Page 16 of Meadowsweet and Marigold
"Marigold."
"Beautiful name. Going far?"
Marigold hesitated.
"Willowbend."
"Lovely place. My sister lives there. Quiet, though. Very different from the city."
"That's what I'm counting on," Marigold murmured, turning back to the window.
The woman nodded, understanding the need for silence, and opened a book.
As fields blurred past, Marigold's mind drifted backward.
She and Magnolia, seven years old, practicing pirouettes in their bedroom, giggling when they fell. Their mother clapping as they performed improvised dances in the living room. Magnolia helping Marigold perfect her arabesques, holding her hand for balance.
"We'll be famous dancers together," Magnolia had promised. "The Everhart twins. No one will ever separate us."
The memory curdled as Marigold recalled the letter crumpled in her bag.
"I hope you understand that everything simply belongs to me now,"Magnolia had written."Your role, your reputation. Even Rowan admits he always wanted me instead."
"Would you like a cookie, dear?" Doris interrupted her thoughts, offering a napkin-wrapped bundle. "Homemade this morning."
"No, thank you," Marigold replied automatically, then reconsidered. "Actually, yes. Thank you."
As she accepted the cookie — still warm, flecked with chocolate — another memory surfaced:their sixteenth birthday.
Magnolia fuming after Marigold was selected for the advanced class while she remained intermediate.
"It should have been both of us," Magnolia had insisted. "Or me instead. I practice more than you do."
"I'm sorry," Marigold had said, meaning it. "Next time you'll?—"
"Don't patronize me," Magnolia had snapped, her golden-orange eyes flashing. "Just because they picked you doesn't make you better."
The train whistle sounded, startling Marigold back to the present.
"Almost there," Doris said, gathering her things. "Willowbend is the next stop."
Marigold nodded, brushing cookie crumbs from her lap.
"How will I know when I'm in the right place? In the city, I always knew exactly where I stood."
"That's the beauty of small towns," Doris replied. "You'll find your place. It just might not be the one you expected."
The train slowed, and Marigold collected her single suitcase.
As the doors opened, she stepped onto the platform, blinking in the afternoon sunlight.
Willowbend Station was a quaint brick building with wooden benches and hanging flower baskets. No crowds, no rushing commuters — just a handful of people moving at an unhurried pace.
The air smelled of grass and distant rain rather than exhaust and restaurant kitchens.
"It's so..." Marigold struggled to find the word.
"Quiet?" offered Doris, appearing beside her. "Takes getting used to. The grocery closes at eight, by the way. Just so you know."
