Dolores Gillpin was married for 10 years. Dolores rarely got angry, but when she did, her rage could be described as the resurrected fury of a Scottish ghost. Her betrothed, William, was a reserved man. Even in the early years of their marriage, he would rarely display bouts of passion. She found this lack of physical love annoying, but she put up with it.
Dolores, out of boredom and wanting of child, would take long walks in the countryside. One bright sunny day she saw William picking a bouquet of wildflowers. Blushing and touched by the gesture, she hoped it might lead to an afternoon of lovemaking. When she arrived back at the cottage, she prepared for the anticipated romp. William returned to the cabin, several hours later, exhausted and sauntered off to bed.
Two weeks later, Dolores watched William picking another bouquet, she noticed he was cheery disposition and spring in his step. Staying concealed in the hedges, she followed him two kilometers away to a widow’s cottage.
Margaret answered the door, accepted the flowers, and passionately wrapped her arms around his neck and kissing him.
Dolores was shattered. Sitting on a rock, as her heart broke, she tried to think what she was going to do. The more she thought the angrier she became.
Returning from the Glenn, Dolores called her childhood friend Molly Giggins, who still lived in Scotland.
“Hello” a mild high-pitched voice came over the receiver.
“Molly this is Dolores in America.”
“What’s wrong?” Molly asked.
“I needed to hear the sound of a friend’s voice.”
“Is William well?”
“Indeed, he and his mistress are just fine.”
“A scoundrel!”
“Aye, I caught him today.”
“How can I help?”
“Remember when we were young girls and we used to read the poetry of David Mallet.”
“Yes, I do. I remember you were always fond of ‘William and Margaret.’”
“Aye, I must admit missing Corncokle the most.”
“Do you have a garden?”
“Aye, I do.”
“Right now nothing will set you straight faster than a reminder of your home. I’ll pop a package in the mail; it should be their within a week.”
“Your friendship is appreciated.”
“It’s the least I can do for my sister.”
A week later a small parcel was delivered to her door. She opened it and found a bag of dark seeds and a pair of rubber gloves. She mixed the seeds with a large bag of bird seed and poured them in the bird feeder. Within a month, springtime had arrived. A new flower that no one had ever seen began to bloom in the grassy fields around the house. A glorious, pink flower sprang from the plant.
It wasn’t long before William noticed the beautiful blossoms growing along the path to his mistress’s door. William plucked a large bouquet and presented them to his love. That night, William did not return home. On the second day missing, she reported his absence to the Sherriff. Four days later, the postman reported a foul smell coming from Margret’s cottage. The Sherriff found the two of them laying in each other’s arms. They believed that it was a suicide pact between two lovers. No one noticed the bouquet of Corncockle in a vase next to the bed. As sure as the grimly ghost came from the east of Scotland, the birds ate the birdseed, and deposited them in the fields to bloom in spring.
Dolores smiled. Agrostemma Githago was the most poisonous wildflower in Scotland. Contact with the stems, leaves or flowers would lead to emminent death.
Thanks to Emorsgate Seeds for the picture of the Corncockle.
Great blogs to enjoy today!
|
219.
|
220.
|
|
223.
|
224.
|
|
230.
|
|
|
233.
|
|
|
235.
|
236.
|
|
239.
|
240.
|
|
243.
|
|
|
245.
|
|
|
247.
|
|
|
249.
|
|
|
253.
|
|
|
255.
|
|
|
257.
|
|
|
259.
|
260.
|
|
261.
|
262.
|
|
265.
|
266.
|
|
268.
|
|
|
269.
|
penned in moon dust 