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A Stroll in the Garden

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Marybell is like a doll , Sheila thought to herself. 

Marybell had soft blonde locks that slid down to her back, tied neatly with a pink ribbon. She had all the girlish charm Sheila ever wanted in a daughter, and now, she guessed, they were bound together. Marybell has no one but her. Perhaps she became a mother much too early. 

They were in the garden, picking flowers together, Sheila holding Marybell’s small hand. Frank was out running errands, and Edgar was reading in the library. The girls were together, tending to the garden and they decided to take a small rest under the shade of the cedar tree at the center of the garden. Around them were abundant roses, crimson in color. They had fruits around their garden, but most of them were there merely for aesthetic reasons. They cannot eat fruits after all. Sheila had forgotten how a tomato tasted like ever since she married into Frank’s family, now all she can eat is roses. She has heard Marybell complain about roses, and how her favorite sweets do not taste the same anymore. 

Sheila wondered, for a brief moment, that if she and Marybell would have the same preference for sweets as she did. They were initiated into the family around the same time, after all, so she wonders if they could have bonded more about strawberry tarts, for example. She could have baked her strawberry tarts…

The garden had a multitude of flowers, to add to the beauty of the landscape. Daisies, tulips, wisterias, all ripe for the girls to pick. Once they both had a basketful of flowers, Sheila had the wonderful idea to sit down and make crowns out of them. 

“Crowns?” Marybell asked, not exactly picturing how it would work.

Sheila sets the basket of flowers she collected on her lap, then stops to think. They cannot make a flower crown without a good wire. She wondered if they had that back in the manor but then decided not to go that far for a simple craft. She took a rose vine from the nearby bush carefully, so she would not prick herself. Then, one by one, she took the thorns off. Marybell watched closely, her eyes twinkling with curiosity. After she had safely taken the thorns off of the vine, she made a loop with it, which she estimated to fit Marybell’s head. 

Marybell watched as Sheila gracefully tied the stems of each flower onto the vine, to make a beautiful concoction of flowers decorating the vine. As soon as she understood how they were made, Marybell looked at her own vine, careful not to prick herself, and started to create her own with the flowers she herself had picked. 

By sunset, they both were wearing crowns made out of flowers, as they walked back to the manor with their pinkies intertwined. 

Maybe being a mother isn’t so bad at all, Sheila told herself, smiling as she squeezed Marybell’s hand.