Chapter One

The smell of laundry detergent enveloped Poppy as she hung her bedsheets on the line strung between the trees in the garden, its scent strong enough to overpower the smell of flowers still blooming in the late September sun. Poppy briefly pulled a sheet towards her face, careful not to smudge her blush or eyeshadow on the lightly colored linens, inhaling deeply, as if to pull its scent down to her toes. There wasn’t much that smelled better than fresh laundry, though that pie currently residing in her oven came pretty close. She looked up at the sun’s position, thinking to herself it should be about ready. Final bits of laundry hung, Poppy noticed she was missing a sock. One of her favorites, too. She could only hope it had accidentally stayed behind in the house, dropped from her overly full arms, though her washing machine had a tendency to swallow things. 

Drawn by movement, her eyes darted over to her sunflowers, tilted toward the last of the Summer’s sunbeams. Something was in between their stalks, flashes of a shape. Not something—someone. A man was traipsing, naked, through her sunflowers, and Poppy let out a scream the moment their eyes met, his hands covering his private parts.

“Poppy! You need—” he started, but Poppy cut him off. 

“Get out! You’re on private property!” she yelled, balling her hands into fists at her sides, hoping he wouldn’t come any closer. Poppy let her eyes wander over the ground, spotting a rock within reach, suitable for a weapon. She had to protect the house.

“No, listen—”

“Get out!” Poppy screeched, quickly grabbing the rock from the ground and pelting it at him. He barely managed to avoid getting hit, a yelp slipping his throat. “Get out!” Poppy repeated before turning on her heel and racing back to the cottage where she swiftly locked the door behind her, pressing her back against it and sliding down, willing herself to calm. Peering through the curtains, checking for movement and spotting none, Poppy found it within herself to relax her jaw, taking another minute for her heart to slow down. 

Aside from that strange man, Poppy was satisfied with her day. She’d earned quite a bit of money today, her fresh produce selling better than ever. A sense of pride washed over her as she hid her hard earned coin in the false book amid her books on the shelf, when her eye landed on a small glass bottle amid the money. Her mother had written the smallest note containing her goals and wishes related to her earnings, and put it in there when Poppy had been a child. Guilt washed over any other feeling she may have felt. 

Poppy had grown up in Eastport and spent all her life here, aside from when they would visit her aunt Ellowynn just beyond the town’s borders. Vivid memories of Poppy opening the Volvo’s window and smelling the briny sea air, salt in her hair, followed by hot afternoons running through the moors with her aunt’s cat, and later, dog. And then there were vague memories of trips to a place her mother had referred to as Underland, though her memories of the place weren’t much more than beautifully dense forests and colorful fields full of flowers. Most of Poppy’s childhood had consisted of selling produce at the local market, grown and tended to by her and her mother. Something Poppy had continued to do by herself after her mother’s disappearance. 

It would have been a lie to say Poppy had given up finding on her mother entirely, though there was nothing to indicate she might find her way back home. One day, when Poppy had been too ill to help out at the market—Mildred, her girlfriend, keeping an eye on her—her mother never returned. Despite that awful illness, Poppy had searched relentlessly, no matter how often Mildred begged her to rest, lest she got worse. The police wouldn’t help because both Poppy and her mother were grown women. When it had been 48 hours and Poppy’s fever only worsened due to a lack of rest, the police finally got in action, though their attempts were nothing compared to Poppy’s efforts. Wherever her mother had disappeared to, she must not have wanted to be found, as not so much as a single strand of her mother’s copper waves could be found, despite how many of them Poppy would find around the house, rolling around the room like tumbleweeds in the breeze the eternally open back door let in.

Finally, pressured by a worried Mildred, Poppy managed to see that her search was fruitless, merely putting a strain on her mental health. It had taken her months to get to that point. As much as Poppy wanted to believe her mother was still alive, she knew it to be unlikely by now, three years later. Instead, she tried to be grateful that her mother had disappeared when Poppy was old enough to fend for herself.

She shook her head to get rid of the memories, turning on the radio for some distraction. She hummed along to a vaguely familiar song, forcing all thoughts of her mother back into their neat little box where they belonged. Not forgotten, but safely stored, pushed to the background as Poppy ventured to her washing machine for that lost sock. It wasn’t until she found it that she realized the strange man had known her name.

#

Thoughts of her mother quieted a little—they were never fully quiet—Poppy found herself brimming with restless energy. She could make her way back to town and invite Mildred over for some tea. It had been a day or two since she’d invited her over to the cottage, but the apple pie she’d baked was looking fantastic, steaming hot out of the oven, crisp and golden brown. She left it on the countertop to cool, filling her home with a heavenly scent Poppy wished she could bottle.

Though she could simply call the bakery to invite her girlfriend, Poppy decided to walk to town. They barely answered their phone, constantly busy with customers. With her comfortable boots on, basket hooked in the crook of her arm, and her coat thrown over her shoulders, Poppy made her way back outside, the last of the day’s warmth quickly fading, eyes darting left and right to make sure she was alone. For once, Poppy made extra sure her doors were locked. She then followed the familiar dirt path to the center of Eastport, hands trailing through the poppies and cosmos growing tall at this time of year, already eyeing the ones she wanted to pluck on her way back. 

Dirt making way for cobblestones, Poppy came down from her daydreams. When she got to the bakery, its bell clanging above her head to signal her entry, Mr. Wright was just preparing to close, cleaning breadcrumbs from the huge racks behind the counter, not a single bread left. He barely acknowledged Poppy as she entered the shop, which was better than his usual sneer.

“Hola, Poppy!” Mildred’s mother, Maria, was sweeping in front of the counter, pausing to look at her as she spoke. “I’m afraid we have sold out for today, dear.” 

“Well, that’s good to hear!” Poppy said with a smile. “I believe I’m all stocked up, but I was wondering if Mildred was still around? It has been a couple of days and I was hoping she would come by.” 

“I don’t think she would say no to her favorite person. I’ll go and get her so you can ask her yourself. She just went upstairs,” Maria said with a wink. 

Poppy nodded, listening to Maria’s steps on the wooden stairs behind the counter. Maria’s voice was followed by Mildred’s gentle cadence, and the loud Spanish of Mildred’s grandmother, butting in. Poppy had no idea what the woman’s name was, as Mildred only ever referred to her as her abuelita. 

It was then that Poppy made accidental eye contact with Mr. Wright, causing her to turn away just as he rolled his eyes at her. She pursed her lips, reminding herself to ignore him, anxiety churning her stomach. She and George had a falling out before, back when Mildred hadn’t been afraid to flirt with Poppy a little over the counter and George had told them lesbianism was a sin. 

That was so many years ago. By now, George seemed to have realized he had no control over Mildred’s actions at twenty-five, even in this small, slightly conservative town. 

Uncomfortable, Poppy stared at her shoes, wishing Mildred would hurry. As if she had started to feel Poppy’s distress all the way to the second floor, she came stomping down, jumping the last two stairs to her father’s dismay, the wooden floor groaning under the sudden pressure. He grumbled something Poppy couldn’t hear, and Mildred stuck her tongue out at his back, before turning to Poppy, pulling her into a hug.

“Ready to go?” She asked, hooking her arm through Poppy’s, before turning back to her mother to tell her, “I’ll be back for dinner!” 

“Don’t be late, hija! I could use your help with the cooking,” Maria replied, blowing her daughter a kiss. 

“Si, mamá!” Without giving her mother a chance to ask anything else of her, Mildred tugged Poppy along towards the door, the bell clinging loudly above them as she pulled it open, ushering Poppy through and firmly shutting it behind them. 

“Sorry about that,” Mildred whispered, pressing a kiss to Poppy’s cheek before reaching down to entwine their fingers.

“Your father seemed to be in a good mood,” Poppy quipped, Mildred rolling her eyes in response.

“Don’t get me started. Has he ever been in a good mood?” She groaned. “Even when all our bread sells out hours before we close, he’s still a grump. It’s never good enough for him.”

Poppy kept quiet. It was impossible for her to relate to stories about fathers and their erratic behaviors. 

Mildred gently touched Poppy’s arm, realizing her mistake. “I’m sorry. It’s insensitive of me to speak ill of my father. At least I have one.” Her smile was soft, her dark brown eyes honest and warm, like Mildred always was. 

“Millie,” she replied, Mildred’s cheeks reddening at the nickname after all these years. “You are allowed to be bothered by your father’s behavior.” 

“I know, but it feels… rude.” 

Poppy couldn’t help but giggle. “A term I would never in my life use to describe you.” 

A blanket of comfortable silence fell over them, only disturbed by the humming of bees and the distant chirping of birds. Their quiet lasted through town, until they reached the dirt path, taking turns squeezing each other’s hands and smiling at one another.

“I need some fresh flowers for the kitchen.” Poppy plucked a big, bright pink cosmos flower she’d spotted on her way, placing it in her basket. 

“You and your flowers,” Mildred teased, unable to suppress a smile. She happily walked over to the other side of the path, plucking the biggest, brightest ones, all while chatting away happily, uncomfortable subjects long forgotten.

#

“There we go,” Poppy whispered to the flowers as she planted the freshly filled vase on her table. The bright pink, yellow, and white cosmos looked stunning as a centerpiece against a backdrop of the table’s dark wood. Quite happy with her finds, Poppy couldn’t help but smile. Adding flowers was one of the few changes she dared make to the house on her own, afraid to soil her mother’s legacy, her memory, if she changed too much. What if her mother wouldn’t recognize the place upon her return? 

Behind her, she heard Mildred rummaging through her drawer, letting out a soft and triumphant ‘aha’ when she found what she was looking for. Drawn by Mildred’s voice as she sliced two pieces of apple pie, Poppy made her way back towards the kitchen, wrapping her arms around Mildred’s waist, resting her cheek against her shoulder. Mildred swayed gently, nearly slow dancing with Poppy against her back, while placing both slices of pie on a single plate with two forks. Washing her hands was a bit of a struggle with Poppy stuck to her back.

“Would you like to eat this out in the garden?” Poppy suggested. “Make it a little date?” 

“I’m always in for a picnic amid the sunflowers!” She grabbed both the plate and the picnic blanket, knowing exactly where Poppy kept it. 

“I’ll be right there, I need to go to the bathroom real quick,” Poppy interrupted, needing a minute. At the mention of her sunflowers, Poppy suddenly remembered the man she had spotted there just before she left. She could only hope he had been thoroughly scared off, though Poppy knew she wasn’t exactly intimidating.

With a pout, Mildred sat down at Poppy’s table, absently poking at a slice of pie. “Well, hurry! I’ll wait, but I can’t promise I’ll leave the pie alone in your absence.” 

Poppy pressed a quick kiss to Mildred’s cheek and ran upstairs, where her bathroom was, closing its door behind her. She went to the toilet and washed her hands, putting the excess water in her hair, hoping to make her unruly brown waves look a little more polished. She pinched her cheeks, bringing some color back into her pale skin. Her eyes flitted towards her toothbrush, snuggling with Mildred’s. With how many of Mildred’s things were already in her home, Poppy sometimes felt as if they were living together. She briefly wondered if she should broach the subject again, wincing as she remembered Mildred’s rejection last time she brought it up. Spanish families worked a little differently from Poppy’s Irish Dutch mix, usually living at home for as long as possible. A lot of families even took their parents in at some point; a prospect Poppy wasn’t too excited about. She wasn’t sure if she could live peacefully with George Wright constantly nearby.

Mildred, impatient now, called “hurry up or the sun will set before we make it to the field!” prompting Poppy to let it all go, rushing back down where Poppy took the proffered plate from Mildred, carrying their pies.

They walked out onto the porch, Mildred nearly flying down the three steps leading into Poppy’s vegetable garden. Her fresh laundry was still swaying in the breeze, Millie full of glee as she disappeared behind some of the bedlinen. Aside from her warmth, her empathy, it was Mildred’s childlike wonder and her ability to see whimsy in the mundane that had made Poppy fall for her. Poppy was more of a skeptic herself, often choosing to stay grounded. Poppy was allowed to dream with Mildred near, while Poppy occasionally pulled Mildred down from the clouds.

They made their way to the sunflower field behind the vegetable garden, sunflowers growing taller than anyone would ever imagine possible, Poppy’s heart racing as she scanned their surroundings.

“How do all things grow so tall and healthy in your garden?” Mildred inquired, spreading the blanket out on the grass, settling herself on top of it. She looked stunning against the green and yellow backdrop of the sunflowers, matching perfectly with her olive skin tone. “Even when the temperatures drop, your vegetables are always tasty and fresh.” 

Poppy wasn’t sure how to reply. It wasn’t that it was a secret, it was that she didn’t have the answer herself. She simply considered herself very, very lucky—to the point of naivety, maybe, if she gave it much thought at all. Why not simply enjoy what nature had apparently decided to gift her? 

Stammering, she moved to the other side of the blanket to settle down next to Mildred when Poppy caught something in the corner of her vision. Startled, Poppy perked up. 

“What is it?” Mildred inquired, worry lacing her tone. 

“There was a man here, earlier today,” Poppy started, explaining what had transpired. When she had recounted the story for Mildred, making herself sound slightly more heroic than she truly had been, she put the plate down. “I will have a quick look around, to make sure he isn’t still here.” 

“Be careful!” Mildred pleaded as Poppy set off, pushing through the stalks, sunflowers tugging at her clothes. After a short while, deeper into the field, a shadow came over her out of nowhere. Poppy barely had time to turn around before a nearby sunflower bent its head down, wrapping its prickly leaves around her and swallowing her whole, too fast for Poppy to scream. She lifted her arms to protect herself, but the flower was unbothered. Up this close its seeds reminded her of hundreds of thousands of small teeth, sharp and menacing. To avoid looking at them, she squeezed her eyes shut, trying to break free. There was the sensation of being turned upside down, her stomach lurching as she tried to breathe through it all. When the nausea subsided a little, the sunflower let her go. Poppy finally dared to open her eyes, still woozy, her world spinning. 

Above her was an eerie purple sky, creating a perpetual feeling of dusk, adorned with three moons, one waning, one waxing, one full. Somehow it seemed like she was looking down into a pond, rather than up at the sky, making her dizzy all over again. She looked around in awe, open mouthed and wide eyed at her strange surroundings. 

Poppy didn’t recognize the place, and yet she knew she had arrived in Underland, a strange familiarity stirring in her gut. Pumpkins of all sizes grew around her, replacing all of her sunflowers but the one behind her. Some of the pumpkins looked to easily exceed 150 pounds, making it hard for Poppy to concentrate on the matter at hand, marveling over them. Her own pumpkins grew quite big, but nowhere near as big as these giants. Maybe she would come across someone taking care of them, so she could ask them for their secret.

Focus. She had to focus. Mildred was waiting for her, and Poppy had no clue how she’d gotten here, or how to get back home, assuming her sunflowers didn’t have magical powers. Did she simply black out? Was she dreaming? 

“Millie?” she ventured, hoping against hope that there would be a response. It stayed quiet, so Poppy tried once more, louder this time. “Millie!” Her voice echoed, the quiet around her so thick and heavy that it felt like a blanket, suffocating her. 

With a mix of discomfort and frustration, she started walking, searching for a way back home, back to Mildred. Every couple of steps, Poppy called out Mildred’s name, hoping to reach her, somehow. 

“Helen?” 

Poppy gasped, startled upon hearing her mother’s name, nearly falling over a pumpkin as she turned around. A young girl had appeared behind her, two pigtails in her hair, carrying a teddy that had most definitely seen better days. Her dungarees were full of grass stains and what looked like colorful chalk, reminding Poppy of when she was younger. Her milky white eyes seemed to look straight at Poppy, blue veins trailing from her eyelids to her cheeks and down her neck, disappearing from view. Poppy stifled her next gasp, backing up. Was something moving underneath her left eyelid?

“Are you Helen?” the girl asked again, her voice haunting, as if there were several children talking at once, instead of just the one girl in front of her. Upon hearing her mother’s name, all Poppy had wanted to do was ask where her mother was, but the sickly look of the child tore all rational thought from her brain. The girl took a big step closer, Poppy stepping back as the girl advanced. She stumbled over a root, sending her to the ground. The girl hovered over her, eyelids wriggling and moving, a scream escaping Poppy’s throat as she scrambled to her feet and ran off as fast as she could. 

Upon realizing the girl wasn’t following her, Poppy allowed herself to slow down, hand pressed to a sting underneath her ribs, her breath ragged in her sandpaper throat. She was positive Underland hadn’t always felt this daunting and creepy, sure she had fond memories of this place when she visited with her mother by her side. Or was she confusing her time in Underland with time spent in Eastport with her friends? 

Poppy yelled for Mildred again, positive she could hear Millie cry out for her as well, her voice distant and faint, barely audible over Poppy’s boots crunching on the gravel. It should be impossible. Just like that girl with the milky eyes asking for Poppy’s mother should be impossible. How did this girl know her mother to begin with? She looked so young, she would have been a baby or toddler at the time her mother disappeared. 

All of it was utterly impossible.

Poppy looked around, her eyes landing on a barn she hadn’t noticed before. It belonged to the pumpkin patch from the looks of it, vines from the patch growing over the barn’s walls, the bright red paint dirty and peeling.

Poppy could only hope the girl hadn’t gone in there as well. 

She had to free the door from creeping vines before they would budge. Even then she had to put all her weight into pushing it open. It was dark inside, the purple sky too dim to really brighten the giant space. Something coppery assaulted her nostrils in the most unpleasant way, making her scrunch her nose. Poppy lifted her shirt to cover her nose and mouth, not nearly keeping enough of the smell at bay. She walked past all kinds of tools and machinery, even a tractor of sorts. Was that a huge, bloody scythe propped against the wall, next to an old, cracked mirror? 

Seven years of bad luck, her aunt’s voice reminded her. Poppy couldn’t help but shudder, reminding herself that pumpkin innards and dirt would likely resemble blood in this strange light. 

Something moved on the other side of the room. From where Poppy was standing they looked to be nothing but a shadow, moving awkwardly, a sort of limping gait to them. Were they hurt?

“Hello?” she called out. “I’m sorry for barging in like this,” she offered, realizing she was being rude. “I’ve gotten lost and I would like to make my way back home.” Despite her pounding heart, she moved closer, her voice surprisingly steady.

“Lost?” they croaked. When they turned around, Poppy couldn’t stifle her gasp. It wasn’t a person, but a scarecrow, made entirely of hay, dressed in an old, tattered coat and straw hat. A sack was pulled over the area that would have been a person’s head, eyes and mouth drawn on. It talked, but its mouth didn’t open, though its jaw worked. “You know nobody in Underland is lost, Helen,” they continued, swinging their empty sleeves around. 

Poppy grabbed at the scarecrow’s coat, not willing to lose another chance. “Have you seen my mother? Where is she?” She had barely processed what she was doing, or the scarecrow shook her off. Poppy staggered back, unsure where her feet landed as her vision went black. There was the sound of glass, telling her she must have stumbled into the mirror. It felt like merely a second had passed when she opened her eyes again, greeted by sunflowers against a blue sky. Her sunflowers. Golden hour painted their petals more vivid than she ever thought possible, a warm ochre that warmed Poppy from the inside out. Or maybe it was simply the stark contrast between home at the best time of day and that eerie purple light she’d just experienced.

“Poppy!” Mildred’s voice sounded like she was on the verge of tears. 

Poppy got up too quickly, making her temples throb. “Millie!” she called back.

“Poppy!” Mildred cried out. “Where are you?” 

“Don’t move,” Poppy told her, knowing exactly how to navigate the vast field of sunflowers. “Keep talking to me.” 

“Where have you been? I have been calling you this whole time! You didn’t respond for… for…” she paused. “I didn’t keep track, but it felt like an eternity. Where did—” she yelped, startled as Poppy stepped through the tall stems, revealing herself, getting stuck on a particularly stubborn leaf, as if Underland wanted to keep her. She had to tug the leaf from its stem entirely, plucking it from her skirts and letting it flutter to the ground.

Without finishing her sentence, Mildred threw herself at Poppy, holding her tight. “Where were you? Are you okay?”

“I’m sorry,” was all Poppy could offer her. She didn’t elaborate further, unsure of how to explain what had just happened, though the worry in Mildred’s eyes broke her heart. How could she tell this story without looking absolutely mad? Mildred wouldn’t judge, but Poppy didn’t have the words to explain.

Mildred’s voice was low and sad as she spoke. “I should go home. I’m already running late.” She placed her hands on Poppy’s cheeks, eyes intense as she added, “Are you sure you’re okay?” 

“Do you need me to drive you?” Poppy offered, desperate to save what could be salvaged of their date.

“That is sweet of you, but you look quite pale. I think you should get some rest, and you can tell me what happened when you’re ready.” 

Mildred pressed a kiss to her lips, leaving Poppy amid the sunflowers by herself.