An American Marigold

An American Marigold

A Short Story by Sam Wilson

Part I: A Family History

The boy began walking down the driveway as if his shadow were attempting to hurt him. His pace quickened and he found himself panicked in a way he wasn’t prepared to be. His mother had just told him to go play outside. Her exact words, “go find something meanwhile to do”, rang between his ears. He headed right out of the driveway as he decided to walk down the dead end street and into the cornfield west of his house to Schlabaugh Farm. There was a feeling, something in his lungs as he drew each breath, pulling him towards the farm. He felt a sort of subtle energy dragging its way through his body, limb by limb. It felt thrilling somehow. At 14, Tanner didn’t have much going for him besides a curveball that made his elbow hurt all the time. He helped his baseball team win the local 2007 14U championship. He was named the tournament MVP. He was the oldest sibling of his family, his younger sister, Sarah, was 11. She was away for the day at a nearby amusement park, riding roller coasters and swimming. Summer though, had now reached the point where the thought of fall had overwhelmed everyone’s minds. Baseball would sleep until April of the following year.

The flutter in his heart moved him through the first row of corn stalks as he looked up at the mid-afternoon sky. Baby blue. Handfuls of clouds fluttered through the sky and the mid August afternoon silence echoed all around. He walked through the American dream of corn and soil. The cornfield was massive. His destination, the Schlabaugh farm, had been a family farm since the town was founded in 1890. Tanner’s class went on a field trip to the farm in the second grade. The trip had struck a chord within Tanner that had yet to stop ringing. He grew up so close to it, therefore he always felt a sort of semi-cosmic connection to it. There were days he would walk down and just look at it. He always felt drawn to it. He remembered the feeling he had when he realized how long ago that time was. 1890. He even had done the math. He was 14. The difference between 2007 and 1890 was 117 years. That was 8 lifetimes of a 14 year old. It made him feel small and insignificant. The teacher, Mrs. Jackson, and the current resident, Oliver Schlabuagh, discussed a framed photo of the original family and farmer, Joel Schlabaugh with his wife and two children during the field trip all those years ago. Joel’s wife was Catherine. Their son was Joseph and their daughter was Josie. He remembered thinking distinctly about the fact that everyone in the photo was dead when he saw it as a young boy. Tanner’s elbow ached as a shooting pain shot through his elbow down into his arm.

Tanner had read books and learned as much as he could about the Schalbaugh family history. Joel Schlabaugh was the driving force by which the town had been established. He was instrumental in bringing industry to the town. He provided corn, eggs, butter, livestock, and a variety of tomatoes, onions, and blue and black berries to the town. His wife, Catherine, tended to a large collection of Marigold flowers that she would sell to the local florist. There was even an apple orchard behind their farm house. He was charismatic and a man of reason. A darkness hung over the family, however. Josie, the only daughter and firstborn, who was an exceptionally talented singer for a young girl, passed away at 7. Josie had golden hair, freckles and sang yearly at the county fair. The county fair held a singing competition every year, with contestants able to sign up from ages 5-12. Josie, at age 5, 6, and 7 had won her first three years of entering. Folklore had risen with rumors and myths regarding her death:

“Catherine drowned Josie in the river.”

“Joel had become angry with her over something and struck her in the head.”

“Josie hanged herself.”

Despite all of that, supposedly, Josie contracted a cough that resulted in her coughing up blood and the end was no longer than 3 days after. No wake was held, despite the family being rigorously religious. A small and private ceremony was held for her. The family did not speak of Josie and life moved forward with the pain tucked away in neat little corners of the Schlabuagh family. This simply ripped the heart and soul out of Catherine, while Joel seemingly carried on as usual. Joseph, the youngest, turned 18 and began quickly taking many responsibilities of the farm work over from his father. His father, Joel, lost his color for life after time had passed on and on. He withered away. Catherine followed suit. They grew old, puttered around aimlessly, and did what little they could to emulate love for their remaining child as he grew into a man of his own.

Joseph was resilient. He soldiered on and married, creating a family of his own and keeping the farm. Things went well for years, Joel passed away as did Catherine. Joseph married a young woman whom he went to school with, Danielle. Their first born, Miles, was an excellent marksman. At age 8, he was able to shoot a rifle better than almost anyone in the county. He practiced shooting almost every day, when he was not helping with farm work or other chores. He had made a local name for himself. Some folks called him “Money Miles”, due to the fact his shot was always on the money. Miles only lived to be 10 years old. He, much like Joseph’s sister Josie, died from an unknown illness. Again, gossip stormed about.

“He must’a caught a stray bullet from his own rifle.”

“Some sort of evil is-a-lurking down at Schlabaugh farm.”

“Miles must’ve gotten himself in a duel and ended up on the wrong end.”

The most common thing said was that a bloody cough was the beginning of the end for the boy. The town reeled after this news broke, adding further to the folklore of the Schlabaugh family misfortune. It became spoken in small circles that the devil lived within the Schlabaugh farm. An unknown force must live within the acres they owned. Family’s slowly began to recoil from them. It was a bad omen to mingle too long with a Schlabaugh. Joseph and Danielle were divided, carrying on a marriage marred by misery. Danielle pulled away from Joseph, who wanted to try and have another baby. Danielle was extremely hesitant. One night, Joseph drank enough until he got the courage to force himself on her. She attempted to fight him off, but to no avail. Joseph had his way with her and successfully planted his seed. He refused to believe that some sort of curse lingered within his family blood. Oliver Schlabaugh, was born in 1947. Danielle suffered from what doctors at the time called “nervous fits”. She could not handle everyday life or reality. She went back and forth between hospitals receiving a new and modern medical treatment, electroshock therapy. In 1964, when Oliver was nearing his 17th birthday, his mother had begun stating that she heard voices. Voices asking her to join Miles. Ultimately, she ate the end of a Smith and Wesson handgun in the kitchen around 4 AM in the dead of winter. Oliver, like his father, refused to believe his family lineage was tainted in any shape or form. He was resilient and swore on his mother’s grave to raise a family of his own and keep the farm in their name. Oliver soon learned at his yearly checkup that he was incapable of creating a family. He was sterile.

Despite the unwarranted deaths, the farm prospered. The farm had turned out many great yields over the years. The farm remained lush and viable throughout the Depression. The town still relied heavily on the farm, even in the beginning of the 21st century. After Danielle’s departure in 1964, Joseph was 62 years old. He remained the head of the farm and Oliver bought in completely to help his father. The two were determined to keep the farm alive and dispel the venomous things said about their family, even if Oliver couldn’t father children.

Part II : A Glass of Apple Juice

Many good years had come and gone for Joseph and his only son, Oliver, since their wife and mother had committed suicide. Oliver, born in 1947, aged 60 in present day, the second born child of Joseph and Danielle Schlabaugh, remained the sole proprietor of the family farm in 2007. His father, Joseph, passed away in the mid 1980’s. Of all things, he died in an automobile accident. His drinking increased within the final five years of his life; supposedly, he, much like his wife, had begun hearing voices before he departed. On a clear and bright autumn day he drove into a telephone pole, killing him upon impact. The farm prospered into the 90’s. Oliver had hired the helping hand of local teenage boys and football players to help do farm work throughout the years. He paid well and was respected. He had chosen to not marry. Oliver’s decision to not marry caused funny things to be said about him. In the present day, the farm has seen a drop off in production throughout the past five years due to a series of extremely dry seasons and bad investments related to either farm equipment or loans taken out by Oliver. A large semi-trucking conglomerate had come and offered a sizeable amount of money to buy the land that was seemingly yielding less and less results over the past five years. The town still relied on Oliver and the farm, yet every year it was less and less. This past year was particularly rough. It was a tough time for Oliver Schlabaugh. He did not wish to sell his family’s generational land and farm, yet, he was low on options. He obviously had no one to give the farm to, considering the Schlabaugh name would end with him. Oliver had done what his father, Joseph, had wanted all along. He successfully re-established the Schlabaugh name as one of decency, hard-work, and family tradition. The circles of gossip had since moved onto topics different than the Schlabaugh family’s death count. Yet, the time had come for very hard decisions to be made. Oliver pondered his options on this mid August morning.

Tanner moved slowly through the stalks of corn which were even with his head as he prodded through the field. The wind blew slightly and he heard a faint singing from afar. It was pretty; the words rode the wind in a way that made the singing sound golden and light. He rubbed the corner of his funny bone and the tendons that connected it. There were often times when he would walk through the cornfield and he thought he had gotten lost somehow. Right now was one of those times, he began to walk much quicker as he sensed the end of the rows of corn nearing. He was correct; he burst out of the cornfield and surprised himself by falling into the ditch on the side of the road across from the Schlabaugh farmhouse. He pressed his chest into the ground and did a push up to lift himself back up. He stood, looked across the road, and saw old Oliver Schlabaugh sitting in a rocking chair at the front door of his farm house. The house had a porch which wrapped around the entirety of the house. Smack in the middle sat Oliver, thinking intently. Oliver heard the crash of Tanner into the ditch and he looked over as he saw Tanner push himself up to his feet. At this moment, Oliver’s face became increasingly tense. A serious look washed over his face from his forehead to his bottom lip. Tanner stood, gazing at the farm house, unsure of what to do next. Oliver’s face contorted and a smile that seemed genuine appeared.

“Excuse me! Young man, come here, won’t you?”

Oliver exclaimed across the road.

Tanner, still standing and gazing, wiped his shirt off and began to cross the street and make his way to the farm house. As Tanner approached, Oliver stood and placed his hands on his hips, which were covered with denim blue jeans.

“Would you like a glass of fresh apple juice? I have some just in the fridge inside.”

“Well, if it isn’t too much trouble, I guess.” Tanner replied weakly.

“Nonsense, no trouble at all!” Oliver turned to go inside and Tanner stepped to follow.

“Just--wait. Wait out here, if you don’t mind, please”.

Oliver looked back as he opened the screen door and Tanner stood still as told. Oliver’s hair was wet with sweat and some of it stuck to his forehead. He went inside and passed the fridge into a different room. Tanner did his best to remain polite by not peeking inside the home. While he did so, he heard mumblings from inside the house. A sort of incantation almost. His heart, for whatever reason, raced. He sat in a nearby rocking chair. After nearly five minutes, Oliver returned. He did not have apple juice.

“Where is the juice?” Tanner questioned.

“I’m old, but I am not that old yet. I have much on my mind, I apologize. Let me get it.”

Oliver once again stepped inside and this time went directly to the fridge and poured the juice into a drinking glass out of a clear pitcher filled with the golden apple juice. He returned and handed the glass to Tanner.

“Please, drink and relax. Tell me why you’re stumbling out of my cornfield on this day.” Oliver sat down in a rocking chair across from Tanner and smiled at the boy.

Tanner took a long, cool drink of the apple juice. It tasted sweet and his throat was refreshed. It brought a sense of calm over him. It made him think of how nice and pleasant a man Mr. Schlabaugh was.

“I live up on the other side of your cornfield. I’ve lived there my whole life. On Cherokee Trail. I’ve come down here a lot in my life, to just look at your farm. It brings me a sense of calm. I don’t know why. I rarely see you out here. I remember you from a field trip my class took when I was young.” Tanner took another long gulp of his apple juice.

“Ah, yes. I love having the young ones here. So much life, curiosity. Well, I am very glad to meet you again today. My name is Oliver, although you already know that, what is yours?”

“My name is Tanner. Tanner Cain.”

“Nice to meet you, Tanner Cain. What kind of things do you like to do for fun?”

Tanner thought for a moment.

“I love playing baseball, I’m a pitcher. I like lots of other things though, too. I like hanging out with my friends, staying over places, running around, doing stuff we probably shouldn’t.”

"An all American boy."

“I guess so. My elbow hurts all the time from throwing a curveball. It’s been bothering me all day today.”

Oliver stood up from his chair and looked through the screen door as if he was trying to focus on something. He spoke with a bit of uncertainty in his voice, his words slightly quivering as they came out.

“You know what, Tanner, let’s go for a walk. I might be able to help you with your elbow pain.”

Tanner, uncertain of this, felt puzzled. Yet, the apple juice had given him some unknown courage. His heart continued to beat rapidly and he felt strongly inclined to follow Mr. Schlabaugh’s directions, thus he stood up and prepared to follow Oliver. Oliver began down the front porch steps and headed left towards the barn. Tanner trotted along behind him. They walked through the barn and Tanner was delighted to see the horses in their stalls, some relaxing, some nibbling at hay on the ground. Oliver moved with vigor and Tanner was forced to quicken his pace. They exited the back of the barn and ahead of them lie acres of land. Some cows could be seen on the top of a nearby hill. To the right, a line of trees and wooded area covered the eastern portion of the farm, one could walk right next to the tree line and be able to look back over almost the entire homestead. Very picturesque. They began doing just that, walking down the tree line. Tanner, at this point, began to feel the beginnings of fear sprinkle throughout his body. His nervous excitement had reached a threshold of uncertainty, which now was slowly blooming into fear. At the exact moment he felt compelled to say something, Oliver stopped and turned to him. They looked at each other for a moment. A 60 year old man who had become hell bent on some unknown mission looked into the eyes of a 14 year old boy who had wandered down to his farm on a hot summer day. Oliver’s eyes had a certain twinkle in them, glossy. Suddenly, they became wild and clear. He was covered in sweat. He could now see by the look of Tanner’s face that he had frightened the boy.

“Don’t be frightened. You can trust me.”

Tanner turned and began to walk back, quickly, almost beginning to sprint.

“I can make the pain in your arm go away. I can make it stay away. I can make many things happen for you, Tanner.”

Oliver yelled at him.

Tanner stopped and stood with his back to Oliver. He put his hands on his knees and bent over. The sun shined down on his back, wet with sweat. Tanner’s mind raced. That feeling he felt in his driveway earlier, that feeling of being drawn, still resided in his chest. Every breath he drew made him feel that he was supposed to be where he was. He felt compelled to turn around and go back to Mr. Schlabaugh, yet something told him it would be a mistake. Tanner stood up to his full height and turned towards the farmer. He looked at Oliver. Oliver turned and went into the woods in one swift motion. Tanner remained motionless, looking and peering into the woods. He could see the outline of Mr. Schlabaugh moving. His heart compelled him to follow. The wind, again, picked up and the faintest singing could be heard, soft and sweet. He ducked into the tree line and began following Oliver. They crossed a small creek and navigated between trees for what seemed to be almost half of a mile, maybe a mile even. Oliver had made it significantly ahead of Tanner. Once Tanner had finally semi-caught up he could see Oliver standing in front of a large Sycamore tree. There was a glow behind the Sycamore tree, something golden loomed behind it. Oliver waved him over and Tanner, feeling as if he no longer had control over his own actions, moved towards him. He stood next to Oliver; slowly, they both began walking around the Sycamore. As they came to the back of it, a man stood hooded in black. He was tall, his face was deeply buried into his hood and he lifted his hands to remove the hood. The sun shone down on his black cloak and his hands were pale white and bony. His fingers were long and skinny with fingernails that resembled jagged pieces of chalk. Tanner felt helpless as he remained motionless and unable to speak. His elbow throbbed with pain. The hood came off and Oliver whimpered as he could not look at Tanner. The man’s head was bald and two wooden horns curled and grew out of the top of his skull. He spoke, his voice piercingly low and distorted much like gravel:

“Do you know me?” He turned and his eyes met with Tanner’s.

His eyes, amber red, made Tanner feel a trembling sense of pure evil. Tanner shook his head and barely mustered the word “no”.

“I’ve been here for a long time, you must know me.” His voice was grainy and malicious. It echoed throughout Tanner’s head. Oliver had stepped to the side and began puking. He remained bent over, unable to look at the interaction between the boy and the man.

“I’ve been away from here for too long. How wonderful to be back.”

Ahead of the man in black was a flower bed, bright orange and golden Marigolds. The flowers burned bright with a magical hue to them. The man in black stepped silently towards the bed and ran his long fingers through the first few flowers he passed by. He stopped and took a knee, examined a few of the Marigolds and chose one deliberately. He turned and silently came back to Tanner.

“I can offer you whatever you desire, Tanner. Think of the things you want, think of all the things in this world that you could have. You can have them, if you lean in and smell this golden Marigold. Take a minute, think of the things you want, close your eyes.”

Tanner closed his eyes and saw himself pitching at Wrigley Field. The crowd roared as they watched him help the Cubs win their first World Series in over almost 100 years. He saw himself in an incredibly comfortable home, with his wife and children. He felt no pain in his elbow. He saw himself climbing mountains. He saw himself riding an Indian motorcycle, just like the one his own grandfather had on the open road. Tanner felt a warm wave of euphoria wash over his body. He smiled. Suddenly, Tanner smelled what he perceived as his grandmother's homemade macaroni and cheese wafting through the air. That was his favorite meal, he loved it. He wanted more.

“Open your eyes, Tanner.”

Tanner opened his eyes. The first thing he saw was the Marigold, bright and beautiful in his face. He could only focus on the Marigold, everything behind it, beside it, and near it was blurred. The Marigold was the only thing he could focus on. He felt enamored with it. He opened his nostrils and breathed in as heavily as he could. As he did so, a warmth ran through his body that touched every corner of his soul. He felt as if he had never done wrong in his life and that he never would. He was a part of the universe, he held the knowledge of the history of the earth. He knew all that had been done and all that would be done. He was invincible, he felt as if he were God himself.

Part III: An Ugly Realization

At once, things returned to normal. What felt like out of nowhere, Tanner was himself again. His elbow did not hurt. The cloaked man had vanished. Oliver had regained all composure and seemed like nothing out of the ordinary had happened. He was not sweaty. He was not quivering. He was put together and calm. Oliver looked at Tanner and smiled brightly.

“You have made a wise decision, my friend. Let’s head back home.”

He spoke with confidence. The feeling of elation Tanner had felt moments ago had simmered, but it remained on a much smaller level. He felt a “motor” going within him that he knew must have been from the scent of the Marigold. He felt a robustness to his young body that he had never felt before in his 14 years on the planet. He was thrilled. He felt that he had known all along that the feelings he had earlier in his life and today had brought him to this moment for a reason. Oliver Schlabaugh and Tanner Cain began walking briskly back through the woods; once they approached the creek, the low and dull tone of the hooded man’s voice could be heard in Tanner’s mind.

“Keep this newfound strength and stamina to yourself. If not... it will leave you just as quickly as it came to you.”

Tanner stopped to see what Oliver’s reaction would be. He did not react. Tanner registered that only he could hear it. He had a secret. It was his secret. He liked that, he intended to keep it that way. They made it all the way back to the front porch and Oliver offered Tanner to come in, however, Tanner was ready to move on as the afternoon had slowly slipped into evening. He felt immaculate. He wanted to sprint and feel the wind on his face. As he stepped off the porch he looked at Mr. Schlabaugh and thanked him.

“Mr. Schlabaugh, thank you. I feel very good about this.”

“No, Tanner, thank you. Have a good evening.”

Tanner, thrown off a bit by this response, turned and headed towards the road to cross into the cornfield towards his house. He waved and began to run. His legs churned the dirt beneath his feet, his hamstrings felt strong. As he covered the massive cornfield with his legs, he felt the wind again and heard the faint singing on top of it. Sweet and golden. As he neared the end of the cornfield and began to be able to see the top of his house, his stomach twisted. He continued to run towards the final row of stalks. As he exited the field, he bent down and put his hands on his knees to catch his breath. When he returned his arms to their normal position, a violent shooting pain shot through his throwing elbow. He reached for it. He stood, looking at his house. He no longer felt invincible, as a matter of fact, he felt horrible. He felt his forehead, hot as a stove top. He felt a tickle in his lungs. He coughed loudly and hard. He attempted to clear his throat. He coughed again, covering his mouth. When he removed his hand from his mouth, which was wet, he felt the taste of iron in his mouth. He had coughed so hard that he had slobber and drool on his hand, as well as blood.