The Importance of Wildflowers

The Importance of Wildflowers

D. A. Ratliff

As I awakened, consciousness slowly returned, yet I lingered in a dream as it drifted away. I had no trouble remembering the dream, which had been the same since childhood. I stood on a narrow wooden bridge, flat land covered with scrub brush extending as far as I could see, and wildflowers scattered everywhere.

I threw back the covers and started my day, shaking off the dream. What I needed first was coffee. As what I called the elixir of life brewed, I stared out the window at my backyard full of cultivated plants and wildflowers. I inherited this house when Momma Jo died, and we had planted flowers over the years. I had wanted wildflowers. Perhaps my dream influenced me, but the beautiful flowers gave me peace.

After breakfast, I dressed and headed to my studio with a second cup of coffee. A glance at the whiteboard that chronicled my life showed that my first appointment was at ten am—time enough to review the presentation. I was looking over the tropical foliage list when the doorbell rang. I grabbed my phone to check the doorbell camera, and a guy in a brown uniform was at the door.

I took the overnight letter package and returned to my desk. The return address was the law firm of Carson, Rutledge, and Montgomery, located in Charleston, South Carolina. My curiosity was piqued, and I pulled the tab and withdrew a letter written on high-quality cream paper. As I read, my hands began to shake.

Dear Ms. Franklin:

As an introduction, I am Matias Rutledge, counsel for Daniel and Victoria Peyton of Markie Island, South Carolina. I represent the Peytons in their quest to locate their granddaughter.

maDuring our investigation, we found record of an expired driver’s license and a death certificate filed in Fulton County, Georgia, which may be that of your mother. From there, we learned that you were placed in foster care. The Peytons petitioned the Fulton County Court for access to your adoption records, and their request was granted. Since your given name, Shelby, and your age correspond with Mr. and Mrs. Peyton’s granddaughter, I would like to speak with you and ask further questions.

My clients are determined to find their granddaughter, and we hope you will agree to speak with me regarding this letter. All conversations will be held in strict confidence. My clients have agreed that I will only provide them with information that you choose for them to know. We will proceed if it is determined that you may be the person they seek. If you choose not to speak with me, that is your right, and we will not contact you again.

Please call me at the number listed below at your earliest convenience.

Regards,

Matias Rutledge

My hands trembled, and I dropped the letter onto the desk, unsure what to make of what I had read. I barely remember my mother, never knew my father, and I entered foster care when I was five. I had often wondered if I had any other family, but I was always too frightened to do what the Peytons had done.

The reminder on my phone alerted me that my meeting would start in five minutes. I had to get my act together and put this behind me, but the last thing I wanted to do was discuss the greenspace around a commercial building. I remember what my adopted dad always told me, “Suck it up, buttercup.” It was our favorite line from “The Princess Bride,” which we watched repeatedly. So, suck it up it was, and I clicked on the Zoom link.

~~~

After the meeting, I reread the letter. I didn’t know what to do, so I called my best friend, Gigi James, and asked her to meet me at our favorite coffee shop. I needed her advice.

Gigi, or Gisele James, was my best friend from high school until this day. She was well known around Atlanta, having worked as chief meteorologist for a local television station until she married a bigwig with the Atlanta Braves. Now, she runs a foundation for underprivileged children and visits schools to give lectures on meteorology.

She arrived first and sat at a table on the patio. She ordered coffee and a scone for me. “Girlfriend, what’s going on. I could tell how upset you are from the tone of your voice. Tell me.”

I pulled the letter from my purse and handed it to her. She read it without comment, and her eyes brimmed with tears when she was done.

“Shelby,” her voice trembled, “what in the world? Oh, you have always wanted to know who your real family is. You have to talk to them.”

The coffee was hot, but I took a sip anyway. I need something to jolt me into reality. “I don’t know. My life was good after Momma Jo and Poppa Walt adopted me. I felt like I belonged, and now that they are gone, it feels like that would betray everything they did for me.”

“Poppycock.” She tapped a manicured finger on the table, making staccato sounds. “I knew them, remember. They always encouraged you to look for your family if you wanted to do so. Don’t use them as a shield just because you’re scared.”

“I’m not.” I shut up when Gigi scoffed.

“Yes, you are. Now, have you looked up these Peytons?”

“No.”

Before I could stop her, she searched for them on her phone. “Please don’t do that.”

Gigi stopped and shook her head. “Who are you? The Shelby Franklin that I know would be researching everything about them. The Shelby that takes on CEOs, architects, and construction companies to ensure her landscape designs are done to her specs. Where did she go?”

“I… I’m still here.”

“Good, let’s see what we can find out.”

We discovered that the Peytons had lived on Markie Island since the late 1700s, growing cotton and rice. Over the years, as those crops migrated elsewhere, they turned to the shipping industry and owned a large shipping company in Charleston. Victoria and Daniel lived in the original Markie Island house. His brother David resided in Charleston, where he was the CEO of the shipping company.

“Shelby, they sound like an established family in the Charleston area. They are not kooks if that’s what you are worried about.”

“No, I don’t think they are kooks.”

“Then what?”

“What if I don’t like them? What if they don’t like me?”

“The chances of that are slim, so forget that. You need to call that lawyer and see what's up.”

Before I could answer, Gigi gasped. “I just scrolled down further. Listen to this, Shelby.”

“Martin Peyton was killed in an early morning crash along State Road 10-390-east of Hollywood. Peyton was accompanied by a yet-to-be-identified woman who was severely injured. The St. Paul’s District ambulance transported the injured woman to a hospital in Charleston. No further information available.”

“When was that?”

“July 12, 1996.”

“Three years after I was born.”

“Let’s see if I can find his obituary.”

I closed my eyes, not wanting to believe this could be real, that this could be my biological family. When Gigi gasped again, my body flushed with heat as adrenaline surged. “What?”

“His obituary. It says that Martin Peyton is survived by his wife, LeeAnn Jeffers Rutledge, and a daughter,” Gigi stopped and looked me in the eye. “Shelby Grace Peyton.”

I started sobbing. Thankfully, the area of the patio where we sat was empty. Gigi grasped my hand. “I know this is a shock, but you must talk to this lawyer. Don’t miss the chance to know your roots. No one says you have to become involved with them, but at least, find out what happened.”

“Gigi, my mother’s name was Annie. That is what Momma Jo was told. They had little information about me when I was taken into foster care at five years old. Maybe she was LeeAnn?”

“I’d almost guarantee she was.”

“Anything else about them?”

“Not that I can find. Some links to social things Victoria Peyton was involved in, but nothing else. Shelby, call him.”

“I will.”

~~~

I had back-to-back appointments that afternoon and didn’t return home until after five pm. I told myself the attorney, Rutledge, would likely be gone for the day. Even if it isn’t true, it gave me some breathing room. I stripped off my clothes, poured a glass of wine, and walked out to the secluded pool patio I had built. I loved feeling the fresh air on my skin, not to mention I hated tan lines, so the pool area was out of sight of anyone in the neighborhood.

The early summer sun was warm even into the evening, and as my body soaked in the heat, tension from the day melted away. But if I were honest with myself, fear remained. I was torn between the life Momma Jo and Poppa Walt gave me, and discovering my roots.

I came to this house when I was nine, after being in three foster homes since I was five. I had been okay with two of the families, but I despised one. From the second I walked into the Franklin house, I felt at home. Hugs from Momma Jo made me feel loved, and Poppa Walk made me feel safe and protected.

Safe until I was twelve, when two women from the Department of Child and Family Services showed up asking to talk to Momma Jo alone. I snuck into the hallway to listen and discovered they were talking about me. DCFS wanted to move me to another home because they felt Momma Jo had too many foster kids. She had two others, both of whom were about to turn eighteen.

I ran into the room, yelling that I wouldn’t go anywhere else, and then up the stairs to my room. Momma Jo came in a few minutes later and hugged me. “Baby girl, you aren’t going anywhere. Walt and I feared this was coming, so about a month ago we petitioned the court to adopt you. I can’t guarantee that will happen, but we are trying.”

It took a year and a fight with DCFS for a judge to finally see that being with the Franklins was in my best interest. The day we stood in court and the judge told me I was their child was the happiest day of my life. Already near sixty and never having children, they soon adopted brothers who came into their care, and I had a real family.

We lost them five years ago, Momma Jo to cancer, Poppa Walt to cardiac arrest. As much as I missed them, I was thankful I had them for the time I did. As I watched the setting sun illuminate the wildflower bed at the back of the yard, I decided to call Rutledge in the morning.

~~~

The law firm’s receptionist was professional and efficient, and immediately connected me to Matias Rutledge. I wasn’t prepared for the deep, melodious voice I heard say, “Ms. Franklin, I am pleased that you called.”

“I have to admit, Mr. Rutledge, I was hesitant to make this call, but I researched the Peytons and found some information that intrigued me.”

“Before we discuss what you learned, I would like to ask if you have ever considered searching for your family?”

“I had thought about it, and my adoptive parents encouraged it. I didn’t pursue it because I worried what I might find would disappoint me.”

“I understand how you would feel that way. Do you wish to go forward with this?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Tell me what you found out.”

I told him what I knew about the family and what had happened to the man who might have been my father. He confirmed that the information I had was correct.

“Ms. Franklin, can you tell me what you remember as a child?”

“I was three, according to DCFS, when my mother brought me to Atlanta. I know she got in trouble with the police for drug use and died of an overdose when I was five. I was put into foster care then.” I hesitated. “Mr. Rutledge, the obituary I read said Martin Peyton was married to a woman named LeeAnn.”

“That’s correct.”

“You should know my mother’s name here was Annie.”

“She may have indeed been LeeAnn Peyton. If you concur, we should move to the next step.”

“Which is?”

“I have a photograph to send you. We found your photo on your company website, and I’d like to send you a comparison we made. It's not scientifically conclusive, but I want you to see it. May I send it to you now?”

My hands shook, but I said yes and put the phone on speaker. He texted me the image, and I’m sure he heard my reaction. The photo had Martin and LeeAnn’s faces and mine. I looked just like Martin, only slightly like LeeAnn.

“Ms. Franklin?”

“I’m here. I look like him.”

“We think so as well. You need to decide if we should go forward with this. My clients desperately want to find their granddaughter, and….”

“Why now, why are they looking now?”

“They have been looking for twenty-nine years. They began as soon as your mother disappeared, taking you with her. This firm has had investigators in several states looking into your disappearance for many years. Your mother used a fake ID she got from somewhere, which did not help. A private detective in Atlanta ran a photo of your mother through facial recognition software and found her ID. That’s how we got here.”

“They’ve been looking for me for that long?”

“Yes.”

“What do we do next?”

“For all concerned, I would like you to agree to take a DNA test. That will remove all doubt before you meet with the Peytons, if you choose to do so.”

I took a deep breath. What else could I do but say yes? I was beginning to believe this might be true. “I’ll take the DNA test.”

“Good. I will text you with the arrangements for the test. Thank you, Ms. Franklin. With your permission, I will inform the Peytons that we have talked and proceeded to the DNA testing.”

I agreed and we said goodbye. I began to sob. What if I had found my family? What would I do if I had?

~~~

The next day, I took the DNA test, and the waiting game began. During the next few weeks, I traveled twice for business and attended more Braves baseball games than usual because Gigi didn’t like leaving me alone.

The truth was, I didn’t like being alone during this wait. I almost got a kitten to keep me company, which I had never considered because I traveled so much. I resisted the temptation, and Gigi urged me to write the landscaping book I had always wanted to write.

The arrangements were that I would receive a copy of the DNA results, and one would go to Matias Rutledge, who would have a local lab in Charleston do the comparison to the Peyton DNA sample already completed. The day I received the results, I sat for at least an hour holding the unopened envelope, knowing the result would be meaningless without the comparison. Yet, opening the envelope felt like sealing my fate.

Matias Rutledge called when he received the results and told me that the match review could take two to three weeks.

~~~

I was walking into my house from a trip to Kansas when Rutledge called. I dropped my bag on the foyer floor, sat on a stair step, and answered.

“Ms. Franklin, I have the results.” He paused as if waiting for me to react.

“What are they?”

“The tests are conclusive. You are a DNA match to the Peyton family.” He let that sink in and waited for me to respond.

“Have you told them?”

“Not yet. You need to tell me what you want to do. As I have told you, the Peytons only want you to meet them if you wish to. The decision is yours. If you need time to think about it, take what you need.”

“I would like to think about this. I will call you in a day or two.

I called Gigi and asked her to come for dinner. The Braves were out of town, and her husband was traveling with them. It was time to tell my brothers. Eric and Ethan were five and seven years old when they came to live with the Franklins. I was fourteen when Momma Jo and Popa Walk adopted them. It had been difficult as the courts were worried about the Franklins’ age, but Eric, then nine and the oldest, made an eloquent statement to the judge, and the adoption was granted. We knew all along that one day it would just be the three of us, and we had vowed on the day of their adoption that no matter what life brought us, we would be together.

Eric was a design engineer with a local aeronautical company. Ethan passed the Bar six months ago and worked for a large law firm. I messaged them to see if I could FaceTime them.

“Hey, sis, what’s happening?” Ethan was the chatty one.

“I need to talk over something with you. Gigi is coming over tonight. Why don’t you come over about six? We’ll grill hamburgers.”

Ethan answered quickly, “Great, we will be there.” Eric gave me a thumbs up.

Thanks to my grocery app, the burger fixings arrived quickly, and I managed to unpack and change before everyone arrived.

The boys, as I always called them, showed up with beer, and Gigi brought ice cream and toppings for sundaes. Eric asked me what I wanted to talk to them about, and I put it off until we sat down to eat.

“Guys, several weeks ago, I was approached by an attorney from Charleston, SC, whose clients asked him to search for their granddaughter who disappeared with her mother when she was three years old. They found me through my mother’s Georgia ID and her death certificate. They applied for a court order to review my adoption papers, which was granted. I agreed to take a DNA test, and the results are conclusive. I am related to them.”

My brothers were quiet, looking at each other without speaking.

“Eric, Ethan, tell me what you’re thinking.”

Ethan swallowed hard before speaking. “Does this mean we won’t be a family?”

I jumped out of my chair and hugged them, “Oh, my goodness, no, it doesn’t mean that at all. If I meet them, they accept all three or none of us. You are my brothers, my family, and you always will be. We made that vow, and it is forever.”

Gigi reached across the table and grasped Ethan’s hand. “If I know one thing, I know how much Shelby loves you both. She couldn’t love you more if you were blood. The Peytons have been looking for her for nearly thirty years. That is love. If they are capable of that depth of love, they will welcome you as they will her.”

Over sundaes, I told them what I knew about the Peytons and what had happened to my father and mother. By the end of the evening, I had their blessing to meet my grandparents.

~~~

The Charleston International Airport was a bright, airy structure with soaring windows and a contemporary design. I had always considered Charleston a quaint town, having seen photographs of the beautiful homes along the Battery and the images of the straw market. I didn’t remember visiting here as a child, but I must have.

Matias Rutledge told me to meet him at baggage claim. I exited the gate area and walked toward our meeting place. My nerves were raw. I must have wanted this far more than I realized, but fear was the emotion of the day.

I recognized Rutledge immediately. He was leaning against a pole beside the luggage carousel for my flight, dressed in an expensive suit, tailored to perfection. He was much younger than I expected. He stood straight as I approached.

“Ms. Franklin, I’m Matias Rutledge. It’s nice to meet you.”

I shook his outstretched hand. “Mr. Rutledge, I’m glad to meet you as well.”

“Please call me Matt.”

“Please call me Shelby.”

“As soon as we collect your bags, we will head to Markie Island. They are anxious to see you.”

The deafening buzzer announcing the arrival of luggage on the carousel startled me. Rutledge spoke quietly. “I know you're nervous, but don’t be. You’re going to love them.”

He grabbed my bag, and we walked to the park-and-wait garage. My journey home began.

~~~

As we drove through Charleston, Matt gave me a brief history of Charleston and Markie Island, our destination. The Peyton family settled in the late 1700s, cultivating rice and cotton. Island cotton was highly sought after, but eventually, the market for both rice and cotton moved to farmland with more acreage. When they could no longer compete with larger plantations, they turned to the shipping industry, built a warehouse on the Charleston docks, and purchased a fleet of three ships.

“Do they still have the shipping company?”

“Yes, with a large fleet of ocean-going container ships. Dan’s brother, Randolph, is the CEO, and his son, Larry, is the general manager. Dan is the board chairman but stepped away from active participation a few years ago. Now, he and Victoria oversee a boutique rice company from rice they grow on the island.”

“You seem quite familiar with them.”

He scoffed. “I am. In full disclosure, my grandmother and your grandmother have been best friends for nearly sixty years. My father is the Peyton family’s personal and business attorney, but they asked me to represent them because you and I are about the same age and generation.”

“That makes sense.”

“If your family and… mine,” I stumbled, saying mine sounded so strange, “are so close, tell me the truth about my father.”

Matt glanced at me. “Your father and mine grew up together, but when they were in at Trent Academy, a private high school, your dad got in with a bad crowd. He got into drugs and ended up in rehab between his junior and senior year. My dad found him in an apartment full of drug users and dragged him out and brought him to Markie Island. His parents took him to the hospital and committed him to a drug rehab center two days later. He was discharged just before his senior year started. He graduated and went to college without any issues until his junior year. He met a woman, your mother.”

“Another bad influence?”

He grimaced. “From what I have heard, yes. Rich crowd, too much money, and too little responsibility. A lot of alcohol, drugs, and partying. Despite that, your dad and mom graduated.”

What then?”

“They took off traveling, spending a lot of time in Mexico, and I'm not sure where else. My dad had just graduated from law school when they returned with the news they were married, and your mother was six months pregnant.”

“What happened when he died?”

“He was drunk, far above the legal limit. Lost control of the car.”

“And the woman with him?”

“Shelby, I didn’t know this until Dan and Victoria asked me to contact you. The woman was someone he’d met at a party at a friend's house on the island. They were headed for Charleston.”

I dropped my head against the seat back, trying to take all I had heard. Matt remained quiet, giving me time to think. My early life proved difficult, but I had no idea the family I left behind suffered as well.

Matt turned off the main road, and the scene before us took my breath away. Majestic oaks, their gnarly limbs draped with Spanish Moss, towered over us like sentinels. As a landscape architect, I knew their Latin names, but at the moment, I was overcome by their beauty.

“We’re almost there.”

I could only nod as each passing mile had increased my anxiety.

A turn left took us along a narrow road, one side lined with oaks, the other side an open space with a tree line visible in the distance. “What’s that field used for?”

“That’s the marsh.”

A vague thought stirred in my mind, but tall wrought iron gates came into view, catching my attention. I heard Matt say we were here, but I was overwhelmed. Magnolias, sweetgums, and sweet olive trees mixed with oak, various pines, and palmetto trees surrounded by flowers and flowering bushes filled the expansive lawn. The plantings looked haphazard, as if everything just sprang up overnight. I knew better. This was a garden tended by someone who loved plants.

I was at a total loss for words as the house appeared through the trees. It was a large two-story home in the French style, with long shuttered windows and French doors lining a veranda on each level. Plants and rocking chairs sat under the pale blue ceilings so popular in these Southern homes. The house tugged at me like an old friend, and if anything, that scared me. What was I going to find inside?

Matt parked along the curved drive at the front door and turned toward me. “Ready.”

“Yes, I think. Just don’t leave me.” I had no idea why I blurted that out, but I realized I felt very comfortable with him.

“I won’t.” As he spoke, his eyes softened, and I realized why I wanted him there. I could trust him.

“Okay, let’s do this.”

I exited the car and walked toward the steps. The front door opened, and I pushed back a sob as my grandparents appeared. We both stopped in our tracks. Victoria Peyton approached the top step. Tears streamed down her face as she smiled and then spoke.

“Shelby, welcome home.”

At that moment, I knew I was home, and I ran up the stairs to hug her, my grandfather hugging us both. It took a few minutes to gather our emotions, but my grandmother pulled away. “Let’s go inside. I want you to meet Eva, who was your nanny. She stayed with us after we lost you, and Bernard, her husband, is our butler. We hate that title. They are family, too. They took such good care of you and were devastated when you weren’t here.”

“I don’t know what to call you.”

Daniel grabbed my hand. “You can call us by our names, but we’d love for you to call us what you used to call us—Papa and Gran.”

“Papa and Gran, it is.”

The house's interior was lovely, but I felt like I was in a whirlwind, unable to focus on anything. Evie gave me a bear hug, and Bernard had tears in his eyes as he greeted me. Victoria led us to a beautiful sunroom at the rear of the house, where one of the house staff served coffee and pastries.

Matt sat in the chair beside me and whispered, “You okay?”

“Just overwhelmed. Thanks for staying.”

“No worries. Dan said my grandmother is coming for dinner, so he asked me to stay.”

“Good.”

For the next hour, we talked about what happened to my parents and the efforts they made to find us. Gran said they wanted to bring my mother back as well. As the years wore on, they knew they couldn’t give up. Then we discussed my life and how I ended up Momma Jo and Pappa Walt.

Gran shook her head. “They saved you. We wish we could have known them.”

“They were wonderful to me and my brothers.”

“Brothers, you have brothers?”

“Yes, Eric and Ethan. Jo and Walt took them in as fosters when they were five and seven. Their mother abandoned them. The Franklins adopted them as well.”

“You have brothers.” She looked at Daniel and then back toward me. “We wanted a grandson, too. Do you think they might adopt us?”

I didn’t know how much more I could take. Knowing they wanted Eric and Ethan to be part of their family was more than I had hoped. “I think they would like that a lot.”

“Good, then we need to get them down here as soon as they can come. Now, I need to check on dinner. I’ll be right back.”

Papa asked Matt about his dad, and I wandered to the large windows overlooking the backyard. The backyard was as lush and beautiful as the front, and I scanned across the landscape, then stopped as my heart began beating rapidly, and I couldn’t breathe. Frantically, I looked for the door and fumbled until I opened it and ran across the yard. It couldn’t be. The image from my dreams was in front of me—the bridge, the wildflowers, the field beyond. I ran until I heard my footsteps landing on wood and dropped to my knees. I had dreamed about home, and now I was here.

My body shook with sobs. I sensed someone next to me, and strong arms encircled my shoulders. It was Matt.

His voice was soothing. “Shelby, it’s okay. Tell me what’s wrong.”

Before I answered, my grandparents arrived. “Honey, tell us.” Gran knelt beside me.

I had to gasp for air so I could speak. “Since I was a little girl, I’ve had this recurring dream. There was a small bridge with a huge field and all these wildflowers. I didn’t know why I kept dreaming about this, but I was dreaming about home.”

Matt pulled me to my feet, and I collapsed in my grandmother’s arms. She lifted my head. “You always loved to play on the bridge from the time you could walk. I planted wildflowers everywhere and always reseeded the bank along this little creek. You used to help me.” She hugged me again. “You never left us, did you? And now you’re home.”

We settled enough to enjoy dinner, and I met Matt’s grandmother, Camellia. She was a delight. She told me Matt thought I was quite lovely and suggested I should get to know him better. I didn’t argue with that. After dinner, we Zoomed with Ethan and Eric, who were almost as emotional as I was. They quickly accepted Gram’s invitation to visit and planned on driving from Atlanta on Friday for a few days.

Matt and Camellia left, promising to return for lunch the next day, and I wandered back to the sunroom, staring into the darkness. Gram joined me.

“Shelby, you and I shared a love of wildflowers from the beginning, and for you to be a landscape designer who adds wildflowers where you can, pleases me more than you know.”

“It must be fate that wildflowers played an important role in our lives.”

“I have a favorite passage from the Bible. Matthew 6:30-33: If God gives such attention to the appearance of wildflowers—most of which are never even seen—don’t you think He’ll attend to you, take pride in you, and do His best for you?”

“That’s beautiful. Wildflowers kept us connected even when we didn’t know.”

Gram hugged me. “Welcome home, Shelby.”