Let It Grow

Ashington, England, November 1792:

An unknown minstrel voice, soft and raspy, from a hundred autumns hence…

♪ Standing at the crossroads

Trying to read the signs ♫

To tell me which way I should go

In the sun, the rain, the snow ♪

Love is lonely, but her voice cries, "Let it grow…"♫


Fiona clutched her purse, plodding through autumn's first ankle-deep snow toward the bookstore. It had taken months of challenging hand-sewing to earn the sovereign she needed.


The elderly proprietor looked up, silently unpacking his newest shipment.

Fiona proceeded to the horticultural section, but the tome she wanted was no longer there.



"Excuse me, good sir, where's Butterfly Gardening? The one by W.S. Coleman."

"Sold, three days past."


"Sold! To whom and why? You knew I wanted it. You said you would save it."


"It was Joseph, the wealthiest man in town. Who am I to refuse him. Besides, he said it was to be a gift."

"But you knew I was saving its price."

“He gave me twice as much. You must wait for a new order from London.”

Fiona spun on her heel and faced the shop window, staring out at the cobbled street as if trying to read a solution to her heart’s unrest brought on by the mention of that name.

The distinctive umber of a lady’s dress caught her eye, and she barged into the street, calling out,

“Lorena, wait! I cannot believe what he’s done!”

“Fiona, dear girl… I haven't seen you in weeks. How is the busiest seamstress in all of Northumberland?"


Fiona waved a bandaged right hand at her.

"Suffering for nothing, it appears." She flushed and glared at her friend.

"He did it again. He swoops in whenever I find something I like, robbing me of my intention. But this time… it seems you are his accomplice. You are the only one I told about the book I was saving for.”

"No, I kept your secret, despite his courteous inquiries about you. It must be part of his project. Paul says he's working on something extraordinary. "



"Oh? I heard he and Paul labor much, but what does it have to do with the book I intended to buy?"


Lorena shrugged.

"I cannot say… no sooner do I enter a room, than his obligations demand him elsewhere."


Fiona's lips drew tight, her brow creasing deep above her nose. "And Paul offers no clues?"

"None beyond those already shared. Did Joseph's explanation about being pressed into the King's Navy and his mishap at the storm's wrath not resolve your questions?"


"I still don't understand how he became so wealthy. Three years before the mast is one thing, but to return a man of means… with enough capital to buy a lord's house and spend the next two years constructing goodness knows what in the backyard…"

"I wish I knew."

"I am expected to believe he just happened to find treasure on the Galapagos Islands? That appears most dubious. Especially considering Reynaldo saw him in London several times during that period."


"We all know Reynaldo is a drunken liar with a wild burning tongue. I do not think it's in Joseph's nature to play so loose with the truth."


"I cannot believe that…"


"What gives you doubt?”

“Three-plus years of absence—an unproven mystery. Where are his Admiralty papers? How am I to find trust in such actions?"



"But still, good looks mean something. Who would forsake him—shaggy blonde hair, azure eyes. His playful grin… Were you and he not perfect together?”

"What good is a fetching face? No, I need character, dependability, and true integrity. Not someone who vanishes for years and returns unannounced with pockets flush from… only heaven knows."

Lorena sighed.

“Still, he has professed to love you, Fiona. Will that not garner some trust in him?"



"I'll believe him when I see the proof of his wild tales. I mean, it isn't as if he had any previous seafaring experience. The Royal Navy doesn't impress total landlubbers."

"It still happens. Paul believes him, so I must support my husband's standard, my personal reservations notwithstanding."

"It's been almost two years since his return. How long am I to wait, or is that my mistake?"

Lorena stood motionless, letting her gaze move to a distant building. "Perhaps you should find out for yourself."

******

Joseph snipped a final stem from the white rose bush and returned to check his work. It was perfectly pruned now, healthily bedecked with fresh flowers and buds. He ran a hand through his tousled hair, turned to Paul, leaning on his shovel watching, and said,

"Well, is it complete?”

Though it was the middle of a snowy November, the two men stood in the center of a flourishing garden, inside a towering glass greenhouse, with arched panes letting the fading autumn sunlight glow through vines of morning glory and clematis.

Against the easternmost wall, demarcated by a cobblestone floor, were bookshelves lined with antique books and stained glass oil lamps. Elsewhere lay gravel and creeping junipers. Butterflies of all shapes, colors and sizes flitted about from plant to flowering plant. The sweet scent of jasmine filled the air.

"If this doesn't win Fiona's heart, I don't know what will." Paul sat down on a stone bench and stretched out to rest. "Your adventures in the islands paid off well. Between the pirate’s booty you found and the botanical knowledge you gained, you're a man worth marrying, by any measure."

"If only she would trust me." Joseph sat down beside his friend with a heavy sigh and held his hand towards a yellow swallowtail. "You know me, Paul—you were the only man in town who took me seriously when I returned. Am I a man who would be unfaithful?"

"Never. Unlikely as your story of Navy impressment might seem, you are nothing if not honest. Yet Fiona's hard to convince. Her heart broken by your disappearance through no fault of your own."

A butler approached, footsteps crunching on the gravel path.

“Miss Fiona Clark to see you, sir.”

"Gracious!" Joseph leaped up and grabbed his coat. "I can't let her see this before it's ready!" He rushed out the door, letting in a cold blast of air, and headed to the courtyard to meet her.

"Joseph!" Fiona held her hand stiffly to him.

His eyes sparkled with a boyish grin, but he tried to respectfully quell his exuberance.

"Delighted, I'm sure." He bowed low, took her bandaged hand and kissed it elegantly. “Why, how did you injure your hand?”

"Sewing piecework… saving to buy a book you now seem abnormally interested in."

"I wish I could tell you what I’m creating.”

Fiona looked around at his yard, cluttered with tools, crates, barrels, ladders, cobblestones and burlap sacks full of soil and gravel. Beyond, something was hidden by an enormous palisade structure.

"Goodness, a castle?"

"Almost. You'll have to wait and see."

"Is that a butterfly?" Fiona leaned down and examined a radiant blue butterfly that had fluttered weakly onto a bundle of dowels. "Joseph, that's not a native species—a Menelaus blue morpho. What on earth is it doing here?"

"Oh dear, it must've escaped when I opened the door." He gathered and breathed warmly on the creature, as it did not appreciate the English autumn.

"You're keeping exotic butterflies? Does that explain the book?”

"How'd you know what kind it is?"

"It's in my encyclopedia." She paused. "I wish you'd tell me what you're up to. I am quite suspicious."

"Nothing suspect here, I assure you." He gave her his best smile. "Give me a little more time and it'll be ready." Then the smile faded like a light going out as she remained silent, staring at the butterfly in his hands. "Fiona, is there someone else you love?"

She looked up at him again.

"No, no one. I am alone."

"Do you still love me?"

"I can't answer that, Joseph. There is too much I don't know about you anymore."

"Trust me, what I'm working on now could not be possible if I were lying about where I've been."

"I'll believe it when I see it."

"You'll see everything soon. I promise."

*****

The plague swept through England, leaving devastation in its wake during that long and bitter winter. Fiona quarantined herself—being a solitary and industrious homebody, she didn't find it too challenging to stay away from everyone.

An urgent knocking woke her up one morning. It was Lorena.

"You must come quickly—Joseph caught it and he's near death. He needs you!"

Fiona hesitated.

"What if I get sick? I'll have no one to take care of me."

"Paul and I will. We already had it—we're protected. Trust me."

"But… I—"

"Listen, this is no time to quibble—you may never see him again!"

Fiona grabbed her coat and muff without another word, and they trudged breathlessly through the snow together to Joseph's house. Her eyes widened as they approached the backyard and saw the building made of gothic glass arches like a crystal cathedral.

Inside it was quite warm enough to remove their fur coats, and Fiona found herself enveloped with lush greenery, sweet scents and the chirping of canaries.

"Where am I?"

Yellow, peach and white roses lined the gravel paths, with beds of herbs and flowering perennials set in intricate medieval patterns amid mossy rocks. An arbor entwined with clematis arched over a stone bench. Butterflies surrounded her, colorful and ethereal.

They hurried down the path until they came to the back cobbled area, with bookshelves, a desk, table and armchairs. Fiona saw a porcelain bowl full of figs on the table on a lace napkin alongside a beautiful blue and gold Bible.

"He's growing tropical fruit in here?"

"One of the best things about it—fresh fruit all year."

They came to a curtained area.

"We thought the warm greenhouse would be a perfect quarantine. He built it all for you, Fiona."

"It's unbelievable. I need to talk to him!"

"Paul's giving him a bed bath right now. It would be improper to—"

"Fiona? Is that you?" Joseph's voice was weak.

"Yes! I'm here."

"Come on in."

Fiona cautiously parted the curtains and stepped in. Joseph was in bed, bending forward as Paul washed his back. She cried out as she saw it was laced with long red scars.

"Joseph, what happened to you?!" She sat down on the side of the bed and held his hand.

"That was from my impressment. Disciplinary action on the Navy ship. It wasn't anything I did," he added quickly as she gasped. "It was intended for someone else. But he was only a boy—he would never have survived it."

"You took someone else's flogging?"

"No one else was going to do it."

Scars don't lie. Fiona knew he had done nothing to deserve them.

"You went through all that, and then you built all this? For me?"

"Well, Paul helped me build this little paradise. I knew how much you love nature and books. What do you think?"

Fiona responded by wrapping her arms around him tightly, feeling his fever and the weight he had lost in his illness.

"Can you ever forgive me for not trusting you?"

"Of course I can." He hugged her back.

"I… I was reacting from a place of brokenness. I've been abandoned before."

"It's over now." He patted her shoulder and pulled away reluctantly. "I'm too close, I don't want you to catch this."

"If I cared about getting sick I wouldn't have come. Now, let's put this garden to good use. Lorena, I noticed rosemary and chamomile in one of the flower beds. We can make tea with them. And for heavens sake, why aren't we eating those fresh figs?"

Fiona stood up and noticed Butterfly Gardening on the bedside table next to a vase of flowers. She smiled knowingly.

She would never lose Joseph again.


Author's Notes ▼

word count: 1991
For the WdC Short Shots contest.
Prompt: write a story inspired by the photo.

Apologies to Eric Clapton for modifying the lyrics of his song Let It Grow at the beginning.