The old woman glanced out the window and scowled at what she saw. Her once beautiful garden glared back at her. White. All white.
Occasionally she would imagine a glimpse of yellow or a splash of pink among the blooms but the glorious cacophony of colour was now gone.
Faded and pale just like she was now faded, a shadow of her former self. And the white too was turning grey, but unlike her, it was getting darker.
Her back ached. Where was that wretched child? Her ungrateful offspring had all left for greener pastures and were too busy to care for the pains and aches of an old woman anymore. They had their fancy houses and careers and no time for even a visit. Her youngest hadn’t even had the good sense to stay alive and as if out of spite had left the orphaned urchin on her doorstep before leaving forever. What was keeping the girl?
She rang the little silver bell that she kept in her housecoat pocket and the child ran into the room, a jumble of dungarees and wild curly hair.
“Where have you been?” She demanded of the insufferably energetic little girl.
“Oh Grandma, aren’t they wonderful!?” Susan could hardly contain her excitement. She had found a pair of young hedgehogs at the bottom of the hedge and placed them in a box which she now offered to the crotchety old dame to look at. The little animals peered out at her with beady eyes.
“Take those filthy beasts out of the parlour this instant, young lady. How many times must I tell you not to bring in all the stray riff raff you seem so adept at finding.” Susan did seem to have a gift for finding animals in need of a little tenderness and care. “Now fetch me a pillow from the window seat for my back”
“Yes grandma” Susan replied, carefully setting down the box at her grandmother’s feet and skipping over to do her bidding. She placed the pillow behind the old woman’s back and eased her back into the rocking chair.
“You should come outside a bit, Grandma,” she ventured out of the blue, “the sun’s out and the whole garden is sparkling, Here look!”
She opened the drapes a little wider.
“Close that window, the draft makes my bones ache”
Susan did as she was told and then her face lit up. “Just wait five minutes, Grandma, I’ll be right back!” she ran out of the room and flew out the front door. The old woman could see motion in the garden but her poor eyesight coupled with her inability to see colours made it hard to discern exactly what the girl was doing there. Probably trampling the new shoots, she thought in disgust.
Susan was back before she had time to scold her and thrust a posy at her, “For you grandma,” she said, “hold onto them for a minute while I find something to put them in.” And she was off again, rummaging in the sideboard looking for a vase.
The old woman starred at the white bunch of blooms she held in her lap. The petals were white, the leaves where white, the pistils and stamens; all white. She lifted them to her face. She closed her eyes and smelled them, drinking in their lovely scent, allowing the exhilarating perfume to fill her nostrils. At least she hadn’t lost her sense of smell. She tried to imagine how they had once looked, the bold red roses, sunny yellow daffodils, delicate pink gladiolus and regal purple violets. She tried in vain to conjure up the many shades and hues of green that filled the background to the flowers but the memory was fading too. She sighed opened her eyes. Susan was standing in front of her with a Wedgwood vase. She had a quizzical look on her face, an expression of amusement mixed with a deep sympathy.
“Shall we arrange them together Grandma?” she ventured. The old lady was about to thrust the flowers back at the child when she startled, and dropped them on the floor. “Never mind, Grandma, I’ll get them,” Susan laughed and bent over to pick them up.
One by one she lifted them off the floor, checking to see that they weren’t bruised or bent. The old woman couldn’t believe what she saw: each bloom she placed carefully into the vase had regained its colour! There were deep crimson tulips and cinnamon carnations; mauve anemones and egg-yellow daisies. She looked at her grandchild and noticed that her eyes were the same cornflower blue of the Wedgwood vase!
“Oh grandma, you’re crying!” Susan exclaimed and she looked up from the arrangement and noticed the tears roll down the old lady’s wrinkled cheek. “I drop things all the time, it’s okay.” She pulled a tissue from the box on the side table and dabbed her grandmother’s tears.
“The…the…flowers, they were all white…, and they’re all colourful again! How did you do that?”
“Do what, Grandma?”
The old lady picked out two anemones from the bunch, “See, they were both white before, and now this one’s red, this one’s pink” she gestured, waving them at Susan who just looked puzzled.
“They look the same to me, Grandma,” she giggled, “maybe this one’s a bit bigger but other than that…”
“Do you mean to tell me that… you can’t tell the difference?”
“I’m hopeless at naming flowers, Grandma, I just like the way they smell. I’d better get the hedgehogs out of here now.”
The old woman leaned over the side of her chair to look in the box on the floor. The little creatures uncurled slightly and peered timidly out back at her.
“You know dear, I’ve changed my mind about them. You can keep them in the kitchen if you like”