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“Wh- wh- where am I?” he stammered, grabbing his head as the throbbing intensified.
A blurry figure with long brown hair and a round pair of glasses was walking towards him, speaking in a gentle calming voice. “Shhh… Close your eyes and rest. You had quite the spill.”
As she spoke, the man drifted back into the comfort of darkness. The throbbing in his head dulled and he tried again to open his eyes.. It was dark now, and he could barely make out a light shining in the distance. Strangely, he could hear the rustling of leaves and smell dirt - where was he now? Straining to focus his eyes, he could make out what looked like rose bushes growing out of the ground in an entangled mess like a snake nest. A loud crash from behind startled him, and with a surge of adrenaline he sat up and opened his eyes and saw the lady again. She was sweeping up shards of pottery from the floor.“How long have I been out?” he asked.
”Well, I found you lying in my rose bushes. My poor rose bushes - oh, I do not know how they will survive. But it was about two hours ago,” she said, checking her pocket watch. “Yes, just two hours ago.”
She hurried around, picking up the remaining pieces of pottery and the bandages while at the same time making tea. “You were lying sprawled out on the ground. You did not respond to my cries or my pokes with the hoe. When I realized you were not gaining consciousness, I dragged you in here and tended to your cuts and bruises. You are lucky to be alive - I just do not know what you were thinking, but you are going to be laid up for a few days. Sugar and cream with your tea?” As she handed him the cup, he could see her blue eyes sparkling in the afternoon sun.
“Thank you,” he said.
Finally sitting down with a cup of tea of her own , she asked , “What do you remember?”
“Well, I am not sure.” He took a deep breath, stared off into the distance and then closed his eyes. The throbbing was intensifying again. “I was riding my horse, headed back from a hound hunt, and my horse spooked. That is the last thing I remember.” He closed his eyes and waited for the throbbing to stop. Even though his eyes were closed, Gaylord could see a garden shrouded by blue indigo flowers as he rode his horse, chasing after the hounds. He could not quite make out what the hounds were chasing; it appeared to be a small, ethereal creature with an aureole zigzagging through the trees. As quickly as the images came to Gaylord, they disappeared, and he could not grasp their meaning.
Patiently, Florence waited for the man to open his eyes again before asking, “Do you remember your name?”
He answered, “Gaylord Goodfellow.”
“Well, Mr. Goodfellow, I'm glad to have your company,” Florence said.
They sat in silence while they finished their tea. Florence looked over, and Gaylord had closed his eyes again. She cleaned up, heading out to her garden so that Gaylord could rest peacefully until dinnertime. After dinner she said, “I'll prepare the guest room for you.” While she was gone Gaylord got up, feeling stiff, as he always felt after a fall, and looked around her living room. The books, the knick-knacks and such were all meticulously placed.
“Taking a look around, I see,” she said, sneaking up on him. He quickly pulled his hand off the chess set.
“Do you know how to play?” she asked.
“No,” he answered.
“I will have to teach you then. It is my favorite game. But for now, follow me. Your bedchamber is this way. ”The room was nicely decorated with roses everywhere, but all Gaylord cared about was the bed.
He woke early in the morning, not knowing where he was. Making his way out of the room toward the hallway, he saw bunches of dried flowers hanging from the ceiling. “How strange," he thought. He could hear noises and cautiously walked towards them. There was a lady who looked vaguely familiar in the kitchen making tea, and through the window on a small wooden table in the center of the rose garden he could see fresh baked pastries.
“Good morning,” she said excitedly.
"Where am I?” he asked with immense confusion. Gaylord had a feeling of deja vu when looking out into the garden but could not figure out where he was.
She responded with worry in her voice, “I am Florence. We met yesterday afternoon after I found you unconscious in my rose garden.” He still could not completely comprehend where he was, but there was one thing he did remember. He had had a vision of the same garden with a silhouette of a person being engulfed by the indigo flowers. She looked at him with concern while Gaylord focused on the rose garden. A cold, clammy feeling came upon him when he thought of the possible meanings of the vision.
“Hello, Gaylord!” Florence said, interrupting his train of thought.
“oh, hello,” he responded in a distracted manner.
Not wanting to confuse or worry Gaylord any further, Florence changed the subject and asked, “How was your sleep?” while walking on the path to the breakfast table in the rose garden.
“It was good, but may I ask, do you ever get visions after being near or going into the rose garden?” Gaylord inquired.
Florence pondered the question for a moment. “No. Did you happen to have a vision the other day after your fall?”
Gaylord responded hesitantly, “Yes, it was a silhouette of a person with indigo flowers around them, and the indigo flowers crept over top, slowly engulfing them while a small, ethereal creature with an aureole watched.”
She sat there in silence for a while just staring at Gaylord. “I wonder if you hit your head when you fell, causing this vision, as there are no naturally growing indigo roses. Only white ones people dye to symbolize impossible love. And a small, ethereal creature with an aureole? That is an old tale mothers tell their children to scare them into staying on the trail when walking through the woods. The children are told the creatures will steal their souls, if they leave the path.” Her delayed response dismissing his concerns made him nervous and frightened. Gaylord felt as if the roses could hear him and were going to quickly engulf him. He immediately changed the topic by asking, “How big is your garden?”
As Florence chatted on, Gaylord could not shake off the feeling the garden was listening, and as he sat there, the throbbing in his head returned. Not wanting to be rude, he checked his watch, looking for a reason to leave, “It is approaching noon. I must leave, or else I will not make it back before lunch. Thank you for this fine breakfast.”
As Gaylord stood up, Florence asked, “And where is it that you are going?” After a long pause and look of concentrated worry, Gaylord responded, “I do not know.”
"Maybe you should stay here and rest another day,” urged Florence.
The next morning, feeling rested and revived, Gaylord wandered to the kitchen. He found Florence making tea and arranging pastries on a tray. “Good morning, Florence,” Gaylord said.
“Good morning, Gaylord,” she replied, surprised by the alertness in Gaylord’s voice. Knowing that Gaylord was nervous and frightened in the garden the prior morning, Florence hesitated before asking “Will you join me on the front porch for breakfast?”
Gaylord picked up the tray and followed Florence to the porch. This morning was
a different day. His head no longer throbbed, there were no visions, and the pastries tasted wonderful. When breakfast ended, Gaylord asked, ”Would you like me to take the tray to the kitchen and help clean up before I leave?”
“Where are you going?”
Gaylord responded, “Well, I must get back to the stables to care for the hounds and the horses.”
Florence followed up with, “And where is that?” She could not just let Gaylord leave. What if he really didn’t know where he was going?
“Why, I am going to 303 Nightingale Lane. I live and work at Lincolnshire Manor. Thank you again for caring for me, but I cannot possibly take up any more of your time,” Gaylord said as he headed out.
Florence called out, “You are welcome any time.”
During the next few weeks, Gaylord would visit occasionally for afternoon tea and chess lessons. Florence taught him how to play, interspersed with sharing her knowledge of roses. Gaylord had learned everything there was to learn about roses. Florence spoke of her vibrant red roses as if they were a prized possession. Gaylord was not surprised to learn they were her favorite as they were a symbol of eternal love. He also shared stories of the horses and the hounds. Florence soon knew all of them by name, which ones were important, which ones were short tempered, and which ones were sweet.
One afternoon, Florence set the chess board up in the center of the rose garden. She longed to spend time with Gaylord in her favorite place. When Gaylord arrived, Florence led him around the house to the rose garden. Nearing the spot an eerie feeling overtook Gaylord. Stopping at the fence, he turned to Florence and said, “Could we please play on the front porch today?”
Florence wanted to insist on playing in the garden, but like all the other times, she could see the worry on Gaylord’s face. She moved the board to the front porch where they normally played.
As the days became shorter and the weather colder, Gaylord found himself spending nearly every afternoon and into the evening with Florence. He grew quite fond of her and she of him. Gaylord was back to his normal self. However, there was still one thing he did not like, the rose garden. Every time he remotely approached it, the vision returned, and this brought a feeling of fear and apprehension. During these afternoons, Florence could see the fear and concern in Gaylord’s eyes and the hesitation to spend any length of time in the rear of the house. One particular evening, Florence thought to herself ,“This is the first time in years that I have used the fireplace in the parlor.” She really hoped that when spring came and the weather turned, they would be able to enjoy the rose garden together. Maybe enough time would have passed that Gaylord would no longer have visions when he was near the rose garden..
During the long, dreary days, Gaylord could see that Florence was unhappy and missed her rose garden terribly. He knew he was partly to blame; all fall and through the winter, any time Florence spent with Gaylord, she was not in her rose garden. To surprise her one day, Gaylord brought a hand-crafted bench for her garden.
Florence exclaimed “Thank you!” as she envisioned them spending long hours talking and sitting on his bench, but knew this was far from the truth.
Soon the days became longer, and Gaylord could feel the warmth of the sun on his shoulders again. His responsibilities at the stables increased, and there were new foals and new hounds to care for. The time that he could spend with Florence was limited. However, he always made time for Sunday afternoons. This had become their time to play chess and share their goings on over a cup of tea. When time allowed, Gaylord would ride past Florence’s house to tip his hat and wave hello. He always found her tending her rose garden. As the roses sprouted buds and then leaves, the visions intensified once again.
One late spring afternoon Florence excitedly shared, “There are new flowers in my rose garden. A beautiful indigo blue rose. I have never imagined that a blue rose could be real, everything I have ever read said blue roses are not natural. And here I have something of natural mystery..” Gaylord approached the garden and grabbed the fence, steadying himself as his head throbbed. He looked into the garden; the movement of a small, ethereal creature caught his eye. He had seen this creature before. The hounds were chasing it just before his spill in the rose garden. He forced his eyes to focus on the blue flower,and a feeling of dread came upon him when he realized this was the same flower he spotted in the garden in the forest. Gaylord began to stumble, and Florence quickly grabbed his arm. “Are you all right? Here, let me help you to the front porch where you can rest.” By the time she returned with his tea, the color had returned to his face.
It was only a few days later when Gaylord arrived for their Sunday afternoon of chess and tea. Calling for Florence from the front porch with no response, Gaylord walked around to the garden. Nearing it, a feeling of somberness came over him. He became uneasy, not wanting to look over the fence. Finally, with gallantry, he opened the garden gate, having to really push it open as the roses were overgrown and engulfing the space. Gaylord warily stepped through the matted rose bushes to the opening where they first sat for breakfast. He looked around but Florence was nowhere to be seen. Going further into the garden where the indigo roses were greatest, he caught a glimpse of Florence as she was sitting on the ground next to the bench he had made for her, an indigo rose resting by her nose. A feeling of agony struck him in the heart, and he began to cry, tears washing down his cheeks. As he looked up to the heavens, he caught another glimpse of the ethereal creature.
Gaylord buried Florence in her favorite place in the garden. He thought, how could I have been so selfish as to think the vision was about me all this time. As the days were long and the roses were in full bloom, Gaylord continued to tend them since they were her first love. How he missed her. He could never forgive himself for bringing the blue indigo roses to her garden. Some days he still struggled with visions and throbbing pains in his head, but they too subsided when the days became cooler. Eventually, the indigo roses spread entirely over Florence's burial site.
It was late in the afternoon, exactly one year from when Gaylord first met his love. Walking through the house to the garden, a bright blue image on the corner table in the front sitting room caught his eye and he walked towards it. There on the table was a book with a bright blue rose on the cover. Picking up the book, he thumbed through the first pages, not believing what he was reading. It was as if someone had recorded his visions on paper. Gaylord was confused and muttered aloud “How could this be? Florence had assured him that his visions were nothing more than old tales told by mothers to their children and a result of hitting his head.
He frantically flipped to the end of the book where he learned that indigo roses, symbolic of unachievable love, were poisonous if you inhaled the pollen. He dropped the book and rushed to talk to Florence, sharing his sorrow that the indigo roses were rapidly taking over her garden. He knew now their love was impossible, and he had brought this upon them. Gaylord picked the last red rose, Florence’s favorite, and drew it close to his nose, inhaling the scent and longing to be close to Florence again. Within seconds the visions returned. The garden was becoming engulfed in indigo roses. As he knelt to place the rose on her grave, the pounding in his head brought immense redoubled pain. Gaylord placed his head in one hand and used the other to hold the red rose close to his heart saying,"I am so sorry, my love Florence,” as he took his last breath.