We’ll Make Our Garden Grow
“Marie? I thought you were dead. Is it really you?” I ask.
“It is. I was shot and left for dead. Some of the others rescued me, but I couldn’t trust anyone. I ran, changing my identity more often than my clothes.”
She glances at me. “You always did like to make an entrance,” she says, referring to my fall, “but people have noticed your questions. We’ll talk, but quickly. I’m afraid it’s not safe here now for either of us.”
The sweet scent of alyssum drifts through the open window. Marie’s vegetable garden helped all of us stay alive during the war. I remember her saying, “I’d like, too, to plant the sweet alyssum that smells like honey. And peace. I’d scatter peace seeds everywhere if I could.” With her green thumb, peace would have flourished.
Her comment suddenly registers, “Wait—what people?”
“I’d like, too, to plant the sweet alyssum that smells like honey and peace.”
From Katherine Riegel, What I would like to Grow in My Garden