Flower Child

I had helped Mrs. Wickham a few months ago when her children first settled her into our nursing home. A widow now, her four children wanted nothing much to do with her. She wasn’t extraordinarily wealthy, or anything, from what I understand, but she was well-off enough that they could make some sort of trust to pay her way to stay here, and that was that.

She had a nice room with a nice view, some nice clothes and nice shoes, and a nice set of luggage. Nice, nice, nice. But she was still so very sad, regardless. She clutched at a book multiple times daily, and one day, I had the chance to be assigned rotation in her wing again.

I introduced myself the first time I got to sit with her. “Good morning, Mrs. Wickham, I’m Julie, your nurse today. Since your usual nurse is off this week, I will be with you all week instead.”

She smiled and nodded slightly, but nothing more. I did my usual routine to obtain her stats and check her room for any mishaps. “Are you ok until lunch, do you think?” She had no scheduled medications until evening, so I wouldn’t need to return before then unless she called for me. She nodded a couple times again, and she opened her book and started leafing through it before I could fully turn around. I caught a glimpse enough to notice it was a scrapbook of old photographs.

Lunch time rolled around, and I brought her the tray of food. I situated her to eating it, and she rested the book on the bed. The cover was well-worn, but it still had traces of a rich fabric woven with metallic threads that must have shone nicely at one time.

“That’s a lovely heirloom,” I ventured, “you must enjoy the memories it brings you.”

She didn’t reply immediately. I did some minor straightening up of things, redoing her bed and such. “Just flowers, mostly,” was all she said after a short while, during which she ate her lunch.

“Oh, were you a florist?” I started to reach for the book, but she stopped me with a look as she herself stopped eating.

“No. Just a wife.”

“Ah, I see. Well, I am sorry if I intruded. I will leave you to your lunch and be back to claim the tray from you shortly.” She neither said nothing as I left, nor anything else later as I returned for the tray and left with it.

That evening, she took her pills from me in silence.

The next day, I brought her lunch, and her book was in hand. “Hold this for me, would you, please.” I took the book from her and simply held it. She ate some of her lunch. “I started the idea with my son, Arthur. I planted asters around the house. Arthur, aster, they start with the same letter and sort of rhyme, you see.” She used her fork as a conductor’s wand to gesture at me to open her book, so I did, and I was greeted by an old photograph of a young couple holding a baby in front of a house flanked by asters in front of the front porch.

“They look like they were lovely.” I remarked. I flipped a page and saw more aster photos around their yard.

“They were. Then came Rose, so I planted roses.” Another turn and a new page of photos that had roses in the setting greeted me. The next page did, too.

“Perry came next, so I chose Periwinkle.”

And, indeed, the next three pages now had photos of asters, roses, and periwinkle framing the house in different views.

Then a new house came, and they were all there, too. They clearly had upgraded with the increase in family size.

“And then at last, our little Violet, so sweet, we had to add those, too.” As I turned the page, I was greeted by the full assembly of all her children, and the four flowers tastefully arranged in gorgeous fades from white to blue to purple to pink and to white again. Even with the early color technology available at the time, they were still quite beautiful to see.

“They’re beautiful, and did the children know they were for them?” I asked.

“I think they did.” I went to turn the page, but she flung out her arm so fast, I missed seeing it coming. She shut the book on my hand. “I also think I am done with lunch.” She plucked the book from my hand and clasped it against her chest with both arms in a protective embrace.

Not sure what to make of what just happened, I simply gathered her lunch remains and took them out of the room. “Have a good day, then, and I will be back this evening for your meds.”

That evening, she also sat in silence while I gave her the pills. As I left, I think I saw small tears forming at the corners of her eyes. I chalked it up to the treatment her own children were giving her, which is so common nowadays.

The next day, I brought her lunch to her, and the book was on her bed. She received my tray, and she tucked right in. Apparently, the spaghetti was her favorite, along with the strawberry Jell-o.

“Mary Ann Gaines,” she said, half whispering.

“Sorry?” I asked.

“My eldest. Mary Ann Gaines. The last were for her.” She pointed at the book with her fork and motioned for me to open it. I did, and I went to the page she cut me off from seeing yesterday. Marigolds had been added to the house's landscaping.

Knowing she only had four children, and the eldest was Arthur, I realized she must have had a prior miscarriage. Now I knew another reason why she was so sad. “I’m so sorry. I had no idea. My sister lost a child too, and–”

“No, no. No. I didn’t lose her. Not like that. Her daddy, Louis Moses Gaines, had to take her from me. When I found out I was pregnant, I wanted to become Mrs. Gaines, but the scandal of having a black husband and child was too much for my daddy, so he was going to do something horrible. I ran away to have the baby in safety, and had her daddy take her and move away to keep them safe. Daddy found me, but it was too late to do anything to my baby. He set me up with Ed Wickham, and I have been Mrs. Wickham ever since. Daddy forbade me to ever mention the Gaines side of my family. But the day after I was a widow, I put the marigolds out. Marigolds for my Mary Ann.”

“Oh, my goodness, I am sorry. It was such a different time then. So have you tried to find them?” I asked.

“I did. I wasn’t able to find them. Guess it would take more money than I was comfortable spending. I just have to trust God they had good lives. Maybe some grandchildren, and so on.”

We finished with some small talk then I took her tray back to the kitchen. She didn’t say much that evening when I went to take her her usual pills.

The next day, I was coming into work, and I overheard a commotion in the reception area. A distinguished, upper-middle-aged black woman flanked by three twenty-to-thirty-somethings were cheering on an elderly black woman in a wheelchair as they wheeled her through the facility. Apparently, she was checking in, and everyone was in a good mood. This seemed like a family who would be kind enough to pay regular visits here, and I smiled a little with the thought. Not everyone is abandoned.

The receptionist gave them final instructions. “All right, Mrs. Darnell, room 208, down this hall and left at the end, then a right at the end of that hall. Your nurse is expecting you there!”

The elderly woman nodded and waved her hand a little bit as she turned to face forward. “Thank you!” Her family escorted her the indicated direction.

The receptionist saw me at that point. “Would you go with them in case their nurse needs your help?”

“Of course, certainly,” I answered, and I followed the party to room 208 at a respectful distance.

“Mary, would you pull up my shawl, please,” Miss Darnell asked, and the woman pushing her paused a moment to adjust the shawl upward as requested. “Thank you, my little marigold.”

“You’re welcome, Mama Darnell,” Mary answered.

I froze a moment. I had a weird sense of déjà vu, as I definitely recalled that Mrs. Wickham had done the same pet name for her lost child. I followed a teensy bit more closely. As everyone got to the designated room, I coordinated with her assigned nurse to ensure a proper settling in.

Before I left, I addressed Mary. “Your mother is so very lucky to have you; your lovely family seems very devoted to her.”

“Oh, she’s not my real mother; she’s my step mama. She’s Mama Darnell, and I’m Mary Ann, but everyone calls me Mama Gaines now. I didn’t take her second husband’s name after my daddy, Daddy Gaines, died since I was already an adult, but even though we aren’t blood-related, she’s the only mama I ever knew. Only one of these kids is mine.” She pointed at her son. “The others are grandkids from the stepdaddy’s side.”

“Ah so are you from this area? Will I be seeing more of you?” I asked.

“I used to be, but I live out-of-state. I just came here to help with the transition. I’ll be leaving in a few days. We’ll be having a small estate sale at the house the next couple days if you need furniture.”

“Actually… would you come with me? I’m sorry if it’s inconvenient, but I believe it to be absolutely important.” She agreed. I escorted her to Mrs. Wickham’s room. I asked Mary Ann to wait just out of view outside.

“Mrs. Wickham? I have a visitor for you.”

She looked up at me with a strange look and then half a smile. “Who? One of my children? Which one? Arthur? Violet? It’s probably Violet, she always did care the most.”

“Well, I can’t spoil it now, but I did want to ask you something first. What was your first daughter’s name again?” I asked, both knowing the answer and knowing full well she was outside listening.

“Mary Ann Gaines, the only child of myself and Louis Moses Gaines. My little marigold Mary.”

I heard Mary Ann’s gasp outside the door. I didn’t think Mrs. Wickham heard it. I walked outside and then escorted Mary Ann in.

“Mrs. Wickham, I believe you know this woman, although she was a baby when you last saw her.”

“Momma?” Mary Ann asked. She was tearing up.

“You’re my baby? My little marigold? You’re so beautiful!” She had started crying, too.

I tiptoed way, letting them have their little reunion that was way overdue. When I took Mrs. Wickham her medications later, she seemed so happy and peaceful.

“Thank you. A million times, thank you,” was all she said to me.

I came to work the next morning and learned the news that Mrs. Wickham had passed away during the night, in her sleep, with an old, plastic and cloth marigold clasped in her hand.