The castle was overrun with lovely verdant vines: woven across the courtyard, creeping up the stone walls, spilling out of windows. Tendrils formed curlicues among the large triangular leaves.

Petunia led the way into the thickest patch, fascinated with their lush beauty. For some reason, she was overjoyed to see them, like they were a special present just for her. Her husband, Duke, followed her, careful not to crush any of the stems.

"They should be here soon, sweetie," Duke beamed, lifting up a leaf.

Petunia was about to ask who they were waiting for, but she saw that Duke had unveiled a tiny bud. Her smile widened. She glanced around and saw more buds, up and down the intersecting vines. As she focused on them, the buds shifted, and before her eyes they burgeoned into yellow blossoms which resembled stars.

Cucumber flowers, Petunia realized dreamily.

Almost at once the flowers began to grow and shift, and then they weren't flowers anymore, but little cylindrical green fruit. Large eyes and noses appeared, and mouths opened into wide smiles, each with a single white tooth visible. Diapers and baby clothes appeared on them, and they began to hop up, disconnecting from the vines.

"Mommy! Daddy!" the little cucumbers squealed happily, bounding toward Petunia and Duke.

Petunia's heart soared with delight. She bent over each one as they capered near, kissing and snuggling them in turn. Sighing, she turned to smile at Duke. Her husband was just as elated to scoop up their babies and hold them close. As Duke planted a kiss on a little girl with red pigtails, he noticed Petunia watching him, and his joyful smile grew tender, loving.

"Thank you, Petunia," he said. "Thank you for giving me these beautiful children."

Petunia enjoyed another happy sigh. "We gave them to each other, Duke."

As she tended to her babies, they began to grow, maturing into beautiful men and women with kind eyes and radiant smiles, much like their father's. When they were old enough, they began to leave the castle, going off to make their fortunes. Some became great knights and soldiers. Others went to the Royal University of Scone and became lawyers or doctors. Some went to the royal court where they became advisors or ambassadors. Still others found vegetables or fruits to marry, and they raised loving families.

Tears filled Petunia's eyes as she watched her children succeed, and she leaned against Duke, glad she had found such a wonderful man. She could not imagine anyone else being the father of her children.

"Is it possible to be happier than this, Duke?" she asked. "On this side of Heaven, can we be happier?"

"I think we are some of the happiest plants in existence, my lady," Duke said, pressing his head against her.

Petunia closed her eyes, drinking in her beloved's presence. The sunshine warmed them and lit the way for their children, still living happily no matter how far they traveled from home. The wind played with Petunia's hair, balmy at first, but the longer they stood among the cucumber vines, the cooler it seemed to grow. A cloud began to cover the sun. Petunia was about to suggest they return into the castle's keep to relax by the fire, but a familiar voice called out from a corner of the courtyard.

"Petunia..."

She whirled around, and she gasped at a figure standing in the shadows. He was a cucumber like Duke, but shorter and thinner, with a long nose and neck-length red hair. He wore the helmet and breastplate of a knight of Scone — but he was covered in pie. Globs of berries and broken crusts dripped out from beneath the pie plates over the once shining armor.

"Petunia," he repeated, mournful. "My princess, my love."

She hopped a step toward him, sadness suffocating all her prior happiness. "Ryan?"

His pitiful eyes regarded her with reproach. "My love, why have you forgotten me so quickly?"

"I - I didn't," she insisted, trying to hurry toward him, but the green vines strewn across the courtyard encumbered her. "You know I could never forget you."

Ryan bitterly turned away. "All you need is Duke, don't you? You gave him children, but you couldn't give your first love any. Do you love him more than me?"

His question pierced her heart.

"I love you both!" she cried, struggling to move through the plants, but the pretty tendrils began to curl around her slim stalk, making hopping difficult. The triangular leaves grew larger, pushing her back, away from her beloved.

Ryan seemed to grow smaller in the shadows, and the leaves began to block him from sight.

"I thought we had true love," his voice echoed toward her, becoming fainter with each second. "Why couldn't you love me the way you love Duke?"

"I love you both!" she repeated, still trying to reach her first husband, but the once happy cucumber vines only grew more aggressive, pushing her back toward Duke. "Ryan! Please, Ryan—!"

But before she could reach him, before she could cry to Duke to help her get to him, Petunia awoke.


It took her a few moments to realize where she was. Soft beams from the crescent moon showed stone walls with duck-themed tapestries, a canopy over the bed, and a painting of a chicken. Beside her, a thick, cylindrical form snored softly, occasionally mumbling a few words about a hairbrush.

Like a spark from a flint, Petunia's mind remembered. She had not fallen asleep in her chambers tonight but had stayed with Duke in his. That was not unusual. Although they had separate rooms, per the customs of the Sconian nobility, they had rarely slept alone since their marriage, except for that one time when Duke had caught a cold and had voluntarily quarantined himself, not wanting to hurt Petunia — or the baby.

Petunia raised her head slightly, gazing at the bump on her once smooth stalk. The little one shifted inside her with a kick. Perhaps her quickened heartbeat had woken the tiny cucumber. She carefully adjusted the fabric of her nightgown over her belly, using the white cloth to rub her skin in an effort to calm her child. The baby veggie gave another kick, then went still, lulled by Mommy.

Petunia pulled the covers up and started to smile, but her mind suddenly recalled the garden of cucumber children in her dream — and the unhappy man covered in pie.

Ice crept down Petunia's back. Ryan's betrayed eyes loomed in front of her, filled with pain and accusation. Her Ryan — sweet, gentle Ryan, who wanted to share his life with her, who wanted to start a family with her, who would have moved heaven and earth for her. Ryan, who died a war hero but without an heir, and now his widow carried another man's child.

She turned her head and sucked in a shaking breath.

"Petunia?"

She had not realized Duke's soft snoring had stilled. Her husband shifted closer to her.

"Are you awake?"

"Hmm."

She felt him push back a few strands of hair from her face.

"Did the little Marquess or Marchioness of Scone kick you too hard?" he asked.

"Just a silly dream," she said, turning her head away.

Duke shifted closer, rearranging the blankets over her. "Anything I can do? I'm a pretty good listener."

"It's nothing to worry about," she whispered. "Let's just go back to sleep."

"You sure?"

"Mmm-hmm." She shifted, trying to get comfortable while minding the baby.

Duke studied her, and his eyes slowly grew serious.

"You usually tell me everything," he pointed out, "unless it's about Ryan."

Petunia closed her eyes, grimacing.

Duke was quiet for a long moment. A breeze played through their open window, playing with duck-themed tapestries on the wall. At last he leaned over her and kissed her cheek.

"Whatever makes you comfortable, sweetie," he said.

Duke had always been patient and understanding when it came to her memories of Ryan. He and Ryan had been third cousins once removed, and they had played together as little boys. Duke never asked Petunia to divulge secrets which Ryan had shared with her, even though he had the medieval right as her husband to demand it, and he shared his own anecdotes about Ryan to make her smile. Even on their honeymoon, when Petunia had wept, Duke had held her close until she felt better.

For that reason, Petunia felt she ought to try — at least try — to tell him what was in her heart.

She rolled toward him, minding her belly, and gave the collar of his night shift a little tug. Duke obliged her by shifting as close as he could. He pulled the blanket over them both, forming almost a tent.

She pressed her forehead against him, drawing in a breath to calm herself, and she began to relate her dream. Duke listened in silence, nodding along. When she reached the part where Ryan stood in his pie-covered armor, Duke's intangible touch pulled her toward him in a gentle hug. When Petunia finished her account, he stroked her hair.

Quietly, Duke said, "You feel guilty because you didn't have kids together, right?"

"We were supposed to," Petunia said, and her voice broke slightly. "We wanted them. We had physicians look over both of us. Then he left for the pie war and never came back."

"This isn't something you can just will into existence," Duke assured her. "You've done nothing wrong, Petunia."

Petunia turned her face toward her pillow. "Then after I marry you, almost immediately we have a baby on the way."

"You can't help that."

"Couldn't I?" She squeezed her eyes shut.

Duke raised his head, hovering over her. "Petunia, you've done nothing wrong. Ryan's not up in Heaven blaming you. Don't blame yourself."

She drew in a shaky breath, swallowing against her tightening throat.

"Ryan's branch of the family tree has died out," she said softly. "How will anybody remember he existed in a hundred years?"

Ryan and his father had died fighting for the Kingdom of Scone, but would future generations still sing of their exploits, or would they be mere blurbs in a future war ballad, or completely forgotten? Would anyone remember that Ryan had the cutest smile, or that he liked watching sunsets with a bowl of cheese puffs beside him, or that he liked to imitate bird calls and had organized a few of his feathery friends into a barbershop quartet? Would anyone care?

It broke her heart to think they would not.

Duke stroked her hair, then raised himself up to a sitting position. Even in the dark, Petunia could see the kindness on his face.

"God knows the answer," he said. "Let's ask Him."

Petunia did, closing her eyes and sending up the silent question.

Duke, meanwhile, scooted down the bed until he could position his head gently against her enlarged abdomen. He pressed his lips against her belly and closed his eyes.

After a moment, he raised his head once more.

"What do you think of the name 'Marquess Ryan of Scone'?" He formed a smile. "You know, for a boy?"

Petunia stared at him. "Do you mean it, Duke?"

He nodded. "And 'Marchioness Ryana' works for a girl."

She raised herself up a little. "You'd name your first child after another man, instead of yourself?"

Duke's gaze grew tender.

"Ryan was my family too," he said. "He shouldn't be forgotten."

Petunia's eyes began to mist over. "Oh, Duke…"

He planted another kiss on her belly and playfully addressed the little one: "What do you think of that, Baby Ryan or Ryana? Someday when history books are written, everyone will know that you're not just the child of Duke Duke and Duchess Petunia, but that you were named for your cousin Ryan, who was Grandma Nona's son and who loved your mama very much."

Petunia smiled. "You think the baby will be in history books someday?"

"Of course!" Duke affirmed. "History books, ballads, silly songs, you name it! And whenever people read a Wikipedia article about the baby, it will say he was named for his mother's first husband, who died fighting valiantly for the Kingdom of Scone."

Petunia started to chuckle, but then she looked at him quizzically. "What's a Wikipedia article?"

"Don't know," Duke said cheerfully. He scooted back to lie down beside her, dropping with a soft plop.

Petunia snuggled up against him, every last trace of ice melting away. What had she done to deserve a man like Duke, who was willing to honor his predecessor by giving him a legacy posthumously?

Maybe Ryan would have been pleased with this.

THE END


The canon flip-flops between whether the veggies are born or grown. For example, in It's a Meaningful Life, there's a joke about Morty getting back to his roots, but in the same episode there is a snapshot in the photo album of Donna (Petunia) pregnant with twin cucumber babies.

The idea of Duke and Petunia naming their son in honor of Ryan is inspired by the part of Hebrew law that gave Boaz a right to redeem Ruth. Since Mahlon died without an heir, Boaz and Ruth's son, Obed, would have been raised in Mahlon's name, as according to Deut 25:5-10.