Juliet's Flowers
I wake up and quietly slip out of bed, careful not to wake Nurse. If she wakens she will try to send me back to bed, or worse, try and make me get ready for the day. I have no wish to disturb the peace of the morning, and besides that, I have a morning ritual I prefer to observe alone and in silence. My bare feet sink into the thick carpet as I pad over to the door of the balcony where Romeo and I first spoke of love and open it to step onto the cold marble. The air is still damp and chilly with the night's passing and feels lovely on my skin. I am about to lean against the railing to watch the sun rise, the way I try to start every day, when I discover a small bouquet of flowers.
The flowers are tied together with a piece of white ribbon and dew still adorns the small, rounded red petals. I don't recognize them, for we have none growing the gardens, and I resolve to ask Nurse later. In the meantime I toss out the flowers already in the vase on my nightstand and replace them with the mysterious bouquet. Then I return to my balcony and watch the sun rise, wondering what this day will bring.
That evening Nurse asks me why the lovely red roses that Paris sent have been replaced with gloxinia. I relate to her the story of finding the flowers, being careful to omit that I had been up so early. To my surprise, a knowing smile crosses her face. "That young lad Romeo, not being able to court you in person, is courting you with flowers. Gloxinia is known to the common peoples as meaning love at first sight. I think that he has his eye on you as a bride, but you had best be careful not to let your parents get wind of it."
I take her words to heart. Much as I may love my mother and father, they would not understand what is between Romeo and me. It's been so long since they themselves have been in love. I try my hardest to act normally, but every time I think of the flowers, I am sure that I grin like a fool. Mother may suspect something, but she doesn't say anything, and dinner holds no surprises. I go to bed still glowing, because he loves me, he loves me, and the world is beautiful.
The next morning I awake happy. At first I think that it is just the lingering of a wonderful dream, but then memories of yesterday morning seep back into my mind. I instantly sit bolt upright and toss off the covers, then freeze and listen to make sure that I have woken no one with my exuberance. Assured that I am the only one up, I slip out of bed and hurry as quietly as I can to the balcony. Sure enough, another bundle of flowers awaits me. I pick them up, clasp them to my chest, and spin joyfully. Once again I have no idea what they are, but I am sure they are more professions of love.
"Primrose and arbutus", Nurse pronounces when I show them to her. "He must be positively enamored of you, child. Primroses mean that he can't live without you and arbutus means that you are his only love." My spirits, already high from the simple finding of the bouquet, soar even higher at knowing their meaning. I half-waltz through the day, my thoughts a daze of joy. Nothing can sadden me, not even the fact that Paris has once again visited my father and asked for my hand.
Every morning for the rest of the week I rush out onto the balcony, eager to find what Romeo left me that night, though I see him neither come nor go. Wednesday it's camellias, with pink to say that he longs for me and red to say that I am a flame in his heart. Thursday I find Azaleas, asking that I take care of myself for him, and for the first time I leave something in return, a single carnation to tell him yes. Friday morning I find that he has given me carnations in return, pink to say he will never forget me, white for pure love, and a striped one in the middle to reassure me that he wishes he could be with me. Then Friday afternoon, he murders my cousin.
For hours I alternately rant, rage, and sob inconsolably. I tear up all the flowers, and their pitiful limp petals adorn all the surfaces of my room, my pain splattered over the walls and furniture. That night, I cry myself to sleep. When I wake up in the morning my head hurts and my throat is raw from crying. I miserably walk to the balcony, and take no pains to be silent. I don't care who hears me now.
When I find the bouquet in the same spot as always, I am tempted to throw it as far as I can. Instead I take it inside and show it to Nurse as always, to see what wisdom she will impart. She tells me that the purple hyacinths express his sorrow and beg me for forgiveness, and the pink rose asks me to believe him. I claim to have monthly pains, and spend the rest of the day in bed, my heart and loyalties torn to shreds. Finally I leave him another flower: a white tulip for forgiveness.
I sleep fitfully that night and I am half awake when Nurse tells me, eyes wide, the meaning of the bouquet, which was bound together with a ring. 'Elope with me' implores the spider flower. 'Let's take a chance' encourages the white violet. The last flower, white heather, promises to make all my wishes come true. I can almost see the two paths I could walk now, the two completely different lives I could live. I think deeply on my answer, and at midday I send Nurse with a message to Romeo. We are wedded that night.
***After Juliet's Death***
Beloved Nurse tiptoes into my last resting place, seeming almost fearful of waking us, the three eternal sleepers who here lie together, Romeo, Paris, and I. She stands beside my lifeless body and whispers a prayer for my soul. Then, ever so tenderly, she places a poppy, a yellow zinnia, and a tea rose. Eternal sleep, daily remembrance, and I'll always remember. Silently I thank her for reading me the flowers, even if it wasn't what she wanted to tell me. My whisper of goodbye lightly ruffles the petals, and then all is still.