“Could it be? Or could it be that I have gone completely mad! If this is what madness feels like, everyone should try it” she laughed to herself as she skipped across her garden, following the trail like a bee to honey.

Greta shifted, a cold breeze blowing through a large gap in her blankets disturbed her slumber. In a dazed state she rolled to the other side of the bed to grab another blanket from the basket beside her. As she reached her hand out she noticed the front door ajar. With a nervous glance over to her sister’s bed she sighed with relief. Not a trespasser, just Freya, out in the garden as usual. The sun was rising outside, “Must have got started without me…” Greta grumbled. She set about the stove, as she did each morning, boiling some water for her herbal tea and a drizzle for her wash bowl. Soon the smell of fennel, camomile and her homemade soap filled the room. She combed through her long silver hair and tied it into a loose plait down her side. There was still no sign of Freya which was strange as she must have heard the kettle whistle some moments ago. Greta bundled her shawl around her shoulders and made her way out to the garden. “Freya… Freya!” she called with no answer. She glanced around the vegetable patch but there was no sign there. “She must be amongst the shrubbery” she thought as she circled a rather large Azalea with beautiful purple blossoms. Cooing and childish laughter was coming from within the garden. “I wonder, is she seeing to those marvellous marigolds?”.

Greta peered over another shrub and there was her sister, sat with her back to her. Still in her night clothes and her unbrushed, golden hair touching the ground she rested upon. There was that cooing again as Freya rocked her arms back and forth.

“Freya?” Greta called in a small voice, careful to not startle her. She shifted her body, tears on her cheeks and a babe in her arms. She looked so peaceful and happy and yet scared and confused all at once.

“Greta, it's a miracle. We have been blessed with a child. A child born in our garden. I did not plant these flowers; they grew here themselves. For us!”.

Greta watched as Freya played with Goldie. She had grown so fast, in the space of months she had aged at least 5 years. Where she should be crawling, she was running. Where she should be gurgling, she was laughing with such force it could be heard for miles. Greta had not warmed to the child like Freya had, she was sKeptical of where she had come from and how she had found her way to their little garden. She thought Freya to bed mad for thinking she had grown from the ground! Greta had waited for her real mother to come looking for her but that day did not come and as she grew she exuded that same warmth Freya did.

As Greta gazed deep in thought as she always did, Goldie tripped over a tree root protruding from the ground. She hit the floor so hard that they could hear the wind fly from her lungs followed by a delayed screech. There was a deep cut on her knee and both palms grazed. Her bright eyes dulled with tears and a pained expression spread across her petite face, it looked so out of place for her to not smile. Freya ran to her, placing one hand on Goldie’s auburn hair, the other on her cheek. She looked into Freya’s eyes deeply search for reassurance.

“It’s just a small cut my love, shall we go inside and clean it up?”. She nodded and wiped her snotty nose across her already mucky sleeve.

Freya looked at Greta as she had since Goldie arrived, with fear that she would disappear as quickly as she came and with the anxiety of a new mother. She made a fine mother thought Greta. She had almost felt jealous of their bond and how lonely it made her feel. On her worst days she could feel that ever familiar bitterness creeping back into her heart- she was letting the warmth disappear.

“Greta! Come quick, Greta!” The excitement and urgency in her voice filled the short space between them and Greta ran to them. Quickly forgetting her dark thoughts.

“Look at the cut… it has gone, disappeared… healed!”.

Sure enough, underneath the fresh blood, there was no longer a source for the bleeding, just a dirty, chubby, child-like knee. Goldie giggled as she saw the look on her mothers’ faces and held her closed hands out, slowly revealing her palms. In the place of her grazes sat a perfectly formed, golden yellow flower. They looked at the child in amazement.

”It must be true, you are a true blessing”.

For the first time since her arrival, Greta sobbed with regret to have ever doubted her greatest friend and sister. She was ashamed that she had shunned the child she had always wished for… that they had both wished for. Goldie held the flower out to her, joy radiating from her perfectly formed face. The warmth in her eyes reminded her of Freya’s and in that moment, she knew, this was Freya’s creation. A child born from a single tear. A child born of Marigolds.