Greene Thumb - A We-Write Short Story - Part 2

@sarez
Greene Thumb - A We-Write Short Story - Part 1

The thing that Millie Greene remembered most

about her short life of thirteen years was being called "Idiot". By her uncle, her cousins, the neighbors,and even the muttering servants. And the person she missed most was her mother, her smile and hugs, her stories of why she was named Millie by her grandmother- because she was a little dryad. After her mother died four years ago Millie was sent to her uncle's; her father, a sailor, could not possibly care for a nine year old girl (and it was true, as her uncle kept reminding her). So he sent some money by post every few months but never visited.

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Millie was thin and tall, with a heart shaped face framed by unruly red curly hair. That she had green eyes and a button nose which made her look beautiful, irritated her uncle no end- his own daughters took after him with strong jaws and thin black hair. Aunt Cory on the other hand, Millie could rely on to do good by her-- if her husband or the cousins did not intrude. Today had been one such lucky day and Millie had leave to go to the riverside market along with her cousins. Aunt Cory had even given each of them, she and her two sisters, five copper pieces, to buy whatever they liked.

All the cousins had of course run away and her sisters with them, letting her know that she was not wanted. The eldest, Penny, had even pinched her nose and made her nod "yes". But Millie was happy walking through the town all by herself. She did not know many of the locals but she had come to know every tree along the road. The gnarled oaks-- Hem, Shem and Kahe--the stately beech tree with its shiny bark and high branches-- Molly, the bunch of straggly young sycamores near the town square -- Ag, Wag, Mog, Rog, Fen and Lia. She was looking at Fen and Rog. They were growing closer and had become greener than the rest when a squirrel darted across her path causing her to misstep and stumble into a mule loaded with bushels of cherries. She braced herself for another "idiot girl" episode but surprisingly the old man who was leading the mule gave her a pat on the head and a bunch of cherries. "Look ahead missie, or yo'r shore to fall again," and he turned to go his way.

The little kindness made Millie light up, a smile spreading on her face. "Thankee Sir. I will mind where I walk," she shouted out at him.

Millie walked on eating her cherries noticing that tiny yellow flowers had sprouted all along the side of the road. "What beauties," she thought at them. A laugh escaped her when the flowers waved at her in return--"a gust of wind," she told herself.

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@carolkean

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Free as the wind in the sails,

her dad liked to say. She loved the wind. She wanted to be a sailor too, but he said the ship was no place for little girls, nor "in-betweeners" like her. She was transitioning to a young woman, too old now to believe in fairies and play with dolls, yet too young for the gossip, innuendos, ball gowns, and flirtations her cousins and sisters engaged in.

The yellow flowers swayed in the breeze, and Millie bent down for a closer look. The stalks were tall and slender, almost invisible under the floating yellow blossoms. All down the road, a colony of dainty yellow heads beckoned, a river of gold, and Millie couldn't help but skip alonside them to see how far the little sentinels might go--beyond the familiar trees, off into the next village, perhaps!

What if the man with the cherries was a sorcerer?

What if this was a trick to lure her from the safety of her uncle's house?

A house full of servants and people who called her Idiot.

Penny had pinched her nose--such a petty, mean, insulting thing to do! And everyone had run off without her. She still had five copper pieces in her pocket and half a mind to run away. See how they'd like it if The Idiot just disappeared from their lives.

Millie Greene, the In-Between, the little dryad named for her grandmother.

A dark shape on the road ahead brought Millie to a halt. "Look ahead missie, or yo'r shore to fall again," she remembered the cherry-man telling her.

The dark thing on the road

could be a trick, like the yellow flowers waving at her. It could be a trap that would spring up and catch her if she came too close.

There was but one way to find out.

Millie stepped closer, minding the road beneath her feet and the shape looming ahead. The thing moved, and a whimper floated on the breeze.

Two eyes opened, shining like glass beads, as Millie crouched before the shape. Startled, she gasped, then moved her face closer, peering into the eyes of.... a.... dog? This muddy, matted, tangled, bloody thing was a dog!

"Oh, you poor thing," Millie murmured. She held out a hand, letting the dog sniff and know that she was good, that she meant no harm. It licked her hand, and she stroked its ears. The blood was seeping from its neck, where a chain had rubbed the skin raw and worn away the fur. The broken chain remained. "Who could do this to you!" she whispered in horror.

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The dog wasn't much bigger than a toddler, so Millie scooped it into her arms and stood slowly, cradling her new friend all the way back to town. With five coppers, she might get a doctor to see if the dog had any worse injuries, and he'd have tools to get that awful chain cut off.

"You are going to look so beautiful,"

she told the shivering, dirty furball. "You may not like it, but I will take you home and give you a bath. I'll feed you and love you and make sure nobody ever hurts you ever again."

She could already hear the cousins and her uncle--"Idiot! You dare to bring that diseased looking dog here! We don't want it. Not in our house, not in our yard, not anywhere."

But she was not a little girl anymore. She was thirteen now, with a button nose that Penny would never pinch again because Millie would never let her. Her hair was red like her grandma's, and she knew what "dryad" meant.

Grandma's "green thumb,' or Greene thumb, had gone far beyond plants and flowers thriving wherever she walked. Grandma Millie had a gift with all living things, warm-blooded or cold, flower or tree, wild or tame.

"If they tell me I can't keep you," Millie said, confident that the dog would comprehend, "we are going to live in the woods, like dryads."

The yellow flowers nodded again, and Millie was certain this time that it wasn't just the wind.

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