Marigolds and Clover

By a cruel twist of fate, the sun was shining and the birds were singing the day we laid Clover to rest.

For the world, her death will have gone unheralded. No obituary would appear in the paper. Nobody would tweet how sorry they were to see her go or provide accolades of her accomplishments. No bard would sing of her feats, no epic saga of her adventures would be filmed, no Wikipedia article would be written about her life, and no queen would posthumously bestow upon her a ladyhood - if that’s the correct term. She was just gone, her life an insignificant blip on a radar, a true nobody in the history of the world.

I opted to walk the relatively short distance from my home to the cemetery. My husband would follow with the children later, and I enjoyed, if that’s the right sentiment on a day such as this, my time alone. I’m a loner anyway, so how I ended up married with five children is anyone’s guess. Our car passed me as I was about to turn the last corner and five solemn little faces peered at me as they passed. Even my usually cheery husband’s face looked like it had been carved out of the granite that dotted the landscape. He turned his face towards me and for a few seconds, our eyes met. His eyes were the only feature of his face that didn’t look stony. They were bright with unshed tears. He’d be strong for the children, strong for me.

Finally, I rounded the corner and the cemetery was now in view, although still a good walk away. I could see a few cars parked up in the lane, and a little line of mourners progressed from the lane to the small chapel where the funeral was being held. The hearse wasn’t there yet, so I still had a bit of time. I glanced at my phone and saw that it was still quite a few minutes before the arranged time for the funeral.

I paused my journey and sat on one of the granite boulders that had crept so close to the road. I wasn’t ready to face anyone yet, and so I sat for a moment, reminiscing on Clover’s short life, and how much joy she brought. Whatever would I do without my beloved Clover?

“Jen! You’ll never guess what Mam and Da have bought!”

My little sister loved to play these guessing games and usually, I indulged her. However, today I was getting ready for my first date. It was a momentous occasion, one my parents had despaired of ever happening. I was in my mid-twenties and had never been on a date, so their despair was understandable.

What made this even more difficult for me was that this date was arranged by my father! I guess it’s a testament to my respect for him that I even agreed, but this was going to be it. I’d never even met my date. He had recently started working with my father, maintaining the local school buildings, but as I’d left school several years ago, our paths had never crossed. He was a good deal older than me, too.

I sighed. “You’d best tell me, Chloe. I’m never going to guess.” I stopped thinking about what I was going to say, how I was going to act, what I was going to wear on this ill-fated date and gave her my full attention.

“No, Jen. You have to try.” Chloe was a good deal younger than me. We were the only children of our parents and they’d had difficulty conceiving. Chloe had just turned twelve to my twenty-four. At this point, she had been a part of my life for half of it. I sigh.

“A dog?” It was a long shot. My mother was allergic to pet dander, so I knew it wouldn’t be that. Jen scoffed.

“A cat?” I was continuing the theme.

“No. You’re not even trying!” She had seen through my scheme.

“I’m sorry, Jen. You know I’m not good at guessing, not like you,” I said, appealing to her vanity.

“That’s true,” she said, hopping from one foot to the other. “I’ll give you a clue.”

I waited, breath baited, while Jen continued to bounce from one foot to the other. I was getting a tad impatient now.

“What’s the clue, Chloe?” I know my exasperation showed in my voice and I could see the hurt on her face. If I could have taken it back, I would have.

“This IS the clue,” she said, bouncing from one foot to the other, still. What the heck? Ah! Realization dawned and I remembered hearing my parents talking about this one night when I’d passed their room on the way to the loo.

“A trampoline?”

“Yes!!!!” Her excitement was barely contained. I think this was a gift for her, rather than for me but refrained from saying so. I knew that, until I had the courage to leave home, Chloe would have me bouncing on that trampoline almost daily. She grabbed my arm and dragged me around the back of the house to where a brand new circular trampoline, complete with safety net, had been installed.

“It’s a beauty!” I said, trying so hard to sound enthusiastic.

“I know, right?! Come on. Let’s have a quick jump now.”

I sighed. There was absolutely no point telling her that I had to get ready for a date, that he would be here to collect me in less than an hour and I’d not even showered yet, let alone picked out something to wear. I kicked off my shoes, leaving just my socks, and clambered up, reaching down to help Chloe once I was there.

“Come on, then. Let’s see what you can do.”

Chloe’s enthusiasm and zest for life were infectious. I had to join in and soon we were doing all sorts of acrobatics on that trampoline. Chloe was graceful and I was, well, not, but it didn’t matter. The time flew by and we were laughing and giggling as only sisters can.

I had just executed a less than graceful somersault and landed on my butt, letting the trampoline bounce me as I exploded in a fit of giggles when I heard a cough.

“Excuse me, but I’m here for a date with Jennifer Ryan.”

It was my date! I had completely forgotten that I was supposed to be getting ready. I blushed crimson as Chloe answered for me.

“This is Jen. Isn’t she beautiful? We’ve just been having the most fun jumping on our new trampoline. Do you want to have a go?”

I was mortified, but before I could protest, apologize and lead my date inside while l changed, he had taken off his shoes and joined us.

Once I’d recovered from my shame, Robert, Chloe, and I jumped, twisted, rolled, and fell about laughing on that trampoline. I had no idea what he’d planned for our date, but I could be sure that wasn’t it.

Well, Robert and I did get to go on our date, the next day, and it was just as much fun as our first one with Chloe. Eventually, we married, Chloe grew up and Robert and I had children.

As I sat on that rock, I again saw Chloe’s golden hair flying as she bounced on the new trampoline.

“Look at me, Jen. I’m flying,” she would call, laughing with delight, arms and legs akimbo.

We spent many an afternoon after I’d finished work, bouncing on that trampoline. When Robert and I married and had children of our own, we’d come over and Chloe carried on our new tradition with my babies. My golden-haired sister with her dark-haired nieces and nephews. They loved their Aunty Clover, as they called her, and really, the name stuck. I’d wished I’d thought of it.

Then one day we couldn’t go over. Chloe, now an adult and still living at home, sat on the trampoline, alone, bouncing in the afternoon light. Her heart wasn’t in it, though. The light and joy of the bounce gradually faded until even she didn’t want to do it anymore. I could have found out why, but secretly, I was glad. My life had become busier, my children developed other interests and it was months between our visits.

And then there was that day, only a few weeks ago, when I felt the need to see her, to check that she was okay.

“Let me take you out, Chloe,” I said to the statue she had become. She refused, didn’t even answer, really, but she stood at the kitchen sink, a bunch of marigolds in her hands, trimming the stems.

“They’re beautiful! I said.

“I know,” she responded and then proceeded to pull off the petals of the most beautiful one.

“She loves me. She loves me not.” She repeated it over and over until there was only one petal left. “She loves me not,” she whispered and I was horrified to see tears roll down her cheeks.

“What’s wrong, Clover,” I asked, slipping into my children’s name for her.

“Nothing,” she muttered and ushered me out of the house.

I should have insisted, demanding she tell me what was wrong, but I didn’t. I think I knew. I was hiding from myself.

I came to myself again to find I was still sitting on the rock a few meters away from the entrance to the cemetery. Robert is coming to get me. I’ve sat here too long and will miss the funeral if I don’t come now. I can’t do that. I see the hearse now, slowly pulling up outside the little chapel. I wipe my eyes, take a deep breath and make my way beside Robert to the cemetery.

At the gate I pause.

“Come on, love. I’m here for you.”

I knew that already but Robert doesn’t know my guilt. How can he when I’ve only just recognized it myself? I sigh and allow Robert to lead me to my seat at the front. My children are already there, solemn but as yet dry-eyed. I knew the realization would strike them at some point, too. I’d need to be prepared, to tell them it’s not their fault.

I don’t remember the service at all, and that just added to my guilt. I couldn’t even watch with her one hour, one hour while friends and family spoke, while her favorite song played, while we mourned someone snatched from life so young.

I was oblivious of my fellow mourners, even my parents, my husband, my children, so deep was my pain and my guilt.

Oh God, I silently prayed, Why did you make me so selfish? Just a little nudge is all it would have taken! But He had nudged me, and I had not listened.

My despair was almost at full capacity. My throat was constricted and my eyes were stinging with unshed tears. I closed them for a second to relieve them and stumbled. Robert steadied me and as I turned to thank him a splash of gold caught my eye.

“Marigolds!” At first, I was dismayed, but then I recalled the photograph I had taken of her. We’d raided our mother’s flower garden of every golden marigold we could find. Chloe held them in a bunch under her nose, her face a picture of rapture.

I left Robert’s side and plucked a single marigold. I hoped the gardener wouldn’t mind, and frankly, I didn’t really care if he did. I placed the single marigold on her coffin before it was lowered into the grave.

Clover’s death had a devastating effect on my family. My parents never really recovered and my children were somber and melancholy, missing their Aunty Clover for a long time. But like all things, the pain of losing a loved one eases over time. It never really goes away, but it does become more bearable. I had to make that happen sooner rather than later. I never needed to question my motive on this one. It was purely selfish. I needed her forgiveness. I needed closure.

It was always going to be difficult to keep this one secret, but I had managed it. Almost a year after we buried Clover, I unveiled my plot.

I invited my children, my husband, and my parents to a little memorial service for Clover. They were reluctant at first but finally agreed. On the afternoon of the anniversary of her death, I led them all to a corner of my garden I had previously forbidden anyone to enter.

Marigolds and clovers covered the whole plot in a riot of red, white, and gold. I stayed there long after everyone had left, hoping Chloe would understand. Finally, I turned to go, and as I did so, I felt a gentle breeze waft over my skin.

“Chloe?” I turned back, not sure what I was expecting to see.

I didn’t see her there, but I felt her hand, as a gentle breeze, caress my arm.

She loves me…