Somewhere Beneath the Marigolds

Betty Horne turned the rich black soil thoroughly over with a hand rake. The kids ran past her laughing. Dot shrieking with excitement at the top of her lungs over the chasing game she played with her older brothers.

"Don't run off too far," she called to them. "Supper will be ready after an hour"

"Alright mom!" Michael called back to her.

They were such good kids, she thought to herself. Dot's brothers always included her, and she had no trouble keeping up with them.

Michael always took great pride in assuming responsibility for his younger siblings' wellbeing. He'd been like that since the day Jay was born. And Jay, so sensitive, so intelligent. She was constantly amazed at the depth of understanding possessed by a boy so young. So astute, she often wondered who was raising whom.

Betty pushed the last of the marigold seeds she had saved off the flowers from the year before into the dark earth. She planted them in the same bed along the front fence every year. She could hardly wait for them to come peeking up from the ground every summer. So bright and cheery, enduring through the season, not to mention the added benefit of distracting bugs, gophers and other pests from her squash and tomatoes. A sunny reminder of how much she had to be grateful for.

The year following Michael's birth, Tomas had brought her home a pot of vivid orange and yellow marigolds as Mother's day gift. He was always so thoughtful like that. She planted them out front, and saved the seeds that they produced to plant every year after.

That was twelve years ago now. Her Micheal would be turning thirteen this year. How time flew by.

Betty gathered up her garden tools, wiped the excess dirt off of her hands and on to her gardening apron. She headed inside to finish her chores and to prepare the rest of the supper.

Thomas would return from the feild soon. Spring was a wonderful time of the year to be a farmer. With the family well rested up from the winter. This year, turning and tilling the field made simpler by their new tractor. That had set them back a bit, things were tight after such a grand purchase. But they had planned and saved for it, and the shiny new machine had already proved well worth it. Spring brought the promise of a better year to come. The pressure from the heat of the summer, and the stress of the harvest; good crop, bad crop, or no crop, not yet upon their shoulders. A time to enjoy and appreciate all that life has to offer, upon new life everywhere waking up and answering nature's call.

Betty took her gardening shoes off in the little side hallway, hung her apron up on the hook on the other side of the door, and put her garden tools in the little basket she kept in the coat closet.

She went into the drawing room to turn on the radio, Betty found herself quite a fan of the modern music to have come out these days. Some found Rock n'Roll scandalous, but she liked it. "It really swings," she had told Thomas. Elvis Presley was singing "Don't ask me Why". Betty glanced up at the tiny hole that had been pierced through the window.

Michael had told Thomas and herself that he had made it with his slingshot. Thomas suspected Micheal was fibbing about the slingshot, and instead theorized that the hole had more likely been made with a BB gun. 'Now Micheal, I know a bullet hole when I see one," Thomas had said. Thomas served in Okinawa, he vowed to teach his boys about the responsible use of firearms. He firmly held the belief that weapons were NOT toys. So the hole had probably been put there by one borrowed from, or belonging to a friend. Michael was not usually one to fib, so they both suspected he had come up with the white lie to protect the friend from whom he had borrowed the gun in the first place. The younger children had surprisingly gone along with the lie, likely not wanting to see their older brother get in any trouble.

Thomas had him sent to bed without supper for the evening, as payment for the damage and called that that.

In the days following, Michael had got up early. Finished all of the chores, and took it upon himself to till the earth for his mother's marigold bed knowing that she was planning to plant in the upcoming weeks.

They really were such good kids.

But, they had been acting a bit, well, funny lately. Since the window incident, but before that also. As if they were hiding some great secret that only they knew about. Whispering, and carrying on in the barn sometimes right up until supper. She didn't want to complain, after all, they had been on their best behavior. Chores were being completed in record time, their rooms kept spotless, yet something was off. She wondered if Thomas had noticed too.

Perhaps they were planning something, some kind of surprise maybe. "Oh well," Betty sighed. "Suppose a mother can't be privy to every little detail in the lives of her children," she mused.

She watched as her neighbor Harold Houston's old brown pickup rumbled by on the dirt road past their farm.

She wondered if his nephew Davey was still staying with them. She certainly hoped not. She hadn't seen him but once a couple of weeks ago, and that was enough. Davy was a despicable man, he caused her skin to crawl.

But, she thought to herself, it would be good to go around and call on Ethel one of these days. Perhaps even volunteer the services of her ever energetic children to help them out a bit. God knows they could use it these days.

She went upstairs to gather the children's dirty clothes from their hamper. Tomorrow was laundry day, and she wanted to make sure that she had the time to spot-treat any stains that may have made their way on to those rough worn articles of clothing. She carried the hamper downstairs and took it outside to her wash sink. She took out each article of clothing one at a time. Examining them one after another, in the sunlight for any spots or stains. As she shook out her daughter's little overalls, something shiny flew out of the pocket and onto the ground in front of her. She bent down to pick up the glimmering object.

Wait, she paused as she held in the sunshine, it's brilliant color gleaming golden against the light of the day. This was a thing of value. She recognized it from pictures in an old coin book her father once had. This was a 38 year old piece of American history. Why, It was older than she was, a relic from another time really. They only made them for 15 years. It was a St Gaudens's $20 gold piece from 1920.

What on earth? Where did it come from? How had it made it past Roosevelt's gold confiscation in 1933? Someone surely had to have hid it somewhere, or lost it. Betty thought to herself. And more importantly, how on earth had it made itself presumably, into the pocket of her children's dirty clothes?

She would have to have a discussion with Thomas about this. She wondered what he would have to say about it. He was always so reasonable, so level-headed, her rock and constant source of wisdom. Was this what the children had been hiding? Obviously they didn't think it was that important if they had just left it in the hamper with the dirty washing.

She smiled to herself as she slipped the coin in her own pocket. "Silly little lambs" she chuckled. "Don't know a good thing when they find it." She hummed a new song she had heard on the radio. Just released, "All I have to do is Dream" by the Everly Brothers, as she carried on with the pre-wash. The afternoon sun kissed her cheeks as she scrubbed and sang away in blissful gratitude of this sweet life she counted herself so lucky to play a part in.