Magical Marigolds

The Magical Marigolds

The ten-year-old girl hunkered down behind the long grass at the bottom of the garden in the backies. She felt fortunate her grandfather was wholly uninterested in any of the maintenance on the two-story detached house they lived in. It was summer and the grass was plush, knee high and surprisingly still warm at 8pm this Friday evening. She lay down, held her breath and waited for it. She didn’t have to wait long. Her slight frame immediately relaxed sinking deep into the soft cool earth. The silence settled her.

Her grandparents were fighting again. Friday nights were usually a fight free night. Her granda would rush home from work to bathe. shave and get all toffed up. She didn’t know where he went but would always stay up late to see what late night treat, he would bring in for them to share. He would have a drink on him. He would be relaxed and cheery, and the week of scowling silence would be forgotten. She loved her granda on these nights. But tonight, for whatever reason, he was sober. She didn’t know what her gran and him were fighting about. She just knew that walking up the street with her friends she could hear the shouting five houses down. This was her cue to run to the back garden and hide by laying in the tall grass until the fight was over.

The yelling was louder now. She turned onto her left side facing the flower beds skirting the backyard fence. She imagined the long thick grass at her back like a shield protecting her from the wounding words her grandparents were hurling at one another. She admired the scattering of wildflowers in front of her, and she smiled as was remembering the freezing cold day she planted the little seed pack

It was mid-March and she crept out of her room one early Sunday morning and in her nightie, she crept down the stairs careful not to disturb the family dog. She stealthily opened a kitchen drawer and selected the biggest tablespoon. She cracked open the big wooden back door slowly so it would not creak. The morning air was breathtakingly cold and crisp. She fleetingly thought about venturing back into the house to put on more clothes but as quickly dismissed the thought lest she wake her grandparents. She took her tablespoon to the bottom of the back garden and dug and planted the wildflower seed packet her aunt Laura had given her. She was back in her warm bed within minutes of her adventure and drifted back off to sleep with happy dreams of fields of wildflowers.

The months passed and she watered the flowers when she remembered, delighting when a measurable growth spurt was notable. The summer months came and all the excitement of warm weather, family holidays and endless days of outside play left the destiny of the growing flowers to the bottom of the garden fairies.

So now at this moment, desperate for a departure from an anxiety filled world, she drank in the beauty of the little wildflower patch, nudging as close to them as she could get without smooshing them. How she delighted in the muted pastels of the carnations, and the vibrant reds of the zinnia’s, but the flower her eyes were drawn to be the perfectly constructed orange marigold. It was just the epitome of perfection. She fingered the petals gently and flared her nostrils to inhale as much as she could of the earthy smell of the Calendula officinalis. Her aunt had told her the Marigold was the most magical flower in the garden. Its powerful pungent aroma had the power to ward off the nasty garden nematode and any other evil entity without dropping a petal. She had an idea! Quickly she picked all the marigolds and began chaining them like she had done before with daisies. The end results were a magnificent crown of beautifully bright orange flowers. The little girl put them on her head and was immediately filled with bravado. She popped up out of the long grass and strode towards the house. Opening the back door, she became aware of the adults still yelling at each other. She hesitated. The smell of the marigolds reminded her of their magic. She inhaled deeply, then began walking towards the noise. Her pace slow and steady nearing the arguing adults who were immersed in battle. She kept walking. Suddenly the adults stopped and looked at her. This little girl with the belisha beacon crown atop her blonde hair was not an everyday sight. She closed her eyes slightly waiting for the yelling to begin again. The adults simultaneously surveyed the intrusion with surprise. Neither one had any words at that moment. They both stood there stunned into silence. She moved between them without a word and climbed the stairs to her bedroom.

Inside her room the girl listened for the resumption of her grandparents’ feud. It did not come. She waited. After what it seemed like an eternity, she allowed herself to rejoice. The magical marigolds have warded off whatever bad spirit was making her grandparents fight. Her aunt had been right. These garish smelly flowers only planted to ward off the beasties were indeed magic. No longer anxious and afraid but rather spurned by curiosity, she ventured downstairs. When she entered the living room both her grandparents looked up to see her still wearing the flower crown. They both smiled. Come on in hinny her grandmother said. Come tell me where you got those magnificent flowers. She sat down at the dining table beside her grandfather who had started buttering her some hot toast. Come get some tea and toast and tell me the story of your beautiful crown he said smiling. Just then at that moment the girl knew the truth. Marigolds were indeed magic.