On the other side of the yard stood a tall, proud red maple tree. When Seth and Sadie were younger, they’d painstakingly carved their names in the trunk with a pilfered kitchen knife. The markings wept syrup for weeks afterward. Every time the twins would visit it, Sadie cried for the tree’s pain and what they’d done, while Seth merely dragged his fingers through the sticky sweetness and licked it off. That’s how it always was. When he tried to start fires with a magnifying glass, she was the one putting them out. When he forgot to empty the trash, she did it for him so he wouldn’t get in trouble with Gigi. Looking back, she thought maybe he could have used a little scolding. Maybe her treatment of him was enabling. Or maybe it was easier to help others than it was to help herself. Whatever the reason, whenever she saw someone needing help, she stepped in.
But it wasn’t just memories of Seth in that yard; there were memories of summer picnics, when Uncle Brian would visit and barbecue one of his freshly slaughtered pigs. Aunt Anne and Uncle Steven setting up the badminton net. All the cousins there and endless games of hide-and-seek and secrets and sprinklers. Sticky watermelon fingers and sidewalk chalk. As the years went on, the memories stuck, but the get-togethers didn’t. Sometimes she missed her aunts and uncles so much it felt like pieces of her were searching for little pieces of them.
Shoving down the past, she slammed the door of her beat-up old Subaru and—first things first—unlaced her boots and kicked them off. A sigh escaped as the warmth of the pavement spread across her feet. She inhaled the smell of hot, wet concrete where water from the sprinkler had edged its path to the driveway. For once, the wind had died down, and everything was still. There was the chatter from a pair of squirrels up in a tree and the whicker of a horse in Cindy’s field across the way. Something inside Sadie stilled too. Poppy Meadows wasn’t a town of much commotion, but being on their little plot of land, away from the noise and café chores, the tightness in her chest began to uncoil.
Her fingers trailed the sky-blue hydrangeas that circled the house, their delicate petals filling her with courage. Finally, in the garden, she sat in the dirt below her favorite potato vine, her toes burrowing into the pebble walkway, her fingers plugged into the earth, as though to recharge her. Usually the garden brought peace, but as she looked around, it felt different. The fairy lanterns swayed, and the tomato vines rustled, but something was out of place. And that’s when a movement at the edge of the forest caught her eye. It was just the smallest slip of movement before it vanished behind a tree. A film of white that could have been animal, ghost, or intruder.
After a moment, the sound of sharp little toenails on flagstones startled her. Gigi’s miniature Manchester terrier, Abby, barrel chested, wheezing, and far too fat for her size, waddled excitedly over to Sadie. And by the time she looked back to the woods, the figure was nowhere to be seen. She brushed it off. The woods held all kinds of secrets, and none had bothered her yet. Abby, meanwhile, realizing it wasn’t Gigi, gave a disdainful sniff and marched straight back through her doggie door.
The backyard was small, but every inch was covered in herbs, fruits, and vegetables. Foxglove and lavender bushes lined the perimeter to keep the deer away. The smell of green tomatoes and earth and pine mingled into a memory. Into comfort. Sadie could name every genus and species in that garden before most children could spell their own name. By the time she was thirteen, she could trace their origins and recite their symbolism, tell you the history of each plant and how it had been used medicinally or magically. Sometimes she wondered if her very blood was laced with the nectar of those blooms. The path from the back porch to the garden was lined with fairy lanterns hanging from twisted wrought iron poles. Among the garden itself were nestled solar lights that gave off a warm, ethereal glow, and the peach and plum trees’ trunks were wrapped in a garland of tiny, muted white lights that twinkled like stars. At night, Sadie would feel the space calling to her until she snuck out and danced among the sweet peas and rainbow chard as the plants swayed in a secret welcome.
Seth, meanwhile, had been barred from the Revelare garden by the plants themselves. When he’d try to eavesdrop or sneak his way in, an errant vine would wrap itself around his ankle until he tripped.
“Only Revelare women have this kind of magic,” Gigi would tell him kindly but sternly in her gravelly smoker’s voice. “Revelare men have magic of a different sort.”
“I don’t want your stupid magic anyway,” he’d shout before stomping off.