Homegrown Magic

Chapter 12 Margot

12

Margot

Where is Yael?

Margot peers through the clump of customers waiting at her sales table, looking for her missing assistant even as she discusses orchid care with the man in a leather apron in front of her. He’s a cobbler, as he’s explained three times, but his passion is orchids, as the four orchid tattoos on his forearm attest.

Margot nods, still listening, but her attention is caught by the green silk canopy overarching her table as it flutters in the breeze, twisting the blooms and vines hanging from its support beams.

Margot had some vague idea about decorating the sales tent with fresh flowers, thinking to pull people in and increase sales. But she was imagining something simple and practical, something not-fancy that got the job done. The Spring Fair stall equivalent of her garden boots, not a pair of silk slippers with silver accents. When she mentioned the idea and the shoe comparison to Yael, they laughed and dared her to dream bigger. “Fake it until you make it,” they’d cheerfully declared. And so she let her creativity run wild. Now the sales tent is more like a dreamy floral carnival or a woodland ballroom than a fair stall, and it’s been pulling people in by the dozens. At the entrance, there’s a wooden archway Yael found (or traded for, or charmed out of another merchant?), which Margot wove with honeysuckle, purple wisteria, delicate pink cherry blossoms, blue morning glories, and lush clusters of bougainvillea. The table where Margot stands is at the back of the tent, covered in slim silver buckets full of cut flowers and an artfully arranged basket of strawberry jam. Along the sides, Yael has found (borrowed?) rows of simple wood ladders, and Margot managed to make the pots of flowers cascade down the rungs, their blossoms like a rainbow-colored waterfall running down a hillside. There are small flowering trees and bushes on one side of the booth, which Margot arranged into a miniature forest complete with blankets of moss and mushrooms on small logs. The air is heavy with the scent of blossoms mixing with the smell of the pie-on-a-stick stand just across the grassy lane, along with the goat yard a bit farther on.

It’s all exquisite, and Margot is quite pleased with her efforts. Perhaps she should put Yael in charge of something other than window washing; maybe promotion of the greenhouses?

“Hello,” a wide-eyed teenage girl says, stepping up to Margot’s table and interrupting her thoughts. Her voice is soft, hopeful. “I need something to catch a girl’s eye and make her remember me.”

“I have just the thing.” Margot gathers irises, lilacs, tulips, and foxgloves into a colorful bouquet. “This will get you started.” She ties a ribbon around the flower stems. “But the rest is up to you. I suggest talking to her about something she loves, and perhaps also learning her favorite pastry.”

This was another one of Granny Fern’s traditions—selling custom bouquets and offering a small piece of advice for the buyer.

“Thank you, Ms. Greenwillow.” The young woman clutches the bouquet to her chest. “It’s perfect. So much like the one your grandmother made for my father to woo my mother. She keeps the dried bouquet in a vase to this day.”

Before Margot can reply, the girl drops some coins into Margot’s hand and hurries away, a smile on her lips. Margot smiles too, loving this work of connecting people with the plants she’s worked so hard to grow. In the morning’s bustle, she feels Granny Fern at her side, gently guiding her, encouraging her, telling her it’ll all work out. She really, really hopes it will.

It has to.

Margot turns to the next customer, a gray-haired man in a suit that’s far too buttoned up for the Spring Fair, holding a drooping jade plant. As he talks about the challenges of raising a plant that seems constantly on the verge of death by overwatering, underwatering, and one wrong glance, she resumes her search for Yael.

Finally, the crowd shifts as a troupe of musicians threads through the lane playing a merry tune, and Margot sees Yael strolling toward the flower stand. They’re confident, grinning, with their arm looped through that of a beautiful middle-aged woman. The woman’s extravagant dress is purple as the allium and lavender in a jar in front of Margot, and it looks more suited to a drawing room in Ashaway than the trampled grass lanes of Olde Post’s Spring Fair. A spike of something (jealousy? Surely not—why would Margot be jealous? Yael can talk to whomever they want) shoots through Margot at the way Yael inclines their head, whispers, and then laughs along with the woman.

As they approach the entrance to the stall, Yael waves to Margot. She waves back, wondering despite herself what new surprise Yael is bringing into her life. The man with the jade plant moves away, pocketing the bottle of homemade plant food Margot’s sold him. The next customer slides into his place, asking for a large bouquet of sunflowers. Before she can gather them, Yael steps behind the sales table, bumping Margot playfully with their hip. The woman in the purple dress stands in front of a waterfall of flowers, one eyebrow raised, her elegant hand outstretched to touch a pale-pink hydrangea blossom.

“Where have you been?” Margot asks. “And where’s our lunch?” Suddenly, the smell of the pies across the way is overwhelming, and Margot’s scone at dawn feels entirely inadequate.

Yael beams, clasping Margot’s wrist for a moment in excitement and then releasing her. “I’ve done better than lunch. That vision in purple over there is Rastanaya.”

The name sounds familiar, like a whisper from a different lifetime, but Margot’s head is full of seed prices and bouquet arrangements. It’s stuffed with the dozens of plant-related questions she’s been answering and the snippets of customers’ stories she’s been told. For the life of her, she can’t place who Rastanaya is or why it matters.

She stares at Yael blankly.

“Rastanaya!” Yael exclaims, still whispering, practically vibrating. “The famous designer! She’s looking for inspiration for her summer collection, and I told her all about you. She was keen to meet Fern’s granddaughter.”

Ahhh, that’s why she sounds familiar. Margot looks again at Rastanaya, taking in the unique tailoring and the skillful drape of her dress. She’s the embodiment of chic in so many ways, and now Margot remembers that her mother had loved wearing her ballgowns back in that other life.

“I’m sure she doesn’t want to see my flowers.” Margot smooths a hand over her messy braid and her soil-stained apron.

“Of course she does. She’s here for you!”

Margot furrows her brow. It seems more likely that she’s here for Yael, but perhaps this is what opportunity looks like: a renowned designer and darling of Ashaway in her Spring Fair tent. “Fine. I’ll go talk to her. But you have to watch the counter.”

Before Yael can agree or Margot can approach, Rastanaya turns, holding a bundle of onyx tulips and eyeing them critically. “Yael, darling, introduce us already. I’m meeting your cousin at the Wilting Bear Tavern soon, but I must know more about these divine blossoms.”

Yael bows. “This is—”

“I’m Margot Greenwillow,” Margot says, cutting off Yael and offering Rastanaya her hand. “Honored to meet you, sir’ram.”

Rastanaya smiles and takes Margot’s hand, her smooth palm against Margot’s callused one. “No need to be so formal, darling. Yael here was telling me about your exquisite blooms, and I came to see what they were on about. Your grandmother’s greatness continues in you!”

Margot can feel her cheeks heating with a blush. If only that were the case. She releases Rastanaya and fiddles with one of the flower buckets in front of her, fighting the urge to reach for the ever-present letter in her pocket.

“You haven’t seen anything yet,” Yael chimes in. “I wish you could visit the Greenwillow Greenhouses in Bloomfield; that’s where Margot’s family’s estate is. If you think this stall is incredible, the greenhouses will inspire you!”

Margot steps on Yael’s foot for complicated reasons she’s not entirely sure of. She wants them to hype up her greenhouses, yes, but it feels awful to hear them talk of Greenwillow Manor without knowing the whole truth.

“I’m already inspired.” Rastanaya hands Yael the tulips to hold, then lifts a bouquet of plate-sized blue hyacinths to her face, inhaling. “These are decadent. Just the wild extravagance I love to see in nature.” She looks upward at the flowers hanging from the ceiling and taps her lip with one polished fingernail. “Yes, imagine it…” she murmurs.

Yael rests a hand gently on Margot’s lower back. “Go on,” they urge in a low voice. “Tell her more about your work. Sell her on you. Clearly, she’s ready to buy!”

Margot can’t do that, can she? But how often will someone like Rastanaya stand in her flower stall, waiting to be impressed? Margot has to try.

Her heart races as she steps away from the counter. “Don’t give anything away for less than the stated price,” she whispers to Yael. “And please, don’t offer horticultural advice. Just come ask me if you have any questions.”

Yael salutes Margot with Rastanaya’s tulips and turns to the customer at the front of the line. Pausing in front of the table, Margot touches one of the tattooed strawberries on her arm for luck and picks up a jar of jam so she has something to give Rastanaya to remember her by.

“Stay with me, Granny Fern,” Margot whispers as she walks forward.

“That was incredible!” Margot says for what’s got to be thetenth time in the last hour. Her words are a bit sloppy from the bottle of wine she split with Yael, and as they approach the Abyssal Chicken, she does a little happy turn nearly on beat with the fiddle music floating down the street from the fair. It’s long after midnight, but the inn is still full of people eating, singing by the fire, and talking to one another at drunken volumes. Margot wants to go up to each of them, pull Rastanaya’s perfumed card from her pocket, and tell them the good news: She is going to help with Rastanaya’s next collection!

Well, she isn’t going to help, but her flowers and plants will be the inspiration behind a few late additions among the garments Rastanaya’s set to debut just about two months from now, at summer’s start. (Margot refuses to contemplate how soon summer will be upon them; it would only bring her crashing back to earth. She wants to float for just a little while longer.) And the amount of money she’s paid Margot for nearly half the stock she brought to Olde Post? It makes Margot’s head spin more so than the wine.

“ You were incredible,” Yael says. “You charmed Rastanaya entirely.”

Margot waves a hand as they walk through the common room of the inn, heading upstairs to their room. “It was all your doing. You may not be able to make tea, Yael Clauneck, but you have an excellent eye for opportunity.”

Yael holds one hand over their heart. “And you for flower arranging.”

“And me for flower arranging,” Margot agrees, because if she hadn’t decorated the stall as she had, Rastanaya would’ve never seen the possibility in her work.

Yael kicks the door closed behind them, and despite the noise drifting up from downstairs and their ebullient, tipsy conversation, it’s suddenly too quiet in the room. There’s just the sound of their breathing. The one bed. Yael’s nest of blankets on the floor.

“Well…” Margot says through an enormous yawn.

Yael catches the yawn and stretches as they yawn too. “Well indeed. I’d love to stay up, charm you some more, drink another bottle of wine, but do you want the truth, Daisy?”

“Of course, always the truth,” Margot says before she can help herself. The truth is not her custom when it comes to Yael, but no reason to get into that now. Plus, it turns out it’s adorable when they call her Daisy. She enjoys that very much after all and has decided not to fight it any longer.

“The truth is, I’ve never been more exhausted in my life.” Yael flops onto their pile of blankets, groaning.

Margot understands. She sits down on the bed, slipping her shoes off. Another yawn overtakes her.

They’d sold through most of their flowers, seedlings, and strawberry jam before sunset, thanks in large part to Rastanaya, and spent the rest of the evening restocking what few wares they had left for their second and last day of selling tomorrow. Since they’d gotten up so early and worked so hard, now—as she’s finally sitting still on a comfy bed—Margot’s exhaustion crashes down on her. Not bothering to undress, she falls back on the mattress, sinking into the feather pillow. A moan of tired happiness escapes her lips.

“Oh gods, I know it’s late spring, but this floor is freezing.” Yael pulls more blankets around themself, making the floor creak as they burrow in.

“Get in the bed, then,” Margot suggests before she has the chance to stop herself. She shifts over, making room on the side closer to the window. It’s the best idea she’s had all day, she thinks sleepily.

“Margot Greenwillow, are you trying to seduce me?” Yael’s voice is all testing and teasing.

“Perhaps, if I weren’t so tired and we weren’t such good friends.”

“So we are friends now?”

“Yes,” she admits. “And I don’t seduce my friends.”

“Why not?”

“Because it never works out.” Margot takes two extra pillows and rests them between her half of the bed and Yael’s, making a plump, feather-filled barrier between them. “I’ve seen enough proof from the very small pool of Bloomfield’s population who’s eligible to date. Dara had to move and build a whole new cottage for her and Poppy when her romance with Genevieve ended, you know. It simply isn’t worth it.”

Yael slips into bed, propping themself up on one elbow. “I’m not sure I like this rule.”

Margot isn’t sure she likes it either, but she’s in no position to untangle her complicated feelings for Yael tonight. “Let’s talk about something else, please. Was it strange to see Rastanaya here, in Olde Post?”

“Very.” Yael pauses, and Margot hears a hundred unsaid things in the pause that follows.

“What is it?”

Yael fluffs their pillow, restlessly sitting up and then lying back down again. “It’s just…well, seeing Rastanaya reminds me of my life in Ashaway, of course. But also, it’s my parents.”

“What about them?” Margot prompts, unable to keep a note of interest from her voice. The last thing she wants to talk about after such a happy day is the Claunecks, but her curiosity is overpowering. Besides, if she’s ever to finish this mysterious remedy they think she’s capable of making, eventually she’ll have to become…reacquainted.

“Apparently, they’ve told everyone I fell off a mechanical steed while out riding at Oreborn’s city compound and was badly hurt. They’ve said I’m now recovering in the countryside.” Yael flings the pillow at the wall between them, causing a minor explosion of feathers. “I suppose I am in the countryside recovering from, well, life in Ashaway. But it seems I’m such an embarrassment to them that they would rather lie to the world than come find me and ask why I ran off in the first place. I should be grateful they’ve let me be. I’ve always known I’m not what they expected from an heir, or wanted…” Yael’s voice breaks on the last word.

Margot feels a surge of compassion. If there’s anything in the world she understands, it’s not living up to who she’s supposed to be. But for Yael, it’s different. They haven’t got their family’s entire future on their shoulders, no matter what they’ve been made to believe as the Clauneck heir. “Yael. Hear me.” Margot lightly rests a hand on their arm. “Your deviation from your parents’ expectations of you is not a failure on your part. It’s a failure of imagination on theirs if they can’t see you for who you are. And…well…you’re pretty spectacular. Not just at washing windows or wrangling famous people to our fair stall.”

Yael looks up at Margot, dark eyes wide. “I…that’s the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me.”

“I’ll tell you a secret.” It’s not the biggest secret of her life, but it’s a close one.

“What?” As Yael moves to settle back against the headboard, their shoulder brushes hers, and they seem to take their sweet time shifting away again.

“I’ve also disappointed my parents.”

“Oh.” Yael exhales. “Margot, how is that possible? You’re so good at everything.”

She can’t help cracking a smile. “Well, I may not have a fancy degree from Auximia, but I know a few things.”

“You know everything, and you’re good at all of it. Trust me, you’re going to be huge, especially after Rastanaya tells everyone about her inspiring visit to the Greenwillow booth. You’re amazing, Daisy. Your parents will be so proud of you when they wake up.”

The words cut through Margot, the truth of her life and how her parents ended up in a magical sleep warring with the force of her ambitions to save the people and the village she loves. “I don’t know about that,” she admits. “What if they never wake up?”

“They will.” Yael sounds so sure. So fierce.

“But what will they say when they see I’ve not fixed anything for my family?”

Yael gives her a long, appraising look. They take her hand from where it rests on the mattress beside them, holding it close. “Margot Greenwillow, you hear me. If your parents wouldn’t be proud of the life you’ve built and the people you’ve helped— people like yours truly—then that’s their mistake. You’re allowed to make your own way.”

Tears rise at their words. “Thank you,” she whispers, overcome, even if it can never be true.

“Of course,” Yael says through an enormous yawn. They release Margot’s hand, and she misses the contact immediately. “Now I’m going to sleep. This is enough adventure for one day, even for me.”

Margot turns away, leaning toward the bedside lamp to blow out the flame. Outside, an owl hoots, and noise from the fair and the inn floats upward. As the moments pass, the bedroom fills with the sound of Yael’s steady breathing, their words still dancing through Margot’s mind.

If your parents wouldn’t be proud of the life you’ve built and the people you’ve helped—people like yours truly—then that’s their mistake…

It’s perhaps the most freeing thing she’s ever heard.

“Yael,” she whispers into the dark.

They’re quick to reply. “Yes?”

“I’m glad you’re here.”

And she is. Glad they’re in this bed with her, even with the pillows stacked between them and her own rules firmly in place. Glad to finally tell someone at least some small truth about her. Glad to rest here, in the darkness, with the easy companionship of Yael Clauneck, who somehow understands her better than anyone since Granny Fern.

“I wouldn’t be anywhere else in the world,” Yael says, their voice sleepy but intense.

Margot smiles and pulls the blankets to her chin, fighting herself not to cross the pillow barricade and curl around Yael and just hold on to them until they’re both asleep.