Page 21 of Homegrown Magic

“I want to come,” Yael insists. “Besides, dinner will taste better the hungrier I am. So really, you’re doing me the favor.”

Margot should tell Yael to go on to the tavern. She knows that. But their company has been so nice these past weeks. So comforting. Would it really be so awful to share this truth of her life? All of Bloomfield knows where her parents are, anyway; Yael’s bound to find out sooner or later if they stick around, and they haven’t left yet.

Whatever the reason, Margot squeezes Yael’s elbow, trying to put a thousand things unsaid into the touch. “This way,” she says, walking toward the west end of the village.

Margot’s parents have been living at the Bloomfield Care Cottage for three years. Not because Margot doesn’t want to take care of them, but because she can’t. Not at her gardener’s cottage, at least. She tried, but there wasn’t enough room for the two extra beds, and she didn’t have enough money to send them to a place in Ashaway or Olde Post. Luckily Tulip, a lovely middle-aged woman who had grown up with Granny Fern as her mentor when it came to remedies and healing plants, and her daughter Ruby, a healer with a degree from Auximia thanks to Granny Fern, had space for Margot’s parents at the Care Cottage.

The Care Cottage is just that: a large, cozy house in the center of town, built for the sick and the older citizens of Bloomfield as they aged. It has ten bedrooms, a large garden, a fishpond, and lots of space for sitting in the sunlight, passing time with friends.

“Hi, Margot!” Tulip calls out, not looking up from the loaf of bread she’s kneading as Margot and Yael walk into the round, yellow-and-blue kitchen of the Care Cottage. Tulip has golden-brown skin and long braids wrapped into a bun high on her head. Soup simmers on the stove, and Margot would bet her entire greenhouse that Tulip has woven all sorts of healing enchantments into the bread and soup.

“I brought jam.” Margot pulls the jar from her basket.

“And a friend, I see,” says Tulip, finally looking up and smiling at Yael. “We’ve heard you had some help at the greenhouse. We were surprised but pleased!”

Yael makes an elaborate bow. “Yael Clauneck, at your service.”

Tulip’s eyebrows shoot up at their surname.

“It’s a long story,” Margot says quickly. “But Yael’s assisting me in the greenhouses for a bit.”

“For longer than that, if I’m not fired,” Yael puts in.

Tulip looks between them again and then holds out a hand for the jar. “I’ve seen stranger things for sure, especially in Bloomfield. Thanks for the jam, Daisy. I’ll serve some tonight at dinner.”

Margot shifts from one foot to the next, a sliver of sadness piercing through her at the sound of Granny Fern’s nickname for her on Tulip’s lips. “Well, I guess we’ll be going…”

“There’s been no change,” Tulip says softly. “But you should look in on them. Just to say hello.”

Of course Margot should. She knows it. What kind of daughter doesn’t want to look in on her comatose parents?

One who put them here in the first place.

“Thanks, Tulip,” Margot says, turning away from the kitchen and all its delicious smells.

“Did she call you Daisy?” Yael asks, following. “That’s the sweetest thing I’ve ever heard.”

Margot scowls. “It was Granny Fern’s nickname for me. Some of the people in Bloomfield still remember it, and I guess I’ll always be six in their minds, making daisy chains for the entire village.”

“Can I call you Daisy?”

“Never. It’s only for friends and family.”

Yael looks almost wounded for a moment, putting a hand across their heart. “I will earn the right to call you Daisy.”

Margot smirks at that. “We’ll see.”

They walk through a living room where an elderly couple dances to music from a gramophone and a young woman does a puzzle on her own near the fire.

“This way,” Margot says, pulling on Yael’s arm. Her heart hammers as they walk up the wide wooden staircase and down the carpeted hall. She raps softly on the third door on the right. No one answers, of course, and she turns the knob and pushes the door open.

As she does every time, she hopes, just for that first moment, that this might be the visit when she finds her parents awake. Smiling. Greeting her as the beloved daughter they’ve not seen in many years.

That doesn’t happen tonight.

“Oh,” Yael says softly as they both step into the room.

The bedside lanterns are turned low, and the curtains are still open, letting in the sunset. Margot’s parents lie in separate beds facing the windows, covered with thick blue quilts that Margot took from Granny Fern’s cottage. The air in the room is fresh, the product of a cleanliness spell Tulip casts every morning to keep things as healthful as possible, especially on mornings when it’s too cold or hot or damp to open the windows. There are flowers on the nightstand between the beds, looking a bit wilted, and Margot makes a note to send more over in the morning.