1917
The war had made its way into every home, every parlor table, every newspaper, every whispered letter folded and sealed with trembling hands. Evansville had grown quieter; the young men were gone, and the streets echoed with ration wagons and church bells.
But Swanson’s Flower Shop never lacked for beauty.
While gardens across the state withered under drought and dust, Vera’s blooms thrived. She began selling what she called Natura Bouquets, vivid greens and soft ivory petals woven through with strange, unfamiliar vines. The leaves shimmered faintly in the sunlight and their scent was fresh as rain after thunder.
Customers said the bouquets brought calm, that keeping one in the home soothed nightmares, eased headaches and made the air feel lighter. Even soldiers’ widows claimed the flowers whispered in the night, saying names that were long gone but still remembered.
When asked about her success during such lean times, Vera laughed softly.
“Nature always provides for those who listen,” she said. “But she asks for something in return.”
Few knew that Vera had started visiting Crimson’s Orchard again. The path there was overgrown now, the trees heavy with fruit that never spoiled. She took her cuttings in secret, always at night. Locals who lived near the county road said they sometimes saw a soft green glow drifting through the fog, moving slow between the trees.
That autumn, a doctor from Indianapolis came to study her soil. He praised its fertility, calling it “unnaturally rich.” He left town the next day, leaving his equipment behind. The people assumed he’d returned to the city.
Vera’s new arrangements began to show faint streaks of deep green in their stems, like veins beneath translucent skin. She called them living stems. And though few ever said it aloud, the bouquets were more beautiful than ever, alive in a way flowers shouldn’t be.
By winter, the shop’s window display was filled with the Natura collection, a lush, breathing portrait of impossible life in a dying world.
It is whispered and has been confirmed as fact that through the coldest most bitter winters in Evansville, the ground behind Swanson’s Flower Shop, refuses to freeze.
Swanson’s Flower Shop
- Chapter I: Shades of Blauw
- Chapter I (continued): Shades of Blauw
- Chapter I (final): Shades of Blauw
- Chapter II: Shades of Brzoskwinia
- Chapter III: Shades of Natura
- Chapter IV: Shades of Violaceous
- Chapter V: Shades of La Couleur Bleue
- Chapter VI: Shades of Brun
- Chapter VII: Shades of Noire
- Epilogue: The Geddes Report