The Money Tree

Margie refilled her coffee cup and added two teaspoons of sugar. The spring sun was shining through her kitchen window and it was the kind of morning that made you want to sit outside and read a book. Preferably a romance. A robust Viking warrior saving and then destroying the virtue of a rebellious lady in waiting, with no mention of when they last ate or the lack of bathroom facilities. Bodies writhing and bosoms heaving. The kind of escape that you could dive into but would flip over to hide the cover.

Her cell phone chimed, breaking the vivid scene she had conjured in her mind, reminding her that it was time to leave her fantasy lest she miss the city bus for her part-time job at the garden center. Money was tight. Her grandmother had passed away the previous winter and Margie, her last remaining heir, had been responsible for the funeral expenses. Margie believed that her grandmother, an avid gardener, would have applauded her choice of employment. The basic routine of planting each tiny seed, transplanting the growing seedlings into larger pots and constant watering were restorative. She could feel her grandmother's approval as she whispered tender words to each plant, willing them to thrive and hoping that their owners would treat them kindly.

This morning, Margie was transferring China Doll trees from peat pods into the larger containers they would inhabit until after they were sold. Under her breath, she sang a little song of encouragement. 'Grow my trees, dig deep in the soil. Turn to the sun, soak up its rays. I will care for you, each and every day.' It didn't rhyme very well, but she imagined that they liked it.

"Did you know that some people call these Money Trees?" A petite, white haired elderly woman was standing beside her. She wore a pink floral dress and sensible shoes. A lightweight wooden cane and a macrame handbag were hooked over a slim arm. Margie smiled at the customer and nodded. "Yes, that's what my grandmother used to call them. She believed that they brought good fortune." Wistfully, she added "I had forgotten about that." The lady reached into her handbag and pulled out an item wrapped in a square silk handkerchief. She folded back the silver fabric to reveal a small black notebook. "Will you hold this for me?" The lady held out the handkerchief. "I would but my hands are filthy." Margie rubbed her palms on her nursery apron, trying to dust off the dark brown soil. The lady gave an impish grin and peered up at Margie with playful eyes. Her lilting voice was amused as she stated "Hands that have been immersed in earth are not soiled. Go ahead, take it." Relieved of the cloth, the lady opened her notebook and meticulously turned each page.

Elegant cursive writing graced its pages, filling the white space from top to bottom. Margie, mesmerized by the intricacy of the handwriting, was struggling not to pry but noticed that each page was a list of names and dates. The pen quivered as it hovered above, as if anxiously awaiting for its mistress to begin. "May I have your name?" she requested. Feeling oddly honored and vaguely desperate to have her name written in this fragile lady's exquisite penmanship, Margie answered, "My name is Margaret Melanie Walters."

With precision, the lady formed the characters that created Margie's given name. As the letters became words, Margie marveled as she watched her rather ordinary name become uniquely beautiful. When the lady finished, she retrieved a gold coin from a small pocket tucked into the back cover. She closed the notebook. Margie relinquished the silk cloth and the lady rewrapped her precious book of names before placing it back in her handbag.

"Which one are you taking home today?" The lady indicated to the China Doll seedlings. "Oh, I'm planting them today. I hadn't planned on purchasing one." The lady tapped her pursed lips. Then she picked up a peat pod that contained a diminutive light green shoot. "This one looks like it belongs with you. Why don't you take it home?" Margie, humoring the lady, promised "Alright. This one will come home with me today." The lady gave a firm nod. She placed the gold coin into the bottom of a pot and watched as Margie added rich soil and the little tree. Margie wrote 'Sold to Margie' on the plastic care and handling information tag. Seeming satisfied, the lady squeezed Margie's forearm with a strength that belied the frail image she portrayed. Her voice seemed to vibrate through Margie's body as she confirmed "Your grandmother was right. Nurture it well and it will nurture you too."

The lady released her and turned to leave. Her voice floated back to Margie over the sound of her cane tapping the ground as she walked away. "They like the song you sing to them."

Margie set aside her China Doll tree and tucked the odd encounter away to mull over later. At the end of her shift, she paid for her tree and went home. After setting the small pot on her kitchen windowsill where it would receive the best bright, indirect sunlight, Margie carried on with her evening and went to bed.

The next morning, Margie filled the coffee reservoir with fresh water and set the machine to brew. Something was different. She looked at the China Doll tree she had brought home the day before. It had sprouted a new leaf. "You must be happy here" Margie commented. As she poured her coffee, she remembered what the elderly lady had said to her. Feeling optimistic, she delicately touched the new leaf and sang her tree song.

Every morning for several months thereafter, Margie would make her coffee and sing her song to the little tree. The tree flourished under her loving attention and it wasn't long before the tree began to outgrow the small container. Although tired from her Saturday shift at the nursery, Margie decided that it was time to transplant her China Doll.

Selecting an ancient blue clay pot she had inherited from her grandmother, Margie gathered her gardening supplies on the back porch and laid newspaper to catch any spillage before going back inside for her tree. "Come my friend, it's time for a new home." she sang as she attempted to pick up the plant one-handed. It wouldn't budge. "It must be stuck to the windowsill." Margie thought. She used both hands and pried it up. It was heavy. Far too heavy for the size of the dainty plant.

Margie brought the tree outside. She set it down and began preparing the blue pot. A layer of stones for drainage and a shovelful of fresh soil. A whisper niggled at her as she worked. She studied the China Doll tree and remembered. The gold coin!

Sitting cross-legged on the porch floor, Margie heaved the pot onto her lap. Turning the plant on its side, she held the thin trunk as she wiggled the overcrowded roots from their cozy home. The gold coin rolled out and landed on her lap, glimmering as though it had not been buried for months. Margie’s fingers removed more earth revealing that the coin had not rested alone. Gold coins filled the bottom third of the pot! Margie's jaw dropped open in amazement. Hands shaking, she placed each coin on the newspaper beside her. When the last piece was stacked, Margie counted one hundred and one coins.

Margie sat back, stunned by what had grown under her care. The elderly lady's ethereal voice murmured in her ear "Nurture it well and it will nurture you too." Gratitude filled Margie as she reverently placed the original gold coin into the bottom of the blue clay pot. She sang her tree song as she surrounded the China Doll in rich dark soil.

Margie found a sturdy cloth bag and placed the coins inside. The following Monday she drove to the bank and forced herself stay calm as she waited in line for an available teller. When it was finally her turn, she set the heavy bag on the counter. Trembling with nervous excitement, she asked "Can you tell me how much these coins are worth?" The teller's eyes bulged as he peeked inside the bag. He called over a supervisor. After some deliberating and a phone call to the head office, the teller told Margie, "Each gold coin is valued at two hundred dollars. The total of all the coins is twenty thousand dollars."

In a town far away, a young man was at work. He was humming a merry tune as he misted the newly sprouted green shoots. He felt a light tap on his shoulder. A lady with a cloud of white hair stood behind him holding a small black notebook. He grinned when she asked him, "Did you know that some people call these Money Trees?"