We Began in the Garden by Elizabeth Beck

Ruth and Grace passed their youth in unquestioning contentedness. As they came of age, each began to see boundaries only as a challenge to be met. With time, the sisters felt increasingly drawn to the domain beyond the black iron gates of their father’s estate.

From their view through the bars, the world on the other side looked much the same, except for a dirt road that outran their sight. They often longed to uproot themselves and find the road’s end. The twin girls would watch carriages fly past as they sat in the garden, busying themselves weaving daisy chains or pulling weeds. 

They guessed at the destinations of the fleet horses and would involve themselves in discussions that would last until called to supper. Father considered such talk frivolous and unpragmatic, akin to gossip. Instead, they were rather limited in topics at the dining table – what hobbies had occupied them that day, how the gourds were coming in, troublesome pests or perhaps the plot of one of the classics found in the library. Every so often, one of them ventured a question about their mother, whom neither remembered well.

Ruth would ask, “Do I have her eyes?”

Grace would ask, “Was her smile like mine?”

Their father, who could not very well tell them to dig up the garden and see for themselves, always answered, "Yes." with a smile.  Though he had truly forgotten by now.

They knew that Father only wanted what was best for them. He did not understand the hypnotic pull they felt as they poked their fingers through the gate. They tried not to chafe beneath their lace covers when he tucked them in, like toddlers who were afraid of the dark. Indeed, the night only brought stimulating thoughts and feelings. Sometimes they gave into their desires and snuck out when the candlelight in Father’s room finally dimmed. They would run through the dewy grounds, careless of telltale grass stains. They would defrock and take to the lake, letting the water push and pull as they tired their limbs swimming between sandy banks.

On one such night, when they left the house, they spotted a carriage stopped on the road.  A young man was inspecting a wheel.  The girls quickly hid for cover, but not before he had perceived their movement.  

"Hello?  Is anyone there?  I need some help," he called.

Soft titters came from behind the arborvitae, where the sisters clutched hands in fear and excitement, until the blood had fled their palms.

“Should we fetch Father?” 

“No, we will be punished.” 

“Surely, we can’t leave a traveler stranded. We must act as the Good Samaritan and not the Levite, yes?” 

“Yes. Oh, yes.” 

They emerged from the greenery, startling the man with their sudden silence and large eyes, dark and expectant.

"Girls, you alarmed me.  Is your Father home? Or a groom?” He looked about.  “Or perhaps one of you know how to repair a carriage wheel?" He said with a chuckle.

Grace and Ruth peered between the wrought iron flourishes. 

“Father is ill,” lied Ruth. 

Grace was the more hesitant. “Perhaps,” she started. “Perhaps you could find what you need in the old carriage house. Just there, by the twisting tree.” There was another long silence as the sisters realized they would have to open the gate to let the gentleman in.

Ruth pointed toward the south. “The wicket lies this way, flanked by two large lamps. We will meet you there.”

Though neither of the young women had ever dared to open it before, they knew the gate would not be locked. The edict of their sire had been enough to halt previous trespass. This night was electrically different. Their feet felt charged by the very earth, as they hurried to meet the stranger at the entrance.

The gate screamed upon opening.  The girls held their breath and looked back at the house, hoping not to see candlelight in the window of Father's room.  The house stayed dark. They beckoned the man forward and in.

His horses began fussing, stamping their feet and whickering. The traveler turned his attention to the frightened creatures.

“What is this corruption?” Shouted a tall shadow as it charged toward the gate. Father. Ruth grabbed Grace’s hand and they nodded in shared understanding. The time was now. The white bows in their long, black hair looked like two butterflies, lost in the darkness as the girls ran past the threshold and onto the road. The stranger stepped backward as their father howled. Not daring to stop and consider the consequences of their misdeed, Grace and Ruth continued their pace. They could only continue toward the unknown. Toward freedom.

Grace buckled first. She doubled over in pain, bringing Ruth to the muddy ground with her.

Ruth was able to help her sister off the road, safely behind a bush where they could catch their breath for a moment.  And just in time, as they heard a horse pass them on the road.  They looked from behind their sanctuary and saw their Father ride down the road at a furious pace.

He might have missed them entirely; had the girls not begun to groan and cry. He sought them out by sound and reached for them as in unison they shouted, “Father, help us!” 

But suddenly their gowns sagged. Their beautiful faces slumped into rotten shells and fertile dirt. 

The traveler shouted in disgust, as the gardener began burrowing through the fresh compost of his daughters. Thick, rich soil slicked down the front of his nightgown. He seemed to be gathering something in his palm. 

“There, there, sweetlings. Father is here now. I will set all aright.” 

The tall man struggled to his feet, tears running down his weathered face. He staggered over to the stranger and opened his clenched fist to reveal two small seeds.  “You see what you have done? They must be planted afresh in the grave soil. Long seasons must pass before they are again fruited. This is the third harvest! The THIRD! How many more must I endure?” The carriage owner was so transfixed that he did not notice the cold steel pressed against his belly until the gardener shoved the barrel into him.

He held up his hands. “I did not know! I do not know! You can keep the horses; keep the carriage and I will leave this place. I will say nothing and swear I lost all in the night.”

The old man shook his head. “The girls need years to grow. It is obvious to me now that I cannot manage them on my own.” He gestured towards the garden with the pistol. “They will need a caretaker.”