The FLOWER GIRL BY Karen Cogan
Camilla stared at yet another lump of freshly turned earth. Flowers would have looked
nice there. They were innocent and cheerful, the sort of things that should be planted at the garden center. Camilla loved flowers and she loved Mrs. Martin, who had hired her through a program that helped mentally handicapped people find jobs.
Yet, there were no flower bulbs under this rich Alabama loam. Something disquieting lay beneath this plot that lay behind the concrete loading zone. Camilla had noticed freshly spaded soil several weeks ago. Upon excavating, she found a hand beneath the soil. Feeling sure it didn’t belong there, she kept digging. When she uncovered the shoulders and head, she understood the stranger must be deceased. She decided not to tell Mrs. Martin, what she had discovered, for she felt sure it would upset her. That seemed a poor way to thank someone, who had had been kind enough to hire her. She covered the dead man carefully and left him in peace, as one should do for the departed.
She didn’t dig beneath the new protrusion of dirt. She didn’t want to see another face.
She didn’t like the dead faces. They were too still, too cold.
Fortunately, Camilla was the only one who ever went to the back lot to fetch trees and large shrubs. Consequently, she was the only one who saw the disturbed earth.
She thought now, if she were smarter, she might be able to figure out why two bodies lay buried. Not having this gift, she doubted she would ever know. So, she shook her head and set about watering.
Mrs. Martin called to her. “Camilla, could you bring the small Magnolias? I’ve got a spot where I want to set them out.”
“Sure." Forgetting the burial plot, she wheeled the shiny metal cart to the trees and set them onto the flatbed. When she got all six trees to the front of the store, she lifted them out and displayed them under Mrs. Martin direction. The short, thin woman had the nervous manner of a hummingbird. Her shirtwaist dresses and short curly hair made her a throwback to the fifties.
When the job was finished, Camilla dusted her hands on her dirty jeans and gazed at her employer. “Thanks for hiring me, Mrs. Martin.”
“You’re welcome Camilla. You don’t have to keep thanking me. You’re a hard worker.
We’re glad to have you.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Martin.”
Mrs. Martin sighed. “I just got in an order of bulbs. Open the boxes and set the packages up for display.”
Camilla knelt on the floor and opened the boxes. Inside, were packages of tulips, lacy daffodils, and gladiolas. Camilla loved flowers. Every now and then, Mrs. Martin would give her
damaged flowers to take home. Camilla nursed them back to health and planted them in her garden.
She had a very pretty garden in the yard of the house she’d shared with Mama. She wished Mama was alive to see it. Mama had loved flowers, too. Fortunately, there were no bodies buried in the flowerbeds at home. Camilla surely would have noticed them.
She pushed the disquieting images from her mind. There was nothing she could do for the dead men and shouldn’t be staring into space when she had work to do. She began sorting the bulbs onto the metal rack, setting apart a package of Pink Cloud daffodils and re-blooming iris to buy for herself.
She had a small sum left over from her last paycheck. Even though Mrs. Martin gave her a discount, she always spent a hefty portion of it on flowers. Not that it mattered. She lived alone and had few expenses.
She was happy with what little cash she put away in her secret hiding place in a box under the bed. Sometimes when she found unexpected cash around the house, she figured Mama came from the grave to leave it. Mama had always been good to her.
A customer glanced through the bulbs. When Camilla looked up, he smiled at her. He had a tanned face like the cowboys on television. She stood to assist him, to find she was a head shorter. She dusted off her hands and smiled at him.