18. Chapter 18
Chapter 18
Luke
F inally, I’m alone with Lydia. The anticipation of this moment sends me suddenly self-conscious and shy. We allow the horses to take us up the hill in silence. Not that it’s an awkward silence because I don’t know what to say to her. It’s more a peaceful non-speaking silence. We move through the landscape as if we are a part of it. Connected. Tree branches meet above our heads. Leaves, disturbed by the breeze, fall around in yellows, reds, and browns. The wind picks up in gusts. It’s chilly. I turn up the collar of my jacket.
“Are you cold?” I ask. The sound of my own voice surprises me. “It can get pretty windy at the top.”
“No. I’m fine. Enjoying the fresh air.” Lydia smiles and looks up at the sky for a moment, then she says, “Poor Sheena. She was so looking forward to riding today.”
“Yeah. It’s a shame, but there’s always another time.”
The horses plod on side by side beneath a tunnel of autumn leaves.
“She’s a great person,” says Lydia. “So helpful. And thoughtful.” Birds chirp unseen in bushes as we pass. “She has a cute house that she’s renovating.”
“That’s nice.”
“Yep. She’s really good at interiors. You know, putting colors and textures together. She’s very creative that way.”
I nod, then I say, “You must be creative, though. Working with flowers… and apples.”
“Yes. I suppose I am.”
“How did the wedding go? Were the crabapples a big hit?”
“Gosh, yes. I have photos. I’ll show you.” The track narrows into a switchback turn. I push Deedee on ahead. “I had this vision of what I could do with the crabapple branches,” Lydia continues. “But you never know exactly how a display is going to turn out until it’s done. There’s always an element of surprise. That’s what makes my job exciting. And a pleasure.”
“Cool. So, you have staff to help out?” I ask, turning to face Lydia.
“Oh yes. I have an amazing team. You met Laura the other day when we were pruning your trees. And there’s Marty. He’s my other flower angel. They are both so talented and trustworthy. And I can call on a couple of friends, if we get snowed under, for odd hours, evenings, and weekends. I couldn’t operate my business without help. We have flat-out bookings right through the holidays to next summer.” The sun breaks through the scudding clouds, dappling the bare earth of the track. There’s a pause before Lydia goes on. “Valentine’s Day is probably the maddest day of my year. Although, with summer being wedding season, May to September is pretty busy too. Weddings form my main income stream. People are willing to fork out big bucks for the happiest day of their lives.”
“I didn’t realize a flower store could be anything more than selling a few bunches of daisies.”
“Luke. I might need to educate you, just a little bit.” Lydia shoots me her beautiful smile. “Here are some fun facts about the floristry industry.” She breathes deeply and clears her throat for theatrical effect. “According to the National Retail Federation, Americans spend - on Valentine’s Day alone - approximately 2.6 billion dollars on flowers. That’s just floral arrangements and bouquets, excluding other gifts, such as candy and cute bears.”
I whistle my incredulity then repeat, “Two point six billion? That’s a lot of cash.”
“Yep. One article I read recently, stated that around a quarter of a million roses are cultivated and cut specifically for that one special celebration day of love.”
“Maybe I should sell all my horses and plant some rose bushes.”
“You could. Or you could plant some roses, but having horses is useful when it comes to fertilizing.” There’s a beat before Lydia continues. “You have crabapple trees. I’m predicting a trend uptick in decorative crabapple popularity after the wedding I just did.”
“Great. Is it too early to plan for early retirement?”
“Not at all.” Lydia grins across to me making my heart leap. “Of course, the other crop you may consider supplying is wildflowers.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Yeah. If you can, graze your horses leaving a partial strip of the paddock roped off, allowing flower species to flourish. You’ll be surprised by what grows without any input from you. I’m always looking out for wildflowers for my store. Not only will you get cash, you’ll be helping bees.”
“Wow, Lydia. You’ve given me a lot to think about.” We ride on in silence for a few paces more, then something occurs to me. “So, where do all these roses come from? On Valentine’s Day? February around these parts is winter, right? And roses? I always thought they bloomed in summer.”
“That’s right. So, we need to import them from places with a warmer climate. Ecuador and Columbia mainly.” The horses have slowed to an easy walk as the gradient evens out. I’ve let the reins slacken and Deedee takes advantage and nibbles some grass and ferns growing along the side of the track. “And get this,” says Lydia. “Rose cultivation is thought to be the unexpected positive spin-off in the war against drugs because farmers are seeing better returns growing roses than coca leaves.” Lydia’s face is all lit up. “I don’t know how much truth is behind that snippet, but wouldn’t it be nice if flowers and romance were more powerful than force and weapons? That love really can save the world.”
I laugh. “I’d love it if everything was as simple as you make it sound. Almost like a mathematics equation. Love plus roses plus third-world farmers equals no drugs and happily-ever-after.”
“Exactly! Isn’t it just like that?” Lydia chases a strand of hair away from her face and tucks it behind her ear.
“No. But I wish it was. Life is a lot more complicated, I think. But I’ll keep your equation in mind, the next time I buy roses.”
“And who do you buy roses for?”
I pause for a second. I’m about to say, “You, Lydia. I’d give you Columbia’s entire Valentine’s Day export quota, if it made you smile.” But instead, I say, “My mom. She loves roses.”
We’re almost at the lookout. I steer Deedee to a fencepost and jump down. “So, tell me, Lydia. When did people start being crazy in love with roses?” I tie the reins loosely so that my horse can graze. Then I reach for Olive’s bridle and lead her to stand beside Deedee. “Why not sunflowers or geraniums?”
“It’s interesting. I’ve done a little research around social traditions and most of the highlights in our year - Christmas, Valentine’s Day, Halloween - are inherited from England. And in Victorian times, I’m not sure why, but people became very emotional.”
“People weren’t emotional before?”
“Well, yes, I’m sure people have always had feelings. But the Victorians really got to work in expressing those feelings. Especially romantic love.” Lydia slides off Olive’s back and almost into my arms. She takes a step back to steady herself, then she says, “You see it in the artwork. It’s very sentimental.” Lydia walks a few paces ahead. “Anyway, those Victorians, I’m not sure who, but someone assigned different meanings to flowers. You can Google the Language of Flowers. There’s a ton of stuff. So, back to your question, roses mean different emotions according to color. But red roses mean I love you, in the most romantic way. And that idea is accepted everywhere, worldwide.” We walk together up a narrow track to the highest point.
“Okay. Here we are,” I say as we arrive at a space that I’ve cleared between the trees with an uninterrupted view down the valley and the surrounding hills.
“Oh my!” Lydia exclaims shielding her eyes with both her hands as she surveys the vast panorama. A gust of wind blows her hair around wildly. Lydia turns to me, her face a picture of sheer joy, and says, “Luke. This is incredible. Thank you so much for bringing me here.”
The moment is pure magic. Happiness fills me and I resist an overwhelming urge to take Lydia in my arms and kiss her with every fiber of my being.