The Flower Lady
A short story
Gloria Gelrod smiled broadly as she cradled the bouquet of chrysanthemums, gladiolus, carnations, and tulips, a riot of beauty and wondrous aromas the mysterious woman left for her. She caressed the bouquet, wrapped in delicate, frosted cellophane paper, lowered her face to it, and drew in a slow sniff.
“Thank you, you’re too kind,” Gloria said into the void, wondering if the woman was still nearby and could hear her. In all the years the stranger had been bringing flowers, Gloria had never seen the woman, but she didn’t mind.
Everyone’s different. Everyone’s got their own way of doing things. She remembered how her first grade teacher told her how important it was to understand that.
It was the stranger’s thoughtfulness that mattered to Gloria. She thought that if they ever met, that stranger could be her best friend.
After enjoying the flowers for a few moments, Gloria tucked the bouquet in a corner—she’d put them in a vase later if she remembered (which she never did—and skipped to Betty’s place, hoping to get there before the stranger arrived.
Whoever gave Gloria flowers also gave them to her sister, Betty, who dwelled next door, and to their other sister, Doloris, the next neighbor over, always in the same order. Gloria first, then Betty, then Doloris.
Gloria knocked once on Betty’s thick, gnarled mahogany door. That was their system whenever they visited each other. Gloria, the oldest sister, knocked once. Betty, the middle sister, knocked twice to announce herself, and Doloris, three years younger than Gloria, always rapped a sister’s door three times when she wanted to say hello.
Gloria frowned when Betty emerged, cradling a bouquet just like Gloria’s. “Darn, I was hoping—”
“You always try, but you never get here fast enough.”
“I’m trying.”
“Do you think we can be at Doloris’ place before she gets her bouquet?”
“Let’s!” Gloria shrieked. She brushed the hardened earth off her paisley-pattern blue dress, blew more cold soil from her brown Oxford lace-ups, quickly slipped them on and tied them, then took her sister’s hand in hers and bounced toward Doloris’ home. Gloria nodded at Betty, a signal that Betty should have the honor of knocking.
Betty knocked against the mahogany twice.
Doloris appeared empty-handed.
Gloria and Betty locked eyes and grinned. “Yay! We won!”
A sudden frigid gust spun nearby dirt into a small tornado.
A second later, flowers materialized in Doloris’ arms, their slender weight bringing a broad smile to her face. “I got the flowers!”
“But we made it here before they did. We win!”
“Does it matter? We all have our flowers.” She put her nose to the bouquet and inhaled a long breath. She cradled the blossoms and smelled the petals again. “We have our flowers this month, just like every month. You and your silly game. I just like the flowers.”
Gloria nodded. “They’re lovely. The stranger is very considerate.”
“Yes,” Betty said. “She’s the best.”
“Is it time to go home? I’m tired,” Gloria said. She yawned, which caused Betty and Doloris to yawn, too. “I’ll go back to sleep. See you next month, sisses.”
Ellie Gelrod cinched her parka tight to stop the cold, thin February air from slipping through her collar. A raw, shrill wind whistled through the thousands of graveyard headstones, relocating leaves, small stones, and the flowers she had brought, which vanished in between binks. She shivered and then kissed the cold, gray headstone.
Thick clouds shrouded the sun, casting an ashen penumbra over the cemetery.
Even after only twenty-two years, the wind and rain had begun to erode the stone. She ran her fingers along the inscription, “Doloris Gelrod, born May 3, 1922, died January 10, 1937, in a house fire. Daughter of Alfred and Ruth, loving sister to Gloria, Betty, and Ellie.”
Ellie took a last look at her three sisters’ graves and said, “See you next month, sisters. I love you.”
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If you enjoyed this short story, I think you’ll also like Petra Jones’ Phone.
Nothing better than a happy ghost story.
What a sweet one, Bill.