The Seedling

Short Story by Nancey B. Price

When Miss Carrie decided it was her time to go, she told Ethel’s grandbaby, Teena, to go get a magnolia seedling from the hatchery in town. Teena seemed to be the only child in all of Girard who wasn’t scared of her. The other kids thought she was a witch.

All because she lived by herself, wore her grandmother’s hand-me-downs, and walked wherever she damn well pleased—day or night. Carrie never tried to correct the kids’ assumptions though. To her, every child should have a healthy level of fear of the elderly. After all, when you’re that close to meeting God, the fear of Him should naturally rub off a little onto you.

She noticed early on that Teena didn’t mind her elusiveness. And the child’s curiosities were flattering and never teetered on the side of annoyance. In fact, she became pretty good company over the years. Especially in the summer months when the unbearable heat kept her shut up alone in the house with few visitors and closed curtains.

Of all the folks she’d come across in her 97 years of living, no one else showed real interest in being around her for being around’s sake like 12-year-old Teena. Even the adults who’d come and go really only dealt with her if they were seeking love from some aloof soul—or if they had a personal vendetta to settle.

So, without a doubt, she’d miss this kid the most.

Carrie knew it’d take Teena all day to return with the seedling, so she tasked her on Friday evening. That way, she’d get it on Saturday with a few hours to spare.

And she was right. ‘Cause soon as the sun descended halfway behind the trees, here come lil’ Teena bouncing across her front yard, kicking up dust with the tiny seedling nestled between her palms. 

Her cheeks were damp. From sweat or tears, it made no difference to Carrie for she never acknowledged the wetness on the child’s face. And Teena knew not to extend last night’s conversation to today, for it wouldn’t change where or when Miss Carrie was going. So they just went on like they normally did— slowly making their way to the shallow little hole in the middle of the old woman’s backyard. 

The magnolia seedling was planted without delay. Teena, with her stronger bones and joints, knelt to the ground to cover the base of the plant with fresh soil that Miss Carrie had dug up that morning. When she was done, Carrie watered the seedling with her mother’s old steel can. She made a point to splash the girl’s feet to lighten the heaviness in the air. It worked. And together, they cackled and prayed and gazed upon the baby tree that Carrie would never see mature.

In bidding the girl adieu, Miss Carrie gave Teena her final instructions: “Be sho’ tuh ‘av my sistuh, Ethel, call the folks tomar mornin’ tuh collect me.” To which Teena whispered, “Yes ma’am,” before crossing the yard to return to her grandmother’s home.

Upon the departure of her dearest guest, Miss Carrie slowly ascended her porch steps and entered her home one last time. She then slipped into bed with her grandmother’s clothes still adorning her feeble body. Eyes closed, she imagined herself standing under the cooling shade of a massive magnolia tree—the sweet smell of it’s full white flowers in bloom rushing through her nostrils. She then inhaled deeply, exhaled fully, and released herself.