Of Stars and Hibiscus
Cassandra Pfeifer
William sat next to Penelope while the newborn baby slept in his arms. The hibiscus blossoms danced as Penelope worked to transfer the plants from the ground to large pots. William thought about asking her why she was moving them from their home in the ground, but the baby shifted in his arms and he remembered.
Penelope was dead.
The flowers will follow her, he thought. He wished he took an interest in gardening before now.
William shook himself out of grief when he heard a small voice from the door. He looked at his eldest daughter, Eleanor, standing on the porch.
“Are you coming inside?”
William turned away from his memory of Penelope and entered the house.
“Everything went alright at the hospital?” his mother-in-law asked, scooping Abigail from his arms. William nodded and she continued. “We had dinner a bit ago, but I left the lasagna warming in the oven for you. Homework’s been done and—” her voice broke as she tried to carry on with pleasantries.
“Thank you. You’ve been a huge help,” William told her as he watched her snuggle Abigail and kiss her head.
“Let me know if you need more. I can come over anytime,” she replied as she gathered her things and said goodbye to Eleanor. “Be good for your daddy, now. Help out with Abby.”
The door shut, and the house fell silent. William didn’t know what to say. The absence of Penelope was screaming at him to react.
“Daddy?”
“Mm?” William replied as he gazed around the empty house.
“Can I have ice cream?”
William winced while he tried to remember Penelope’s rules about desserts. When he couldn’t recall, he relented, “Sure. Let me put the baby down first.”
He tried not to look at any of the photos on the wall as he made his way to the girls’ bedroom. He put Abigail in the crib and gazed at her peaceful face. He didn’t know how to feel about her. She was here. Penelope wasn’t. Penelope died giving Abigail life and now he was alone. He left the child to sleep.
* * *
William stared out the window while Eleanor quietly ate. He remembered himself and Penelope outside playing with the puppy they adopted when they moved into the house long ago. The pup started out a terror but grew to be a great dog with the effort of the two of them training her.
“You know,” he told Penelope as he threw the ball and their first pet ran to Penelope for a treat. “We could maybe do this with a kid.”
Penelope paused while petting the joyful canine. “I thought you never wanted kids?”
William looked at his dog and his wife and said, “Well. Yeah. That was before.”
“Before what?”
“Before that thing,” William said, smiling at the pair of them playing keep away with the precious ball.
Penelope smirked and threw the ball. “I think we could manage ourselves a little family.”
William remembered that smirk and wondered if she knew something he didn’t. If she knew raising a dog together would show him that he did want a family. He would never know for sure.
Abigail cried over the baby monitor.
“I’ll be right back, Ellie.”
“Eleanor.”
William went upstairs to check on the baby, trying to ignore the memory of Penelope calling their firstborn ‘Ellie.’
* * *
Abigail screamed through each night. Nothing William did quieted her wailing. He couldn’t remember things being this hard when Eleanor was a baby. He never remembered feeling so tired.
The endless screaming tortured the older inhabitants of the house. Eleanor pleaded with William to let her sleep in the living room.
“No, Abigail needs you.”
“She doesn’t need me. She just wants to be loud for no reason.”
William stared out the window at a loss for what to do.
“You see that constellation, Ellie?”
“Don’t call me Ellie.”
William closed his eyes. “Ok. But come here and tell me what you see.”
It was hard to concentrate over Abigail’s shrieks, but she got up despite the piercing cries.
“It looks like a W,” Eleanor replied, remembering Penelope helping her learn to write her letters. Her mother was so patient with her clumsy cursive.
“That’s right. The constellation is named Cassiopeia. She was once a beautiful queen who angered the god Poseidon.”
William told the story of Cassiopeia’s vanity and subsequent punishment while Eleanor’s eyes moved from the constellation to the ground below. She gazed at the shadows of the hibiscus and remembered Penelope tending to them while she did her homework on the porch. Penelope sang songs softly that she said helped her concentrate, and they ended up helping Eleanor concentrate, as well. Eleanor eventually learned the songs and hummed along quietly while Penelope sang. She never wanted Penelope to hear, though she often daydreamed that she would. She imagined Penelope telling her how beautiful her voice was even in such soft tones. She wished she had hummed a little louder.
“And that’s why she’s shaped like a ‘W’ in the sky. Because her throne has been turned upside down as punish—” William paused and looked over at the baby. “Hey, look,” he whispered, “She’s finally sleeping.”
Eleanor looked towards the crib and wondered why her ears continued ringing even though Abigail finally stopped crying. She kissed William good night and got in bed, thinking of the hibiscus below and how much she missed her mother.
* * *
William tried to note every detail of the first night in which Abigail slept soundly and tried to replicate it the next night. And the next. He pointed out a constellation to Eleanor and told her the story he knew about it and, like clockwork, when the story came to an end Abigail would be asleep.
As the girls grew older, the storytelling continued, and Abigail grew to depend on these tales. She struggled to sleep on the few nights that William was not home or forgot to share a story with them.
“Ellie, I can’t sleep,” Abigail told her sister one stormy night.
Eleanor stared at the ceiling, hating being called Ellie.
“Just try.”
“I can’t. The thunder scares me. I want Daddy.”
“Dad’s in bed. Just,” Eleanor swallowed her irritation, “Just pretend the thunder is your friend.”
Thunder rumbled in the distance and there was a brief pause in which Eleanor thought maybe her sister finally fell asleep. In the darkness, though, she caught Abigail’s small voice, “Shut up, friend.” Eleanor couldn’t help laughing.
“Oh my god, Abby. Just sleep!”
The girls giggled into the silence and spent a restless night with the storm instead of William’s stories.
* * *
William rarely missed a night of storytelling, though, and as his memory of constellation stories grew thin, he began making up his own out of remnants of stories he partially remembered. Each night, the girls took turns looking out the window. They picked something they saw, and William told a tale surrounding that item. Sometimes it was a shape they saw in the sky. Other times it was an animal or a shadow they saw on the ground.
“What’s that one?” Abigail asked, pointing at a random spot in the sky out her window despite already hearing a story about Ursa Minor and Ursa Major.
“Hmm,” William thought over the area of the sky Abigail was pointing at, “I believe that’s the Great Toad King.”
“Toad King? There’s no toad constellation,” Eleanor said skeptically.
“That’s because the Toad King is only known by the reptiles of Mill Creek. They have lived there for centuries and created their own stories for the constellations.”
“Animals make up stories, too?” Abigail asked.
“Of course. How else do you think they get through these long, meandering nights? The cicadas sing to the sky, and the frogs and toads croak to it. They all have their own stories that they share with each other through these songs. But it’s bedtime.”
“Tell us about the Great Toad King, please,” Abigail pleaded.
“Well,” William paused looking at the sky, “Alright, but this is the last one. You’ve already heard one story tonight.”
“Yes, promise, last one!” Abigail said excitedly.
“The Toad King was a very proud king and though he ruled his kingdom well, he was very easily threatened. He was sensitive to even the mildest of insults and would deliver swift punishment if he felt offended by the words of one of his subjects. Many of them met an untimely end because they failed to heed warnings not to insult the Great Toad King.
One day, though, a small garter snake told the Toad King that he was a terrible ruler. He told him he meant to take over the throne and put an end to his tyranny.
‘The age of the snake has arrived,’ he proclaimed. In response, the Toad King puffed himself up and made ready to launch a swift and violent attack on the garter snake’s head. But before the execution command could be ordered, the snake wrapped his tail round the Toad King’s neck and flung him into the sky. It was there he would have to watch the snake take his throne and begin his own royal line. The Toad King hated having to watch this happen, which is why to this very day his eye is red.”
“Like Betelgeuse!”
William nodded in agreement. “The stars that make up Orion tell many, many different stories.”
“Why do the stars tell so many stories?”
“They help us understand where we come from and how our world came to be. Without the stars, the universe would still be ruled by Chaos. One day I will tell you the tale of how Story ended the reign of Chaos and brought meaning and light to the universe but for now, girls, you must be off to sleep and dream of the stars dancing out their parts in the night sky.”
“One more?” Abigail asked, though she was tucked deep in her blankets and her eyes were slowly beginning to shut.
“Not tonight but don’t worry. Tonight, you will dream of the stars and they will help you sleep soundly. Good night, girls.”
* * *
Years passed and the stories continued. William grew more comfortable in his life as a widower. Eleanor helped with Abigail, bringing her to the library and playing games with her in the yard, and the stories brought them together each night. It finally seemed as though life could continue smoothly despite the persistent ache of Penelope’s absence. Her loss ceased to scream at them and, instead, coexisted peacefully around the new family unit.
This evolution made William all the more devastated when he visited the doctor. The exhaustion and weight loss were inconvenient but when Eleanor asked one morning, “Dad, what’s going on with your face? You look weird,” he gazed intently in the mirror. The yellow pallor looking back at him took him to the hospital. The doctor disappeared and the room went dark when he heard the words. Cancer. Ten to twelve months. One year for his girls to have their dad. One year of stories. One year.
* * *
The night of his diagnosis, Abigail jumped into bed and her eyes darted back and forth from the window to the door. Her heart fluttered with anticipation thinking about what they might see out the window and what tales Dad might tell. Eleanor walked in rubbing her eyes.
“Is he coming?”
“I don’t know. You should just go to bed.”
“I can’t sleep without a story. Dad?! Are you coming?”
“In a minute.”
William made his way upstairs, feeling the weight of every step as he thought about what story he would tell and how many more he had left. He didn’t want to burden Abigail with the knowledge that the stories would come to an end, but it was a shock to his already hurting system to hear how she depended on them each night.
“Is he coming? I think I hear him.”
“You should at least try to be sleepy.”
“No, I can’t. We have to look out the window and tell stories.”
William heard this and sighed, his heart a bittersweet tangle as he walked through the door.
Abigail shouted with glee when she saw him and ran to the window. “I think I see something moving over there.” She squinted into the darkness. “A dog!”
William peered out, as well. “That’s a fox. Come here, Eleanor.”
Eleanor crawled out of bed, gazed out the window, and made a sound in acknowledgment. She did not look at the fox for long. Instead, she moved her eyes to the hibiscus that she taught herself to care for. She looked at them and wondered about Penelope and William. What brought them together. Who Penelope was when he met her. What made her choose those flowers for the house over something else. Whether she taught herself to keep them alive with the same books Eleanor checked out from the library.
“He’s so cute!” Abigail’s excited voice lifted Eleanor out of her thoughts, and her gaze shifted back to the fox darting into the trees at the edge of the yard.
“Have I told you about the games Fox and Raven used to play?”
“No, tell us!” Abigail dove into bed while Eleanor slowly made her way back to her own bed.
“Well, Fox and Raven were great friends. Fox was studious and quiet, but Raven got him out of his shell from time to time to play games and make things. One day, Fox looked up from his book to find his friend Raven staring at him.
‘What is it this time?’ Fox asked.
‘I thought maybe you would want to play now,’ Raven replied, kicking a small skull in Fox’s direction.
Fox looked at the skull and sighed. Raven was a great companion, but he was very needy.
‘I’m still reading, Raven, isn’t there anyone else?’
‘Yeah but I prefer you. You always surprise me with where you throw it.’
Fox gazed at Raven’s hopeful face and set aside his book. The words could wait for now. Raven had waited for his companion long enough.
Raven let out a thrilled squawk when he saw Fox set down the book and flew into the air. Fox scooted up to the skull and lined it up with his back paws. He waited for Raven to grow impatient and distracted before he threw it. When he finally did, Raven laughed and soared to catch it. He managed it and threw it back towards Fox who hit the skull with his tail. The friends watched the skull soar into the sky and take shape in the stars. A weasel constellation formed in the heavens, where it would now stay.
‘Oh, lovely! That’s our best one yet. Let’s find another.’
‘Very well.’ Fox sat patiently and waited for Raven to find another skull to paint the sky with.
Fox and Raven would play this game for hours, populating the sky with various stars that creatures would tell stories about for all of time.”
“Are Fox and Raven the only creatures to make stars in the sky?”
“Oh no, there are many different versions of how the stars came to be, including the tale of how the stars helped Story defeat Chaos to bring order to the universe. I will tell you that story soon, and you will learn others as you move through life. But for now, you must go to sleep and dream of Fox and Raven. Sleep well, girls.”
William closed the door and paused to catch his breath. Weariness appeared in his eyes and he struggled to make his way to his bedroom where he, too, would sleep and dream of the night sky.
* * *
Abigail looked at her dad lying in bed and didn’t know how to feel. He looked small. Her eyes were wide, and her voice was quiet when she finally gathered the courage to ask for the thing she desperately wanted.
“Daddy, will you tell me a story?”
Eleanor sighed and was about to tell Abigail to stop when William caught her eye, silencing her attempt to protect her weak father.
“Of course, I’ll tell you a story.”
Abigail looked towards the window but didn’t feel up to moving away from her father. Instead, she asked, “Daddy, where will you go?”
William ached as he looked at his little girl. He thought about what he could tell her, and his thoughts went to the stars.
“The other night I had a wonderful dream about what comes next. Do you want to hear it?”
“Yes, please,” Abigail said, scooting closer.
“I dreamt I was in the sky. I wasn’t flying. I simply found myself there, so close to the stars and so far from the Earth below. It was quiet. The quiet scared me at first. I thought my ears would never stop screaming over the loss of sound. They were grief-stricken, pounding away in my head protesting the silence. Suddenly, though, the wailing stopped. And for the first time, I experienced true silence. I looked down, and I saw lights moving below on the Earth and thought about everything happening down there. Thought about you girls living your lives. Running late to school. Playing games in the yard. Eleanor working on her schoolwork and Abigail looking out the window at the stars, at me, asking Eleanor to join her.”
William looked towards Eleanor’s stifled sniff and held out his hand to her. She walked over and took it but would not look at him.
“But you need to remember, girls, every night, you will go to sleep. And you will dream of the stars. And when you dream of them now, you will be dreaming of me.”
William died in his sleep that night thinking about his girls and how they would manage without him. How Abigail would sleep.
* * *
Abigail stared out the window and tried to remember his voice. The look on his face as he thought over what story to tell. She stared at the sky trying not to blink, wondering where her Dad might be. He said he would be able to see her, but could she see him? She looked up and wished for a story.
“Ellie, I can’t sleep.”
Eleanor rolled over and stared at the ceiling, thinking over the events of the day. The dark clothes, the somber looks, the awkward hugs. She wanted to drift to sleep and forget he was gone.
“Just try, Abby. Just try. Count down from 100.” She heard Abigail shift her small body in the bed and quietly start counting backwards. Eleanor turned once more to the wall in hopes of falling asleep quickly.
“Ellie, I still can’t sleep. I want Daddy.”
Eleanor screwed up her face, trying not to let her sorrow escape. She also wanted her father. She wanted to pretend it didn’t exist. She wanted to sleep. But she could feel the presence of her sister’s tiny frame lying alone in the dark and she pushed herself out of bed.
“Ok. Maybe I can tell you a story.”
Abigail sat up and looked hopefully at her sister. “Do you know the one about Chaos and Story? Dad promised to tell us that but—”
Eleanor’s voice shook, “I never heard that one, either.” She looked out the window and stared down at the shadows of the hibiscus.
“Look down here. Do you see?”
“What, the flowers?”
Eleanor nodded, “Do you know what kind of flowers those are?”
“No.”
“They’re called hibiscus. Mom planted them. When I’d take you to the library, I would check out books on those flowers.”
“Why?”
“I wanted to learn how to take care of them after Mom died. I didn’t want them to die, too. Mom loved spending summer days with those flowers. Every year it seemed like she found new colors to plant. She loved how they brightened up the house.”
“I didn’t know that. Dad never talked about them.”
“Do you want to hear a story about Mom?”
“Yes, please.”
Abigail went to her bed and tucked in, waiting for her sister to share a story about Penelope and the hibiscus.
Cassandra Pfeifer
Cassandra Pfeifer is an Instructor of English at McCook Community College. She holds a PhD in English and Folklore from the University of Louisiana at Lafayette. She is originally from Northern Illinois and received her BA from Northern Illinois University and MA from the University of Essex. She has presented her work at various libraries and conferences, including the Aurora Public Library, Fox River Valley Public Library District, and the Modern Language Association’s annual conference.