A Rare Find
Daisy sighed, parted her eyelids, and paused to listen.
The house was stillso quiet, in fact, that she could hear the ticking of the grandfather clock downstairs, all the way from the kitchen.
Rover, her grandfathers collie, let out impatient whines and pawed at her pyjama sleeve, restless, shifting his feet and every now and then shoving his wet, rough tongue at Daisys face, darting to the door in eager fits, tail thumping against the wood, then circling back to her bed.
Daisy stubbornly rolled over.
No, today she absolutely wouldnt go out for a walk. Shed promised herself a good sleep-in! She was determined to squeeze every extra minute out of this heavy drowsiness before it slipped away!
Daisy! Petal, are you up? No? Come along then! came Granddads voice, muffled by the closed door.
Oh, honestly! Shed warned them not to wake her, and yet here they wereGranddad and Roverrefusing to give her a moments peace. Last night, just before bed, theyd dragged her out to see the glow worms in the wild meadowthose little creatures drifting above the grass. Rover, Granddad Fredericks collie, had whined softly and tilted his head with curiosity at the spectacle.
He understands, you knowhe really does! Granddad Frederick explained proudly. Daisy, do you hear him?
Hmm? Im endless yawning here, Granddad, my jaws aching! Daisy had muttered, leaning on Fredericks shoulder.
Hear how the evening sneaks in? On gentle paws, as if its pads are all velvet he mused.
Oh Granddad, shed grinned. Shed always called him Freddy since she was little. I can hear my joints creaking more than anything! Fine, Ill come along.
Frederick had nodded. His granddaughter had clearly needed a break from the city when she arrived looking so pale and thin. But hed look after herhed have his Daisy right as rain again in no time.
That morning, Daisy glanced with one eye at her clockthe electronic sort that informed her shed not taken a single step all day, that her sleep had been splendid, and that she could expect rain today.
Granddad! Its only six! Im going back to sleep! she called at the door, brushing Rover away and tucking herself under the blanket.
The dog sighed, Frederick, opening the door a little wider, called Rover over with a whistle. The collie obediently trotted off after him. Theyd manage without Daisy today, but come tomorrow
Once Daisy had finally woken, stretched, and pulled faces at herself in Grannys old mirrorits glass a touch cloudy but the golden frame as ornate and beautiful as evershe heard her grandfather.
Daisy! I can hear you marching about. Come on and have breakfast! Itll get cold! So down she went; the old wooden stairs groaned as her grandfather bustled up, only to avert his eyes in embarrassment as she changed.
Frederick still wasnt altogether used to her being grown up now, shuffling and coughing awkwardly.
All right, all right, Im coming! Rover, give back my sock! Granddad, tell himcheeky thing! But the dog was already bounding away, sock clamped in his teeth, giving a triumphant yip, only to drop it and leap after a stray butterfly that had found its way into the kitchen, his tail battering the chairs.
Now then, enough! Out you gowhat are you peering through the window for? Frederick laughed, opening it wide so the butterfly fluttered around, danced against the ceiling, perched briefly on the chandelier, then darted out into the air, heavy with the scent of fresh grass, meadowsweet, and a whiff of pine sap.
Rover grumbled with disappointment.
Oh hush. Youre not a puppy any more, stop behaving like one, chided Frederick. Then, thick fingers struggling with the spatula, he flipped the crepe.
It sizzled delightfully on the pan.
Granddad loved to fry pancakesyes, fry, and he always argued with anyone who insisted you were supposed to bake themin a good puddle of butter.
Granddad, your cholesterol Daisy protested.
You cant spoil a proper English breakfast with a bit of butter. And I notice youre scoffing them down yourselfdont question the chef, else the chefll retire and no one wants that! he huffed, adjusting his chequered apron with a cat on the front.
That apron, along with two matching oven mitts, had been a present from Daisy when she visited York with the orchestra, and then she and her friend, the violinist Susan, slipped away from the hotel to roam about the citypeople-watching, admiring the old houses, stopping for coffee. In a tucked-away crafts shop Daisy had fallen for the handmade bitsbags, purses, linens, tea towels, woolly mittens with little foxes. Shed paused by that apron, certain Granny would love it.
There are oven mitts to match! the shopkeeper had nodded enthusiastically. Would you like those too?
Of course! And Ill take these mittens as well! Daisy said, already reaching for her purse.
Honestly, Daisy, its so old-fashioned! Susan had hissed. Why not pop into the shopping centre? Who even wears these at home?
You dont understand home comfort, Susan. Its not about fashion, its about warmth and cosiness. And mittens make a house feel loved. Each is uniquemade for just one person! Isnt it brilliant?
Daisy sighed at the memory as the shopkeeper pulled a soft, lavender knitted shawl from a pile. Take this tooits beautiful. I can tell you appreciate these things, she added proudly.
Susan would never have approved; handcrafts were for gifts to tourists, or decorating a themed room, never for wearing. But Daisy saw it another wayhomemade treasures held the warmth of the hands that made them. Her Granny always said as much.
And who actually makes all these? Daisy had asked, as she paid.
My daughter, Maryshe trained in applied arts, but my grandsons poorly so shes at home looking after him. I sell what she makes; friends let us use the shop while theyre off doing other things.
That must be hard, Daisy had sympathised.
Her Granny, before retiring, also worked with children with disabilities, teaching mothers massage and how to care for their little ones, always helping, always finding the right person if she couldnt do something herself.
You could get a sitter, put him in nurseryyour daughter could go back to work. Shell go mad shut up at home! Susan butted in. Where are the proper shopping centres here?
Well manage as we see fit, the shopkeeper cut in, sharply, and headed to the back room with a clatter.
Really, Susan, was that necessary? Daisy snapped, tugging her outside.
Oh, youre hopeless, Daisy! You and your woollies, your homemade knitsdo you even read magazines, shop online, or do you just cuddle your cello? You should be hugging boys. But they only care for style! So put away your cardis, dress decently, and happiness will follow.
We all have our differences, even menwrapped in her scarf, Daisy muttered, For me, Im a bluestocking, but for someone else, for someone specialwell, to them Im a rare find, just one of a kind, and thats exactly what they want.
Ha! Well see. Its always the odd ones who marry first, if you ask me, Susan smirked, marching off to a larger, glitzy shop.
Daisy let her go, almost regretting shed brought her along at all. She loved those craft shops, always had, always lost track of time rummaging through treasures.
Her love came from her grandmother, Stephanie, who when Daisy stayed over, took her to the weekly market in the village square. Here the local crafters, woodworkers, bakers, and seamstresses set out their stalls. Beyond the goodsa rainbow of jams in stubby jars, pickles rich with the scent of dilllay trays of wild mushrooms, smelling of pine, damp and woods.
Little Daisy would gaze in awe and every time, come home with a hand-painted spoon or a bird-shaped whistle, or a nesting doll.
These are made with love, just once. No two spoons or birds are ever the same. People, too! Youre a special flower, Daisy, so mind you dont bend to what others wantstay true! Stephanie would say as they walked home.
Daisy would nod and run ahead, while Granny carried jam in her canvas bag. Stephanie made preserves herself, but said there was always something to learn from others.
Pancakes and jam were their ritual. Daisy would eat her fill, but only after Stephanie sang softly as she mixed the batter and flipped endless golden stacks, humming like a cat. Later theyd sit in the garden, drinking tea and sampling the latest jams, wasps buzzing about, intent on their share. Granddad would make offerings on a plate stump in the yard, telling the wasps off for disturbing tea.
Granny Stephanie always laughed that Frederick could charm even the devil if needed.
Devils I avoid altogetherbut I do know how to talk with beast and bird, Granddad had claimed.
At night, Daisy would lie in bed examining Grannys gifts, wondering, Who made this? What were they thinkingwere they happy or sad? Each piece, an object with a makers soul.
Daisy had brought Granny the apron and mitts; Stephanie adored them, but it was the shawl she treasured most.
Like a soft cloud about the shoulders,” shed say. Daisy, do you know who made it?
The shopkeepers daughtershe crafts while home with her sick son.
Daisy remembered Susans rude words and felt the old sting.
If only I had a name, Id light a candle in church for her Well, Ill light one for all the children instead. So Granny did, quietly, lighting a candle for those she didnt know, but wished well.
Then Granny passed on. The house turned somber, the step sagged as though its wings were clipped. Frederick mourned for a long time, Daisy comforted him as best she could, visiting alone or with her mother, Gillianwho didnt appreciate Frederick; he was, after all, her husbands father, not her own, and her husband had long since vanished.
Daisy, after fussing over Granddad, sometimes caught herself gazing at the apron and would quietly cry, hidden, to spare him her pain.
Why do you hide? Granddad once erupted. Come onlets grieve together.
So they did. Rover whined alongside, licking their tears away, heavy and salty, placing his head on their shoulders and sighing.
Well be all right. Our Stephanie loved to see us smiling, you know, Daisy? Stop your crying, girltheres still the flowerbed to finish.
Off they went to the garden, measuring, planting peony bushes, digging, starting over, admired their handiwork. The greenhouse steamed with tomatoes and the peppers peered through, all waiting for these peculiar people.
This particular time, Daisy, a cellist always charging about with concerts, arrived unannounced for once, only to find Granddad hadnt left for fishing with the neighbour.
A sound of rubber on gravel, Daisys arrival, and there was excitement. Granddad, fishing for his glasses, Rover scampering at the door, Daisy calling out in the drizzle, parking her red Mini under the shed.
Granddad, Ive brought enough food for a feast! But let me have a nap first.
She rushed inside, playing with Rover, clutching the shopping bags.
Oh dear, Granddad thought at once, trouble. Stephanie, youd know what to saybut I havent a clue about womens troubles
That evening, after supper and as the last pink glow faded, Granddad insisted Daisy come to watch glow worms.
Please, Granddad, another daylet me sleep, she pleaded.
Well have a look at the beauty and then you can sleep, he persisted, head shaking.
She yawned, hiding her face, Fine, Im lookingthere, theyre lovely
Daisy pressed her shoulder to his and finally excused herself to bed.
She didnt even bring her cello, Frederick mused later. Stephanie, what do I do with her? Women truly are rare finds, a mystery
The next morning, Daisy, surrendering to Granddads will, appeared at the tablehair wild as a hedgehog, eating pancakes with cholesterol, washing it down with tea, and sneaking another pancake.
Frederick now fried pancakes with a flourish: golden, never burnt.
Steady on, Daisy, your tummyll give out! he grumbled at last. Enough now! He sat beside her, sliding the jam and plate away, shifting the teacup just out of reach.
You invite me to eat and then snatch my breakfast?! Daisy protested.
Never mind that. Just talk. Out with itwhats troubling you?
She dropped her spoon and set her arms across her chest.
Oh, Granddadeveryones at me, even Mum. I thought Id get some peace here, but now youre at it too. What happened, you ask
Well, Daisy, I can tell somethings wrong. If you dont want to talk, thats fine. Ive no interest in all your womans business. With that, he pushed the jam and pancakes back to her side, shrugged off his apron, and went out the back door to the garden.
Rover trotted after him, tail low.
Daisy, after brooding a little more and finishing her cleaning (the best way to clear ones head and heart, Granny used to say), scrubbed worktops, sorted the spoons and boards she and Granny had bought from crafters at the market.
To the washimmediately! she muttered, stuffing the linens into the basket, then loading the machine. Rover sat, watching the colours swirl behind the glass, fascinated.
Whats so interesting, hey? Waiting for the next episode? Daisy ruffled his head.
When the house was upright again, Daisy felt a little better.
Frederick busied himself in the greenhouse, humming along to an old Elton John CD.
Thing is, Daisy appeared behind him so suddenly the man dropped the bucket. Sorry. Lets talk, Granddad.
They sat and sighed.
I loved someone, Granddad. Theres my pickle.
Frederick furrowed his brow; hed been bracing for this. Stephanie had warned him, but how could one really prepare?
And, well, how did it go?
Daisy shrugged. Its over.
What do you mean, over?
Im not what he wanted. Im not like everyone else. Turns out no one needs something rarepeople want modern, in jeans, posting on Instagram, not treasuring Grannys old handknits. Me? Im a bluestocking, a misfit. I made a hash of things, Granddad, truly.
She sniffed sharply, then coughed.
Frederick coughed tooto give himself time.
Well, are you pregnant? he blurted at last. Well, if you are, then so be it. Well look after the child, of course. Stay as long as you want, give up your concert chasing for a whilethe air heres good and pure, church is just down the lane if you want a christening. Ill help. No father? Never mind. Werent you raised all right? Have you told your mother? Has she scolded? Dont listen to anyoneexcept me, mind! He chuckled. And if its a boy, all the bettergirls are too complicated with their ribbons and dolls!
She laughed and cried at the same time, hugged his arm.
I dont even know for certain yetawaiting the test results. I havent told Mum, she nags about everything
Its an age thing, Daisy. Stephanie used to get into fits, searching for nonexistent problems. I brewed her chamomile tea. Whats with the father, then? The childs?
Hes marrying Susan, the violinist. I cant compete. All fashion and sweetness, knows how to pick clothes. He said hed be ashamed to introduce me, Im too awkward. Susan calls me a mishap.
What does that mean?
She means Im plain and tasteless. But everyone has their own taste, dont they, Granddad?
Hm. Wait, someones at the gate. Ill go see.
Frederick opened the gate to a woman and a young boy.
Good afternoon, can I help? he greeted.
Were looking for Stephanie Howard. We were told she lived here. We hoped for a consultation. The mother gestured at her son.
Frederick hesitated, then opened the gate wide.
Come in. Ill put the kettle on.
And Mrs. Howard?
Stephanie passed away two years ago. But come in, lets talk! Daisys voice rang from behind. Granny has many friends stillperhaps we can find someone who could help? Im Daisy.
Mary. My condolences But well go.
Nonsense, Mary! Frederick wouldnt hear it. Rover, stop scaring the child. Dont worry, hes harmless, just boisterous.
Mary tried to leave, but the boy watched the dogs play-bow with delight and gave a little laugh.
He cant laugh. They told me Mary whispered.
Oh, dont mind the experts! Come inside. Ive baked a chicken pie. Therapy, you see? Were all a bit battered but you neednt feel awkward.
If anyone had said such a thing to Frederick, hed have run for the hills. But Mary didnt.
The boy, Tim, shuffled awkwardly, barely moving his legs. Frederick simply picked him up and placed him on his shoulder.
No, hes too heavy Mary began, but Granddad waved her off.
Over lunch, Mary explained her boy had been born unwell, told to seek out Stephanie Howard for her special massages.
Ohwhere did you find that apron? Mary asked, spotting the checked apron with the cat slung over Fredericks chair. Timlook, its your kitty! You picked it out!
Daisy and Granddad stared; Mary smiled.
Are you from York? My mother ran that craft shop you visited. You bought mitts, and the shawl! WaitIll fetch it! Daisy dashed upstairs to rummage in Grannys bureau. Here it is! Fancy that!
Youre very gifted, Mary, said Frederick, hands trembling. Stephanie would have loved your work. But now, to help! Lets find you someone suitable. He fished out Stephanies old address book. I know nothing of these things, but youll sort it out with them, Im sure.
Mary shrugged and smiled. She remembered how her mother fumed once over comments from two young womenone thought selling handmade things was pointless. Marys mum took it hard.
Mum stayed in York. But we found your address after all Mary said. Im so glad my work found a good home. Its a shame we never met properly.
Granny adored one-of-a-kind things. She said you can feel the warmth of the maker. Mary, she felt yours too. Oh, if only your mother had said more or asked Daisy poured more tea, while Frederick deciphered Stephanies scrawl and soon found a specialist willing to look at Tim.
After a hospital appointment in town, Daisy fidgeted by Marys car. Well? Howd it go?
Stop fidgeting, you, Granddad scolded gently. Mary, what did they say?
They drove slowly from the centre, threading into traffic.
They said theres lots of work ahead. But Tim isnt hopeless.
Daisy laid hands over her bellyrelief, certainty. For the first time, she wasnt afraid of what lay ahead.
Thank you, Granny, she whispered to the cloudy sky. You keep good people close
From then, Mary and Tim regularly stayed with Frederick whenever in London for appointments. Mary offered to pay, or to move elsewhere, but Frederick would have none of itsuch nonsense, womens worry.
Daisys moods rose and fell, strumming her cello gloomily one day, playing with Rover the next, sometimes laughing with joy.
Frederick expanded the greenhouseso many new seedlings, so many children to care for.
Stephanie, do you think Ill be all right? hed mumble at night.
Of coursegreat-granddad suits you! Daisy would reply in her mind, and Frederick could sleep, knowing hed do well by her and by Stephanie. Raising a grandchild, great-grandchildlife would never be dull.
Sometimes, a young man would come for Daisy, sit in an expensive car too posh for the lane, waiting outside. Daisy would meet him, exchange a few words.
Here to make amends? Granddad would ask.
We were never fighting. Hes just worried Ill put him on the birth certificate. Fears for his own lifeSusan wouldnt forgive him. Leave it, Granddad. She shrugged. Come fry some pancakesIll brew the tea.
And all evening, the house would hum with cello music.
Life is complicated, Granddad, Daisyd pronounce at the close of day. At least I know Ive loved. But why does it still hurt so much? Even Mum says Ive been foolish
Its because life is never simple, Daisy. If you hurt, youre alive. Things will work out, be patient.
They sat, arms entwined, on the doorstep, with Rover curled beside them. Stephanie had made sure each of her rare ones was looked after, and the collie kept watch according to her duty.
Four years later, Daisy marrieda childrens doctor, shy, gentle, with not a hint of bravado or the brashness so valued these days. Not even a gym membership! She, a mishap, a rare find, an oddballa pair of homegrown wonders. And it was for these rare qualities, those fleeting glances, for truly knowing and valuing what was real, that they fell in love. Daisy found, in the end, she loved being a rare find. Theres no trading her for anyone else. They dont make them like Daisy any moreand her grandmother had been right all along. You need only be yourself, and everything falls into place.
And so it was.
