Marigold gathered flowers near the river. The kingcups were her favorite kind of flower. It was the yellow she liked. Yellow was her color. She didn’t know if everyone with the name Marigold chose yellow as their favorite color, but from a young age, she’d felt as though she really had no choice in the matter. If your name was a yellow name, you had to like yellow. She couldn’t imagine someone with the name Rose picking green as her favorite color. Or someone with the name Violet preferring beige.

Yellow was easy to like. It reminded her of happy things. And springtime was nothing but yellow. Yellow sun, yellow flowers, and yellow cotton dresses. She liked to pick Cahaba lilies, daisies, and black-eyed Susans.

She’d found a place near the river where a big patch of kingcups grew by the dozen. And she became so excited when she found so many that she stayed for a few hours, just sitting in the tall grass, breathing them in.

People stopped by the railcar at all hours of the day and night to get her to touch them. Men, women, children, and even one man with a hunting dog with a broken back leg. She would touch them all, without discrimination. She would give each of them her complete sincerity. Some people walked away claiming they’d been healed. Others cussed her when it didn’t work and called her names. It all left her feeling drained.

Of course, she’d heard the names people called her. People called her the “magic lady” or the “seer.” Some people called her a “prophetess,” but this was ridiculous. The most often used name was the “harlot healer.” It was a cruel name. Especially since Marigold was only a handmaid to the girls behind Cowikee’s and had never entertained a single man in her life.

She walked through the woods, looking at the sky, trying to keep the smell of the flowers in her mind by holding them to her nose now and then. It was going to be a spring like no other. She could feel it. She could feel things stronger than she ever felt them before. It was almost as if something had heightened her senses. She couldn’t explain it. She could feel people’s moods before they hit. Sometimes she had this strange feeling she knew what people were thinking.

Then a feeling hit her.

The feeling hit her in the chest. It was a throbbing. Then a pulsing. Then a pounding in her face and temples. Her ears started to ring. Her head was swimming with excitement. She dropped the flowers and closed her eyes, touching her forehead. Sweat gathered on her neck, her stomach felt tight, and her legs ached. She was out of breath for no reason.

She bent to gather her flowers, but the ringing in her ears got stronger so that she couldn’t bear it.