The Language of Lilies

In a large house in North Carolina, the sun peeked in through the curtains and onto the pale face of Elizabeth Best. She rolled over in bed, facing away from the window and sighed. Today she would have her first day at Sterling and Burns, the law firm on 26th street. She was nervous, of course, but mostly in fear of disappointing her father, who had helped her acquire such a position as secretary to Johnathon Sterling. Her mother wasn’t happy with the job—no. She believed Elizabeth should find a husband immediately and have children before she grew old and undesirable, not be “galavanting around, distracting men in their place of work.”

Elizabeth looked at the clock on her wall. She had two hours to get ready, make breakfast, tend to her brother, and buy some groceries. It was her normal morning routine—only now she had work to get to as well.

She rolled out of bed and took off her nightgown, folding it carefully before placing it on her pillow. She walked to her bathroom and was shocked by how cold the tiles were beneath her feet. She had left the window open overnight and didn’t have time to let the water heat up, so she braced herself before getting into the shower and turning on the tap. The cold water made her skin feel alive as she scrubbed at her arms with a sponge. She tried to get used to it, but just as the water started to feel warm against her skin, she was ready to get out. 

She dried herself off and began to get dressed: underwear, nude stockings, a white blouse, long skirt, and small heeled boots. She looked the part—she was sure of it. Her hair, however, was a mess of curls that never cooperated, so with two hair ties she pushed her hair away from her face and tied it in a very large bun at the back of her head.

She was ready to start the day.

Downstairs in the kitchen, Elizabeth took the kettle off the stove, poured herself a mug of hot water and lemon, removed two bowls from the cupboard, and filled them with shredded wheat, a drizzle of honey and some raisins before adding the milk to one of the bowls. She sat at the table with her breakfast and hurriedly shovelled mouthfuls of sugary cereal into her mouth. When she was done, she placed her bowl and spoon into the sink, set the other bowl and a jug of milk onto a tray, and made her way back upstairs, tray in hand.

Her brother’s room was large—much larger than a boy of seven would need, and yet it was full, covered with ships and dragons and books about knights and pirates. It was strange not to see her brother awake at the crack of dawn, sitting on the floor with his clockwork train set. No, he was in bed—awake and shivering. He’d been like this for three weeks. At first, they just thought it was a common cold. But then a fever developed, and he got worse and worse until all he did was eat and sleep and vomit and cry.

She hated seeing him like this—no light in his eyes, the feeling of adventure no longer running through his veins. Just a sad, sick boy.

The doctors did not give them hope; he would surely die from malaria, as no treatments seemed to work. It was only a matter of time, and that scared Elizabeth, especially now that she would be spending most of her hours making cups of coffee for Mr Sterling.

She sat next to her brother on his bed, with the tray on her lap. “Are you strong enough to feed yourself, or do you need a hand?” she said, wiggling the spoon.

He sat up slightly. “I can do it today. But… can you read me a story?”

“Oh of course. Now, what are you in the mood for? Talking animals—” she held up Winnie the Pooh, “or talking animals?” she smiled, holding up Doctor Dolittle.

“I don’t like them anymore. I want to know what Pan and Wendy have been up to.”

“Ah, The Boy Who Never Grew Up, it is then.”

Elizabeth knelt down to search her brother’s bookcase. There it was, sitting on the bottom shelf next to Just William. He slowly ate as she read. “All children, except one, grow up. They soon know that they will grow up, and the way Wendy knew was this…” 

The market was a fourteen-minute walk away from home, and Elizabeth often popped into Bloom and Grow, the flower shop, after picking up the groceries. She stood there staring at the orchids with a bag in each hand. They contained some more shredded wheat, bread and butter, coffee, tomatoes, fillet of flounder, and marmalade pudding. The Orchids were too expensive for her taste, so she picked up a basket of lilies and put them on the counter. 

Peter was working today, and he always gave her a discount. Her mother said it was because he wanted to court her, and Elizabeth always told her he did the same thing for all the girls—but she knew it was only her he was asking out on a weekly basis. It wasn’t that she wasn’t interested; in fact, Peter was the whole reason she went to Bloom and Grow and not one of the other, cheaper flower stores or stalls. But Elizabeth was far too busy to take a lover, and certainly far too busy to fall in love.

“Beth, just the lilies for you today?” Peter asked.

“Just that, please Pete.”

“That will be 59 cents for you, pudding.”

“Oh, you do treat me.” Elizabeth shifted her shopping bags to one arm and picked up the bouquet of flowers.

“Beth, you wanna go dancing tonight? I’ll show you the time of your life.” 

“Maybe next time, I’m looking after my brother this evening.”

“You know, if you don’t take me up on my offer soon, I’m going to start to think you’re just not interested in this humble shopkeeper.”

Elizabeth smiled at the man and turned away. “Humble indeed,” she said, before leaving the shop. Elizabeth walked home with her groceries and the lilies, the crisp winter air biting at her cheeks. As she approached her house, she noticed a small envelope tucked between the flowers. Curious, she set the bags down on the porch and opened it. Inside was a simple card with a handwritten note:

“Beth,

I know you’re busy, but I couldn’t let Valentine’s Day pass without telling you how much I admire your strength. You’re always caring for others – your brother, your family, even your neighbours. But don’t forget to take care of yourself, too. If you ever need a break, I’m here.

Yours,

Peter”

Elizabeth felt a warmth spread through her chest, despite the cold. She hadn’t even realized it was Valentine’s Day. Between her brother’s illness and preparing for her new job, the day had completely slipped her mind. She glanced at the lilies, their delicate petals shifting slightly in the breeze.

Inside, she set the groceries on the kitchen table and placed the lilies in a vase. She took the card upstairs and tucked it into the corner of her mirror, where she could see it every morning. For a moment, she allowed herself to imagine what it might be like to accept Peter’s offer—to go dancing, to laugh, to feel something other than worry and exhaustion.

But then she heard her brother’s faint cough from down the hall, and the moment passed. She straightened her shoulders and walked to his room, where he lay propped up on his pillows, his eyes half-closed. 

“Beth?” he whispered. “Did you get the flowers?”

“I did,” she said, sitting on the edge of his bed. “They’re beautiful. Just like you.”

He smiled weakly, and Elizabeth felt a lump rise in her throat. She reached for the book on his nightstand—Peter Pan, and opened it to where they’d left off. As she read, her voice steady and soft, she couldn’t help but think of the words of a different Peter. 

“Beth,” her brother murmured, “do you think Peter Pan would like Peter the shopkeeper?” She laughed softly, brushing a curl from his forehead.

“I think,” she said, “they’d both be too busy trying to impress Wendy to notice each other.”