My garden grows gold—that’s what Nanny always tells me. She takes me out early in the morning and points to the edge of the sky where lemons swing on branches. The soil is rich here, she says. It makes things grow faster. Softer. Better.
I think she’s right. When I walk its paths before breakfast, the dirt is warm and dark. Mr. Gardener is already out with his tools. I wave to him—sometimes—but usually he's already smoothing garden beds and scrubbing red off his shovel.
“Mind yourself,” Nanny says whenever I interrupt him. “He is busy with important work.”
I don’t mind looking the other way, out past the shiny gates and rolling hills where the other houses live—the ones that share tiny walls and tinier yards. They’re smaller than mine, and I don't see gold in front of them. There are better things to look at, but I’ve never been down there.
Things up here get old. The soil. Trees. Nanny. Gold. Things in the dirt.
Once, while I was walking, I saw something—a blob of flesh stuffed in a flower bed like a little treasure waiting to be found. I like treasure, so I knelt for it, putting my knees in the wet dirt and letting it stain my white dress. Some of the lace tore, but I reached for the lump.
Fingers, I thought before Nanny grabbed my shoulder and pulled me away.
“Out of the dirt,” she said, brushing the brown off my skirt. “Be a good girl, won’t you?”
“I’m sorry, ma’am,” I said, but she was already lifting me up and inside.
“We have to change now.”
Nanny doesn't like me looking too hard like that so, most of the time, I don’t. One day, I went to the garden after dinner and stayed on the path. I kept my dress out of the dirt, my hands by my side, and my eyes from the fence.
It wasn’t sunny, but Nanny had given me my parasol anyway. It twirled with my wrist, and I hummed a tune I remembered from the piano lady in the music room.
Then, I saw him, and my song paused.
The man crouched low between the trees, his eyes hungry and his skin so tight that it sharpened everything beneath it. It was my first time seeing bones, and I took a long look at his scabbed knees and the rags flapping over his body.
A flash of gold caught my eye: a shiny lemon that he shuffled to his pale lips. Juice dribbled down his chin as he sunk his teeth in, ripping it open rind-first—one bite, then a gasp, a tear—and repeat.
“Nanny says they’re bitter raw,” I said, and his eyes snapped up.
I felt him soak me in, the same way I had him. First, my dress and then my parasol.
The lemon fell, rolling into the grass as his fingers trembled to his lips. For a moment, I thought he might move, but he stayed there, only shushing me. That’s when I remembered what Nanny always told me.
“If you see something wrong, tell me.”
“Nanny!” I called over my shoulder.
At the end of the trail, I saw her immediately. She smoothed her dress—a blue gown that used to be bright—and set off towards me. A gasp tore from the man’s throat when he too spotted her and he dove again for the lemon, tearing away at the last pieces of it. Bitter juice squirted out onto him as he ravaged it. Then, Nanny reached me.
“Back,” she said, and pulled me behind her.
A moment later, Mr. Gardener came from the other direction with his shovel slung over his shoulder. The metal blade glinted in the light as Nanny scooped me up against her, lifting me away.
But I looked back, even as she carried me to the house, and saw Mr. Gardener reach the man and swing. For a second, they both looked the same pale under the evening sun. Then, one looked red.
Fertilizer, I thought as a scream rang out. The soil is rich here.
Inside, servants cleaned me and changed me into something soft and new. This gown was as velvety as my old one—which they quickly threw out—and made a nice dessert outfit when they sat me at the table.
“Good girl,” Nanny told me as she set a cake on my lacy placemat. “When you see something wrong, tell me.”
“Yes, ma’am,” I nodded and reached for a bite.
My spoon slid into the treat, and yellow, fruity icing trickled out of the center. I raised it to my lips and sank my teeth deep in the citrusy treat, wondering only for a moment if this was the gold that the man had wanted.
