Chapter 3 - Lillies Lack Empathy

Cela returns home, convinced the other world was a dream. She argues with her mother, gets grounded, and revisits the door.

Cela dragged her feet up the back steps of the house, utterly exhausted, but the memories of the door were already dimming, pushed to the back of her mind as she convinced herself that she had just fallen asleep in the warm, grassy grove. She had bridled Sam in a hurry, rushed down the mountain as quickly as she dared, then tore down the path that led home. Her panic-clouded mind had finally cleared after Sam tripped mid-gallop and the pair of them nearly fell; he was exhausted and dripping with sweat, his neck foaming, chest heaving dangerously. She realized how far she'd pushed him and climbed off, and Sam stood and hung his head, breathing heavily. He was so exhausted that when she tugged his reins, he just let her pull on him for a long moment before finally taking one jerky step, followed by another, until he was finally walking. She begged and pleaded with him to forgive her all the way home, but the most he would do was flick an ear in her direction while he walked wearily alongside her.

Cela sagged against the kitchen counter, nursing a cool glass of water when her mother walked in. Immediately Cela remembered the reason for her flight into the woods in the first place and turned to sneak away, but not before her mother spotted her.

Heather Thomas was a beauty, with her naturally light blonde hair, perfectly blue eyes, round, full lips, perfect, straight nose, and carefully maintained physique. Once the ambitious star of her college's botany program, Heather had been on track to become a celebrity within her field, already traveling with her mentors and giving minor lectures to her peers. However, she had gotten involved with one of the professors and along came Cela, forcing Heather to step out of school to have and raise her daughter. The professor had lost interest as soon as he heard the news that he was to be a father, and moved to another university at the end of that semester.

Since then, Heather had fought to keep her footing in the botanical world, but had been reduced to managing the local plant nursery - a far cry from the heights she had aspired to. Her sole social accomplishment had been in climbing the rungs within their town's garden club, becoming the authority for all things green among the small town's most blue-blooded ladies. The ascent had done something to alleviate Ms. Thomas's pride, but Cela would sometimes find her mother staring yearningly at photos of a tall, elegant blonde in the company of celebrated botanists from around the world; photos taken in exotic locales with lush floral backgrounds, photos of dreams and goals nearly attained but now lost to history. Cela had learned to quickly and quietly disappear when she saw that sad, defeated gaze, for Heather would invariably snap upon noticing the girl, dredging up arguments so venomous and unfair that Cela would end up either locked in her room or doing endless menial chores until one of Heather's obsessions called her attention away from the girl.

"Get back here!" Ms. Thomas hissed just before Cela could disappear around the corner. Cela froze mid-step and groaned inwardly before turning to face her mother, still halfway out of the room and just peeping around the corner, making it obvious she did not intend to be anchored in the room for a long argument. However, she kept her face flatly neutral so as to not bait her mother any further. She looked Heather in the eye, and waited.

Ms. Thomas glared at Cela silently, before turning to quickly deposit the small stack of crumb-covered plates she had been carrying on the counter with a dull thud. She whirled back to face the girl as though expecting to find her gone and stood glaring at her, one hand on her hip, her face hard and decisively furious.

"Where have you been? We’ve been waiting here for ages! How dare you run off like that? I know you heard me calling! Mrs. Caldwell is here and asked about you, and the best I could say is that I didn’t know where you were!"

Cela made no comment.

"It's Mrs. Caldwell! Her brother is the department head of biology at Whitestone!" Heather spit, personally offended at possibly not having impressed the woman.

Cela wondered why that should effect her, and continued to watch her mother, her face held firmly neutral.

Heather's temper flared, and her took on a deadly edge. "Will you just stare at me like an idiot? These connections are important! These are people you need to know! And right now I look like a mother who is clueless about her child’s whereabouts, and you’re off… somewhere!"

Cela bit her tongue with an effort and suppressed her anger and annoyance; if she said any of what she wanted to say it would just bait the argument further - not that there were any possible positive outcomes, but at least she could possibly get to her room sooner. She would never need to know any of the people her mother collected around her, she thought defiantly at her mother, all the while continuing to hold her face blank. She had dropped her eyes to the countertop at the accusation of staring; if the argument went on for any longer Heather would quite predicably end up snapping at her for not looking her mother in the eye. In these fights, there was no win for Cela, just getting to defeat sooner so she wouldn't have to face the verbal beating for too long.

Suddenly Ms. Thomas noticed her daughter's hair. Her breath hissed over her teeth as she took in the nearly-black locks, her blue eyes seeming to sprout cold flame as she readied herself to verbally launch into the girl before remembering there was company in the house.

"You get into your room and stay there! I had better not see you until you've fixed… that!" Heather whispered venomously, jerking her pointing hand in the direction of her daughter's room. Cela dashed away towards her room, grateful for Mrs. Caldwell's presence to keep her mother at bay, and already trying to figure out how to be able to sneak her dinner; the dye was permanent and changing black hair to blonde hair would be a nearly magical feat.

 

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Cela groaned under the weight of the lillies she carried, sweat threatening to trickle into her eyes while her arms were locked around the two pots. Since the dark hair had been discovered, Ms. Thomas had kept a stubborn watch on the girl, keeping her weighted down with chores and locked away in her room any other time. She was allowed out of the house and immediate yard only for school, though that was hardly an escape; Cela had always been awkward among her peers, and being unable to join what friends she made for afterschool hangouts, or even call them for conversation, kept her on the outside. Her sole respite, aside from stolen trips to the barn, was in her room, where her books were her saviors; grand heroes and heroines rode on high adventures where villainy and repression were invariably defeated. Their victory was her victory, their closest companions became her best friends, their love ached within her heart, and she was free within the tales. In the absence of a book, her imagination took her to those places, and she was able to exist relatively happily in her tiny room, with its tall, particle board bookcase that had been stacked to bursting with paperback fantasies, and the small desk cowering beside it, dimly lit by an ancient lamp. Her twin bed took up the rest of the space. Her walls held no ornamentation save some yellowing botanical diagrams her mother had framed and hung ages ago, and Cela didn't dare take them down.

She tripped over a hose and nearly fell, pots tipping forward dangerously, their milky-pink young blooms bobbing excitedly out in space. Heather yelled something incomprehensible from the porch where she had been sitting in the rocking chair for the last hour, cooly sipping her iced tea.

Probably doesn't want me to break the precious stupid flowers, Cela thought, glaring at one particularly bouncy bloom as she steadied herself. She pursed her lips and blew angrily at it, though it was hardly impressed. She heard a phone ring from the porch.

Cela placed the pair of pots carefully next to the stoney terracing they were to be arranged around, and turned to stretch her back while she watched her mother on the phone, hoping she'd go inside the house with the call. Ms. Thomas began gesturing anxiously as she conversed, and then suddenly she clicked the phone off, letting it drop to her side in her hand.

"I have to go to the shop! Have those lillies arranged when i get back, and go find the shovel so we can start planting." Heather turned to disappear into the house, Cela rolled her eyes as she turned to regard the remaining lillies. She heard her mother's truck come to life on the other side of the house, and the sound of the engine faded away down the road. She sighed. We? She knew perfectly well there was only one shovel. After a last glance around at the waiting flower pots, Cela pointedly turned on her heel and marched defiantly to the barn.

Sam was napping on his side in his stall, and at the sound of her approach he rolled upright onto his stomach. Cela giggled at him as he flared his nostrils at her, wide eyed, before realizing who she was. She slipped into his stall and he stretched back on his side, rubbing his face into his bedding and companionably ignoring her as she settled against his back. She threw an arm around his girth and rested her cheek on his shoulder.

The two dozed, the warm, equine-scented air and gentle breath of Sam's lungs easing the stress and aches from Cela's body. She woke when Sam tossed shavings at her with his tail for twitching her fingertips and tickling his sides; she rolled her eyes at him and sat up, stretching and yawning, peaceful and happy. She got up to go, and Sam climbed to his feet to follow, sticking his speckled nose in the stall door as she tried to close it behind her. Suddenly she wanted nothing but to be with Sam, to continue in this peaceful silence. She bridled him and led him outside, and Bo whickered gently at them as they passed his stall, reaching out to touch his companion's spotted sides with his nose. Sam swatted him with his tail, and Cela grinned happily at them.

Outside the barn, Cela mounted, and the pair ambled into the woods. She let him wander and choose his trails, simply enjoying the peace and happiness of his company. A faint breeze flowed through the trees, carrying the heavy, serene scent of forest decay and greenery. Her lids grew heavy and she half-dozed, her fingers twined through his short mane, aware only of the horse beneath her, the vague, relaxing impression of her surroundings, and her contentment.

She became aware of Sam growing unsure of his steps, his muscles tensing slightly, his movements becoming hesitant. She emerged from her reverie as he came to a nervous halt; she picked up her reins when she realized they were at the foot of the mountain that had diverted them during their last ride.

 

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Cela grew tense as memories came to her, unbidden, nagging and nipping at her mind, demanding to be acknowledged. She faced north, peering up into the trees to where the mountain heights were hidden from sight by dense canopies of foliage. Why am I nervous? I just took a nap up there and had a weird dream.

Squaring her shoulders and shaking her head to settle the fluttering memories, she resolved to settle the matter. She squeezed her calves around Sam's sides and started up the slope.

They stopped when they reached the summit. It was exactly how she remembered it, with the thick carpet of grass glowing green and gold in the dappling sunlight. Wide-spaced trees rested at their ease, with deeply green cushions of flowering bushes nestled around many of their trunks, the bright white flowers still in full bloom. Cela slid from Sam's back and slipped his bridle from his face; he snatched a quick mouthful of grass before sauntering over to the closest tree to scratch his face.

Walking towards where she remembered the ruins standing, she paused at one of the bushes. The blossom was nothing she had ever seen, growing in bunches, its seven narrow petals tapering to wrinkled, rounded points. The crisp white coloring softened to a creamy, speckled blue-violet in the shallow depths of its center, from which a brightly white style rose, as in a hibiscus. Its scent was warm and quietly sweet, and its blue-tinted leaves were thick and broad, with serrated edges, grouped in bunches of four at the end of their stems. She pinched both a full blossom and a withered one, its browned petals nearly all fallen away but with ripe seeds housed in its base, determined to check them against her mother's reference books for the species' name when she got home.

She stepped gingerly through the grass towards the ruins, wary this time of rocks lurking in the grass. Rounding a thick set of bushes, the door came into view, standing strong and serene, just as she remembered it. A bird had been startled from its rest atop the frame; it flew away, twittering nervously.

She edged around the rubble, her eyes fixed on the door. Her heart pounded in her chest, and she laughed nervously at herself. You would think I expected it to jump out and try to eat me! she teased herself, trying to bolster her courage. The door just stood at peace, and as she came to stand in front of it, she made herself put her back to it and face the view sprawled below. Her neck prickled despite her, as though she had turned her back on a predator who was preparing to pounce. No stale blast of wind caught her up, however, and when she turned back to it, the door still stood, closed, just as though it had never been opened, had never enclosed a barren world in its frame.

She stepped up to touch the ancient wood. It was grainy and rough, but hard beneath her fingers, and warmed by the sun. She let her fingers slide down to the catch, and hesitated; she sucked in a deep breath and flipped the old metal up, freeing the door.

 

Author's Note

The dialogue isn't great. Actually, the dialogue is probably horrible. It definately doesn't convey nearly what i want it to convey. but the rest... the rest i like.