The bell above the door at Swanson’s Flower Shop rang with a tone that seemed almost too delicate for the world outside. Evansville, 1910, a town that smelled of river water and coal smoke, where the streets held the quiet rhythm of a place that thought it knew all its people. Everyone knew of Vera Swanson, but few could say they truly knew her.
She was always kind, always precise. Her gloves never smudged, her smile never faltered. The shop itself was an orchestra of color, violets leaning into morning light, hyacinths whispering their perfume into the wooden beams, and lilies so white they made the air itself seem cleaner.
But it was her blue arrangements that no one could forget. Shades of Blauw, she called them. Cornflowers, delphinium, forget-me-nots, blended so perfectly they almost shimmered. Folks swore those bouquets stayed fresh for weeks longer than any other.
When asked her secret, Vera only smiled and said, “It’s in the soil.”
And it was true. Her flowers grew stronger, taller, more vivid than any others in the region. The soil around the Swanson property was dark as ink, soft and rich, as if the earth itself was grateful.
At the back of her shop hung a small painted sign:
“All things return to the ground and the ground remembers.”
No one thought much of it then. Not the travelers passing through, not the lovers buying blooms for weddings, not even the men who disappeared every few months on the long road toward Crimson’s Apple Orchard.
In Evansville, things grew. And that was good enough.
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