At first glance, Edenmere appears to have leapt off the pages of one of Millie’s childhood storybooks. 

Adorable pastel-painted shoppes with quaint coffee cafes and bakeries nestled between them line the streets. Scents of cinnamon, spice, and even chocolate delight her nostrils as she strolls along the speckled cobblestoned walkway. Golden lampposts stand watch on every corner, twisted into whimsical shapes, no two alike. Bells tinkle their musical notes as shoppe doors open and close. 

Millie twirls about in wonder, taking in the town’s charms. 

And the townspeople—nothing short of delightful. They mill about, waving to one another, smiling at Millie, and spilling out of cafes, joyously laughing. My goodness, these townspeople seem happy. 

Then she notices them.

The flowers. 

They are everywhere. 

But not just in the usual places, such as tucked into pots decorating doorways and baskets prettying window sills, but in very unusual places, too. 

A young girl zips by on a cherry-red bicycle with a flower pot tucked in the front wicker basket, cheerfully calling, “Dig in your roots, Mabel, there’s a bump ahead.”  

A silver-haired lady rests on a bench, tenderly stroking the yellow, pink-tipped petals of a rose she holds planted in a china teacup. She’s softly singing a song and smiling as the rose seems to subtly sway back and forth to her melody. 

And then a very pretty woman wearing a fanciful purple hat sashays by with a Cattleya orchid peeking out of her purse. She fondly pats the flower, saying, “We’re going for a short stroll, Chester.”

Millie cannot help but smile. This town is simply enchanting. Each corner she turns seems to turn another page in the story of Edenmere, making Millie curiouser and curiouser. 

Drawing her eye next is a darling flower shoppe, cuddled up against a bakery. A wooden sign with shimmering gold letters, “Welcome to the Bee’s Knees,” hangs above the door. 

A few steps in, and she spots a couple squabbling, in what she’d describe as the orangey flower corner. She casually drifts toward a stand of nearby garden gloves to listen in.

The man, wearing a classic collared shirt and blue jacket, wobbles against his cane as he struggles to bend over. He presses his nose against a flower petal the colour of a perfectly ripe peach and inhales its scent. He turns his mottled, balding head to the woman beside him and smiles. “This one.” 

“Not that one,” the woman fusses. “Definitely not that one, Edwin!”

He straightens as much as his seasoned body will allow. “But, why, my dear Winifred? For it smells so sweet.” 

“Precisely the problem! Edwin, it’s too sweet. The honeybees will arrive in swarms to light upon you, and perhaps one will think to sting me as I press my nose to your soft petal.” She calls to a woman nearby, rearranging daffodils in a tub. “Sibby, tell this old fool.” 

The woman approaches with a knowing smile and gestures to a different orange flower. “May I suggest this one—the pom-pom variety of marigold. A lovely fragrance and look at that vibrant color. Why it suits you perfectly, Sir.” She nods to Winifred. “And the best part is the bees have no interest in it.”

Winifred clasps her hands in approval and answers for her husband. “He’ll take that one, please.” 

Millie is surprised to see Sibby return with a single seed dropped in an organza sachet, cinched with a tiny blue ribbon. She places it carefully into Edwin’s hand, as if it's a priceless treasure. 

After the couple leaves the store, Sibby turns to Millie with a smile. “He about waited too late. He's expected to pass any day now.”

“Oh, how sad!” Millie’s smile turns upside down. 

“It’s not sad, dear, just life, and he’ll bloom again after all.” She smooths the wrinkles in her green polka-dotted garden smock, then asks, “Now, how may I help you? Are you one who likes to plan ahead?”

Millie stands blinking, momentarily mute, while she thinks about what she’s just heard. 

“Dear?”

“Oh yes, sorry, I’d like this white rose, please.” 

Sibby shakes her head, but kindly responds, “I’m sorry, the flowers are display-only to aid my customers in their choosing. But would you like a seed?” 

Millie’s indeed perplexed. “Ummm, no thank you.” A seed? Why would anyone want a single seed? How odd, she wonders as she politely answers, “No, thank you,” and turns to make her way toward the exit. 

Once outside, Millie gazes at the flowers in the window boxes with a new sense of wonder. Without a doubt, far stranger things await her in this charming yet peculiar town. Edenmere is more than it first appeared, of that she is certain. 

Millie wanders onward toward a fountain she spies in the town center. She finds herself humming along to an unknown tune. Despite the oddities she’s witnessed, a peace has settled over her. 

She dips a finger in the cool sparkling water of the fountain, quite musical in its own way, with its water happily babbling. Off to the side stands a sign, or rather a map of the town. It features areas labeled with a flower and a name such as Hemlock Hill, Peony Patch, Daffodil Dell, and the like. Millie’s curiosity is further sparked, and she curls around the corner toward Hemlock Hill. 

The garden she reaches is quiet and empty except for a man on his knees before an empty patch of dirt. He digs a small hole and sprinkles what appears to be ashes from a mason jar. Then, he retrieves a single seed from a silken bag much like the one Millie saw Sibby hand to Edwin, and drops it atop the ashes. He rearranges the soil to cover it, then pats the ground. Catching sight of Millie, he winks at her and says, “From flesh to flower,” before he stands, brushes the dirt off his overalls, and walks away whistling a happy little tune.

Millie watches him until he is out of sight, then turns back to the garden of hemlocks. The flowers are gorgeous, yet… something else she cannot quite put her finger on.

She decides to turn another page in the town’s mysterious story, continuing to Peony Patch. Along the way, she draws near a man standing behind a flower cart filled with single red, white, and pink carnations peeking out of small jars. He lifts a red carnation toward her and calls out, “Need some company?”

Millie pauses. Is he referring to the flower? Or himself? She isn’t sure how to respond, so she simply waves and then swiftly moves along. 

Peony Patch welcomes her with bright shades of coral, yellow, pink, and purple. A blend of rose and jasmine with hints of citrus in the air brings a smile to her face. And the blooms sway as if dancing in the breeze. 

Millie draws a long breath, then exhales. “My goodness, what a beautiful garden!”

A woman crouching among the flowers straightens up and turns toward Millie. “Thank you, sweetie! Are you new in town?” 

“Yes, I arrived just a bit ago.” 

“I enjoy looking after the community gardens. We all do. Some folks come to Edenmere with no family left, so we give them extra love and attention. Although now they have one another, don’t they?” She smiles, then continues along the blooming path with her watering can painted with colorful hummingbirds. 

Millie wanders further, beginning to understand, yet not quite sure of what’s real and what’s not. She stumbles upon two women sitting on a stone bench. 

One throws up her hands in exasperation. “Clara stamped her foot, telling me, ‘I don’t want to bloom as a David Austin Juliet rose.’ 

The woman loudly sighs, then pulls a lace handkerchief from her skirt pocket and dabs at her brow.  

“So I asked her which flower she’d prefer, and she said, ‘I want to be the Black Magic rose, Mother.” 

The woman beside her wraps a comforting arm around her shoulder. “Now, Beatrice, don’t fret. She’s just a teenager. They're a fickle bunch. Today it’s a Black Magic rose, tomorrow a Night-blooming Cereus. But when the time comes, she’ll be begging to be a David Austin Juliet rose.” 

Beatrice huffs and puffs. “I certainly hope so. I will not have that hideous flower ruining our family garden!” 

Millie quietly moves past them and back onto the cobblestone path. Soon, a touching scene ahead stops her in her tracks. Just inside a white picket fence, a younger man wearing brown britches and a white linen shirt is kneeling beside a sunflower and cradling the flower. A tear rolls down his cheek. Millie blinks twice upon seeing the stem lean toward him and brush the open petals against his handsome face. He closes his eyes and says, “I love you, Serafine.” 

Millie feels something tingle and bloom inside her chest. 

Any doubts she may have had disappear. 

This town believes their dead return as flowers, and maybe, just maybe, they do.