Disclaimer: I own nothing, that honor belongs to Matt Miller.
Author's Note: I simply couldn't resist the image of Henry taking a walk with a flower pot, and this is the outcome. Hope you enjoy, comments always welcome.
On the Queen Mary's Sundeck
It was a clear sunlight day as the Queen Mary cut through the waves of the Atlantic Ocean. Onboard, a man joined the milling crowd on the sundeck. He was a veteran of this trip, having crossed these chilly waters many times on all types of ship. But he had always been alone on those voyages, not so of this one. In their cabin the woman he loved and their little boy, Abraham. He knew that Abigail was wary of moving to America, he remembered his own uncertainties about his earliest trans-Atlantic relocations. Moving an entire life, going so far from everything you know and into the unknown, it's a hard thing.
And that was the reason that one Henry Morgan strolled around the deck with a small pot that contained a budding hellebore, a handful of England. This unusual sight, a man taking a walk with a flower, attracted many a strange glance from fellow passengers. Even so there were not nearly as many as his first few visits to the deck. By now he had become a resident oddity. In fact the regular visitors even awaited his appearance; particularly the children who, brought out by their mothers or nannies, would surround him curious to see how much the little plant had grown. Such a crowd now encircled him.
"Can we see the flower, Mister?" One boy of about of about six, who was suspiciously dirty for being on a ship, asked trying at politeness. His request was immediately followed by a chorus of pleas. Happily relenting he knelt down so the little ones could see the colored bus. After a few minutes of expressions of awe and wonder, the throng began to disperse as guardians recollected their charges.
Only minutes later he was stopped by a quiet address from close behind him. "Young man." He turned to the voice to find an elderly woman, wearing a light shawl against the ocean breeze.
"Yes Madam? May I help you?" He asked.
"No, that's very kind of you." She paused and looked with interest at the potted hellebore. "May I?" She asked, indicating the plant. He nodded, and she gently lifted the bud to see it better. "It's lovely. A bit of England in the middle of the ocean. How comforting it must be, this little pot of home."
"I hope it will be. New York City's not exactly the Oxfordshire countryside."
"I'm sure she'll enjoy it." She assured, giving him a warm certain smile. "You've done very well with it. May your own English rose do as well in her new home." With that knowing wish of goodwill she left him and continued her strole.
When the wind began to grow stronger he retreated below deck; making sure to conceal the plant under his jacket, until he could return it to the trunk, before entering the cabin, from which came the sounds of Abigail playing with the laughing baby Abraham.