“Daniel!” Addie Mae’s voice rose from the phone. “Daniel, are you there?”
I picked up the phone. “Maybe you’re the message in my dream. Remember how you always tell me that it’s easy to interpret dreams, when you realize that every person in the dream is you. Or me. So, everybody is me?”
“Boy, you’re losing it. Just stay in front of that pantry door. I’m almost there. I’m walking up the driveway.”
“You’re walking up the driveway? It’s a snow storm. You live miles away. How did you get here so fast?” I glanced back at the garden. “Because I’m dreaming that’s why. What am I supposed to learn from this? The house is my soul, right?
Addie Mae laughed, but it didn’t sound cheery. Her voice was on edge just like my sanity was teetering off a ledge.
“Yes,” she said. “If you were dreaming and you were in a house, the house would represent your soul. The only problem is you’re not dreaming. You’re just seeing more things than you should this evening. I could make you some soup that will help you forget about it.”
I stared at that garden. “Would the stuff for the soup come from this garden?”
“Yes.”
“Then I don’t want it.”
“You’ve been eating things from that garden for years. Ever since I spotted you in that playground long ago. You were the tiniest little thing, just following my baby around.”
“Playground?”
“I gave you a root. I’d been looking for a boy that could see it. The boy that could, would take care of my baby’s heart. You were the only one that saw it.”
“I. . .I don’t understand.”
“Amaranth. It looks like a man’s balls. All thick and round. Adults can see it, but kids barely can. And it’s good that they can’t.”
“Because it looks like testicles?”
The line clicked.
Silence came on the other side.
“Addie Mae?” My hand shook. “Addie Mae?”
A boom sounded outside. The back door swung open. No one stood on the other side, and then Faith’s mother stepped in—all tiny and leaning on her cane. It was such an odd thing with her to use the cane. She appeared so young, but the walk showed her age.
She had a huge black cape over her shoulders and gray hat on her head.
Snow dotted her clothes.
Worry creased the small wrinkles near her eyes.
“Yes.” She hobbled over to me. “The root looks like balls. Now get on up.”
I couldn’t move my legs. “How did you get here so fast?”
“You’re still asking questions, after all of this?” She tapped my leg with her cane. “Get on up. We need some stuff out of my garden.”
“To get more of the root that looks like balls?”
“No. Amaranth is for other things.” She entered the pantry. Her cane led the way. “The Indigenous people would mix it with honey and a dove’s heart. Then they’d eat it all up.”
I rose from the ground. “Why?”
“They did it for love.” She glanced at me over her shoulder. “Like you’re doing it for love. You’re going to walk in this garden and help me get the stuff I need for my baby. And you’re going to do it with no questions or doubts of disbelief. You’re going to do it for love. Like we all do things for love.”
I swallowed and entered the garden. A hot sun shined down on me. It’d been months since I’d felt so warm on the outside. I gazed at the breathtaking sky. “Where’s the sun?”