Trapped in the Garden's Grasp

You can never leave the garden. The moment you step foot inside, the gates behind you close, confining you to the garden's grasp for eternity.

Eternity surrounded by blossoms and berries sounds like paradise. The hues of saffron and sienna sunlight fueling your body could please anyone's demands. Chirps of blackbirds eased and soothed nerves until you fell into slumber.

Everyone wanted this life. Unless you were Althea Weaver, who despised the garden's grasp.

She swayed her feet into the void of constellations and comets. Butterflies and caterpillars accepted the invitation for tea tonight. As she rummaged through the picnic basket, aromas of ginger and baked bread plunged into her nostrils, relaxing her muscles. Althea grabbed the teakettle and gold-laced cup.

As she poured the tea, a cool breeze caressed her skin. Feeling the warmth, her fingers drummed against the glass. Althea placed the cup on the picnic cloth and watched the stars dance.

“Still upset with me?” the garden asked, stretching its vines and wrapping around Althea’s shoulders. “How many times must I tell you that I am not dangerous.”

Althea shoved the vines and crossed her arms. Occasionally, the garden would produce nonsensical tunes or floral artwork to attract her. No matter what the garden offered, she refused to apologize to it.

“Don’t interrupt tea time,” Althea said, scooping the cup back into her clutch. 

Escaping the garden's vibrant nature and sweet fragrances seemed unimaginable. Memories locked inside the brain bank weren't safe. The garden broke through everything.

She sipped the tea, relishing the peppermint swishing inside her mouth. Althea closed her eyes and allowed memories to rush into her perception.

If she couldn’t escape the garden permanently, she supposed escaping it momentarily was the best option she had.  

---

????? ??, 1?6? - Evening 

Althea analyzed the chessboard, calculating the best possible move. She grabbed her rook and placed it down. “Your move!”

Mother scratched her auburn hair and chuckled. Althea tapped the wooden table, waiting for her mother to counter. Instead of moving a piece, she sat straight in her chair, smiling. "Look closer, honey."

Althea scanned the board and checked every individual tile, including those without pieces. Carefully, she retraced the previous five moves. The pounding rain knocked on the window panes, making it difficult to concentrate. What was Mother seeing that she wasn’t? 

Minutes passed, and she hadn’t figured out the puzzle. Mother raised from her chair and flicked the white king off the table, which rolled onto the hardwood floor.

A twinkle sparkled in Althea’s eyes. "I won. Checkmate!"

Laughter filled the small cabin, echoing off the picture frames and spruce walls. The fireplace crackled louder, celebrating Althea’s win.

Ever since Father joined the army, the days lost their usual charm. No more dangerous adventures in the forest. No more visiting the city center. No more soft hugs.

Life had flipped upside down.

“Very good. My daughter is smarter than I am,” Mother said, watching the tea leaves boil in the pot.

Althea grinned and sunk into her chair. Winning chess and fresh tea this evening? A dream come true! She examined the rain trickle against the window and the lightning stabbing the nearby mountaintops. Storms ruined her opportunity to venture outside lately.

She leaped out of the chair and collected the chess pieces, rearranging them back into their starting positions. The smooth texture of the pieces tingled her fingers, allowing a giggle to slip out of her. With a smile, Althea knelt and picked up the king resting on the floorboards, setting it back onto the board. 

The cabin held enough entertainment for her to survive Father’s deployment. It wasn’t as spacious as her family's previous estate, but the cushioned seats and decorative pillows made up for that. Candlelight sparked from the kitchen, illuminating a golden dusk light. The transition from spring flowers to summer sunshine gave her enough motivation to wait for Father’s arrival.

Mother approached the table carrying two lavender-designed cups. Steam rose and traveled across the cabin, fogging up the glass panels. Althea squealed and jumped back onto the chair.

Mother set the cups and closed the silk yellow curtains, blocking the view of swaying trees and flying leaves. “Careful. It’s scorching. Give it a moment to settle.”

“How long do I have to wait?”

“I will tell you when it's safe,” Mother said, moving a pawn two spaces forward. “Another game to pass the time?”

"Yes!"

Althea turned and gazed at the grandfather clock ticking away. She supposed she wasn’t too many chess games away from reuniting with Father. “I can’t wait to beat you again.”

---

Althea opened her eyes and shivered. Small tears cracked and ran down her cheek as the memories of chess, laughter, and family radiated her brainwaves. 

Those memories were fresh. She hadn’t experienced sensations of human interaction and fierce weather in decades!

“You were quite the chess player, huh?” the garden echoed.

The stars formed patterns of rooks, bishops, and pawns. A chess game played out between the constellations. Pieces scattered across the midnight void, eliminating their enemies. After a moment, the game concluded, and the pieces vanished into atoms.

“Teasing me with my memories?” Althea asked, grabbing a sandwich out of the picnic basket. “Pathetic.”  

The garden laughed, poking Althea’s arm with a lavender. “You’re no fun. Come on. Laugh like you did in those memories.”

Althea took a bite of the sandwich and rolled her eyes. She couldn’t stand the teasing. No wonder why she never laughed in the garden. “Absolutely not.”

“I’ll get you to laugh sooner than you can imagine.”

"Sure."

She took another sip and another memory faded into view. Althea closed her eyes yet again.

---

M??r? ?8, 1863 - Sunset

Days passed, those days turned into months, those months turned into years. Father still hadn’t come back. 

Althea raised her head and wiped the sweat drooling down her face. She groaned, clenching the back of her wrist. Blackberry bushes and pumpkin patches sprouted around the cabin. Shades of pink and orange highlighted the sky with no clouds in sight.

At thirteen, Althea needed to pursue a hobby. Chess was fun and all, but winning every game became boring. She had nobody else to play against except for her mother, who was falling behind in skill.

Taking a breath, she reached for a scoop of pumpkin seeds and dug a hole in the dirt. Despite the springtime air keeping its chill, the countless hours of dirty work ached her bones and frizzled her black hair. Gardening was no easy task. 

“Are you doing alright, sweetheart?” Mother asked from the porch, sipping tea.

Mother’s usual heartwarming personality was losing its touch. Tasks of washing clothes, maintaining the cabin, and generating a stable income had gotten the best of her. Wrinkles formed on her arms and face, along with dark bags below the eyes. 

“I am fine. Are you doing alright?”

She sat on the porch's rocking chair and took another sip. “Alright enough to get by.”

Althea sighed. Images of Father pulsed in her brain. Would the war ever end? She gulped and rubbed her head. What if he died?

That wasn’t possible. He wore the strength of a lion, tough muscles, and enormous hands. He promised he would come back. Promised! You couldn't break a promise!

“Did any letters arrive today?”

Mother shook her head, glancing at the sun dropping below the horizon. “The mail carriages aren’t coming for a while. Nothing will arrive when the war is in full swing.”

Newspapers describing gruesome battles and mass casualties frightened both Althea and Mother. The intensity of battle increased every day. Soldiers captured forts, ransacked ammunition barns, and men succumbed to their wounds. Nobody knew which side would win.

After planting the last seeds, Althea rose and walked toward the cabin. “I should start preparing the carrot stew.”

“After hours of gardening? Honey, you must be so tired.”

Althea gave her a faint smile. “It’s no trouble. Let me allow you to rest for once. Don’t worry about cooking tonight.”

“My daughter is all grown up. Hm?” Mother teased, sinking into the chair. 

Thirteen was far from grown. Life was only beginning. The bustling streets and markets were waiting for her to reach adulthood. Getting lost in a populated city full of impatient businessmen and farmers carrying crops fascinated her. She chuckled to herself, passing the porch and stepping inside the cabin. 

“I am not grown up yet,” she called.

“Whatever you say, love.”

Instead of preparing the stew, Althea needed to complete a task bothering her for weeks. She turned and approached the mahogany desk, running her fingers across the smooth scrolls and utensils. Althea snatched the quill sitting in a pot of ink and pressed it against the paper. 

Nobody was going to read the letter, but she had to write it.

She thought for a moment and wrote: “Dear Father, from your “grown up” daughter, Althea.”

---

“You enjoyed gardening? Well, I’ll be! Why don’t you tend to my flowers then?” the garden cackled, sprouting roses and sunflowers around Althea’s picnic spot. A watering can appeared next to the picnic basket. “Go on, water them.”

“That’s not my responsibility.”

The roses and sunflowers drooped in dismay and disappeared. Althea’s party guests had retreated to the sleeping cove for the night. Closing her bright blue eyes, she inhaled the vanilla-flavored air, tingling from the sweetness filling her lungs.

Her eyelids fluttered. Joining her guests in the cove wasn’t a bad idea. The garden wouldn’t bug her during slumber time, would they?

“Getting sleepy? Perhaps tea time shall conclude for today,” the garden said.

Althea watched the remaining tea swirl. There was enough for one more soothing sip. “One more sip and I’ll retreat to bed.”

“I’ll accept that deal.”

---

February 8, 1865 - Night

Althea coughed and moaned from the excruciating headache.

Here she was, at fifteen years young, laying on the bed she was going to die on. Mother stroked Althea’s hair and patted her forehead. Out of her entire family, Althea was going to leave the world first. Not her father, who fought in the war. Not her mother, who worked through the night to provide for both of them.

Althea, the gardener, the chess prodigy, the grown-up daughter, won the race of succumbing to the earth’s cruel clutch.

“You are going to be okay, sweetie,” Mother said, clutching Althea’s hand. “I promise.”

Another false promise.

A month full of sneezes, coughs, and vomiting tortured her. The battle between her heart and the disease was ending. She clenched her teeth with a loud groan.

Some patients were soldiers with missing limbs and faces wrapped in an abundance of bandages. Nurses moved with efficiency, checking every one of them, offering water and soup.

“How are you doing, Althea?” a nurse asked, kneeling to meet her eye level.

Althea grabbed the blanket and moved it closer to her face. The headache made her vision blurry. Everything swirled around like a fresh cup of steaming ginger tea. 

“I’m dying, aren’t I?”

“Don’t say that,” Mother interrupted. “You’ve gotten so much better since last week.”

The nurse looked at her clipboard and back at Mother with a dull glare. She shifted her attention toward Althea. “Any improvements?”

Althea attempted to shake her head, but the knife-slicing headache caused her to cough instead. The candle on the nightstand died out, and her hospital space got darker.

How fitting.

"No."

“Will anything make you feel better?” the nurse asked. “Fresh soup? A cup of water?”

A rush of heat washed over her. Althea stared into the nurse’s eyes, watching the sparkle in her brown pupils. Birds outside sang their midnight song, while dogs chimed in with rough barks. The window curtains closed off the star-filled sky and the moon’s illumination. 

“I want my father.”

Mother sighed and knelt next to the nurse. “She’s been asking for him ever since she got sick.”

The nurse nodded, standing back upright. “Can you tell me a little about him? Will that make you feel better?"

“He’s fighting for the Union. I don’t know where he is currently,” Althea said, puffing. “I write letters to him all the time, but I don’t send them. It can fall into the wrong hands.”

Althea looked at the patient next to her. A soldier with a missing left arm and cloth covering his face. He murmured every few seconds, adjusting his sleeping position. The blanket of his bed was blue. The color the Union wore to battle.

“Ah, your father is a soldier. How brave,” the nurse said.

Althea huffed. “We used to venture into the forest and explore, trying to find interesting flowers and animals. Sometimes we would go watch the stars.” 

She recalled the time Father took her to the forest many years ago. Oak trees stood tall and sturdy, shielding them from the sunlight and crawling insects. They checked every crevice and corner of each tree until the sky turned dark and the stars smiled down at them. Father would search for flatland for them to lay and stargaze. 

Mother smiled and clenched Althea’s hand. She cried, and Althea couldn’t help but join her in a sob. 

A sharp pain rang through her body, and Althea lost her mother’s grip. She sneezed and coughed uncontrollably, yelping from the aches. 

The nurse’s eyes widened, and she ran toward the hospital’s sleeping quarters. “Someone hand me medicine!”

There was no point. Althea’s vision dimmed, and the face of her mother slowly disappeared. She could feel Mother shake her arm, hard enough to rip it apart from her body. Vines and flowers entered her mind, and a beautiful melody sang to her. 

Althea reached out to the vines, begging them to take her with them. And so they did.

---

Althea wept, dropping her cup into the void. The garden’s vines wrapped around her, patting her head and massaging her back.

“There, there. Everything is going to be alright.” 

Was everything going to be alright? Where were her parents the memories spoken about? Why weren’t they here with her?

She allowed the vines to help her stand and clean her tea setup. The kettle, cloth, and uneaten sandwiches evaporated into thin air. Althea rubbed the crumbs off her white dress and collapsed into the garden's grasp, whimpering and bickering.

Sunlight crept from the void and the hues of saffron greeted her like they always did. Nothing was going to change. She was stuck in the same cycle.

“Don’t worry, Althea,” the garden cooed. “Lay down on the grass and close your eyes. I have a surprise for you.”

The garden dropped her onto the soft grass filled with daisies and sprouts. A loud creak echoed across the air. Yet Althea kept her eyes closed and obeyed the garden's instructions.

For the first time.

Footsteps approached her, and something whispered in a hushed voice. A hand ran through her hair and tapped her shoulder. 

“Althea?”

Open your eyes, the garden said in her mind.

Althea blinked and met the gaze of two angel-like beings. One of them had familiar auburn hair, and the other had firm muscles. Both wore long white clothing and silver crowns. They reached out their hand, and Althea gladly accepted their offering.

“Father? Mother?”

She looked at them in shock. The wrinkles Mother had in the memories were gone. Instead, her skin was smoother than silk. Father smiled at her and cried.

Everyone cried.

“Oh, Althea! We never thought we would see you again!”

All three of them hugged one another, crying tears of happiness. The hug was so warm. Warmer than anything she had ever experienced in the garden. For the first time, she let out a laugh. 

Everything relaxed. Her worries faded away, and the feeling of missing something stopped. 

I’m sorry for everything I’ve done to you, Althea thought.

Don’t worry about me. Enjoy your family. We can make amends later, the garden responded.

Being trapped in the garden's grasp wasn’t so bad after all if you were with family. Eternity surrounded by warm hugs and parents sounds like paradise. 

Paradise it indeed was.