sunday best [Mary & Maggie | Blitz]

[Tyler]

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I must admit, the weather outside today has been absolutely perfect for a midday stroll. The sky painted in a beautiful shade of baby blue, with white cotton clouds moving lazily along. The haze of pollution even seems less today, as if it knew the beauty of the day and was trying its best not to get in its way. Just the sight of such nice weather had me in a cheery mood from the minute I woke up. I simply couldn't help myself from humming all through the morning.

With all of the kids taken care of and chores all in order, I freshened up and put on one of my favourite pink dresses that flowed around my ankles like a rose in bloom. I was absolutely giddy with glee by the time I was out the door. You see, Argyle had agreed to take me on this midday stroll, with plans to take me out to our favourite little restaurant in the Town Square. Isn't he just a gentleman? And I know I shouldn't but I can't help but wonder if this will be the moment he pops the question!

I was heading to our spot, lost in my daydreams of our lives together, when I came across the old church building turned orchard. It makes me quite sad to see it in this state, to be honest. I know the orchard serves quite a good purpose for feeding the district, including my family, and I should be grateful it's here. I just can't help but imagine just how great the building must have been in its heyday; wooden pews in place of the stores of jams, people in their Sunday best paying tribute to a greater force. I can almost feel the golden rays of light I imagine shining down through the grand windows!

That's when the girl caught my eye, standing among the grand trees and the aged stone epitaphs in the field next to the beautiful old building. From the expression on her face I got the sense she shared my feelings about this great church. She looked to be about the same age as me too! I couldn't help but break out into a smile now at finding a possible kindred spirit. It isn't easy finding friends my age who went through life with the nostalgia that's always flowing through my veins.

I walked up to her with a bounce in my step, eager to learn more about the girl at the church. "It's a beautiful building, don't you think?" I started, my eyes directing her to the aged stone structure. "Can't you just imagine how grand it must have once been?"

[attr="class","MaryFace"]

[WC: 448]

[clover ❁]

magdalena clark

---

Maggie's day follows the rhythms of every other day; in fact, they overlap in her mind, stacked up like a deck of cards. She kneels at her bedside and makes promises to God she cannot keep.¹ Breakfast is usually cold porridge, made by Imelda hours before, congealed in the pan. She tops it with stewed fruit from their preserves. She likes plum best.² She follows her lists, as best she can, and resists, so far as is possible, the pleas of her sister and mother for her assistance. Instead she must brush her hair, over and over again, muttering bible verses beneath her breath.

Then, she slips outside.³ Today in particular, it is bright, and she winces into the glare. For weeks, it has been overcast, and Maggie has become accustomed to the perpetual gloom. Her sister, at least, will be glad of the emergence of sunlight.⁴ Even Maggie comes to appreciate it after she has sat for a while in her favourite tree, allowing the warmth of it to sink into the bare skin of her arms. The church is cold and draughty all year round; there is no reprieve from the chill, when you are encased within a great chamber of bare stone. It is what she has grown up with, and sometimes she finds anything else unnerving, as if she risks her blood turning warm. 

She is there when she notices the girl. Maggie does not recognise her, but she rarely leaves the Churchyard, not even to go to market with Imedla, not since father died, so this does not surprise her. It is not often that strangers come by the Church.⁵ ur She did not notice Maggie until she was much closer; instead, her eyes were fixed on the building itself. When finally she noticed her there, she did not startle, as Maggie thought she might, but rather smiled warmly at her. Maggie took a hasty step back.

"It's a beautiful building, don't you think?" said the girl, looking up at the building in awe. Despite herself, something inside of Maggie swelled with pride - after all, those grey stone walls had nursed her in the cradle, and had allowed God to stroke her hair as she slept every night.⁶

"Can't you imagine how grand it must once have been?" 

This turn of phrase caused something within Maggie to wither up and perish. For a moment she was silent, unsure what to say, and then she flushed with violent embarrassment, which turned to fierce indignation. How dare this stranger come to her home and point out its faults? To suggest that once it had been grand?⁷ 

"I'm not sure I know what you mean," she said, haughtily. She considered for a moment and then added, "Why are you here, anyway?" 

Imelda called it tactless, but Maggie preferred to think of it as direct. 

---

1. She promises she will do better, that she will be kinder, that she will not sin, that she will follow the rules, that she will obey, that she will do her father's memory proud. 
2. Maggie likes the top of the jar best, and is regularly scolded for opening a new jar without finishing the last one. 
3. Mother shouts after her, begging her not to dirty her skirts or ladder her stockings, because she has already mended them, but Maggie dislikes this sort of conversation and does not grace her with a response. Later, she prays for forgiveness, for in truth it is not right to disobey ones mother, especially when one has no father to look to instead. 
4. Too much water wrecks the crop, drowns it, and turns the fruit to sludge. 
5. When father was alive, it had been different, but once he was gone the visitors settled for leaving casserole, and once the casserole was eaten they stopped passing by at all. Maggie preferred it that way. 
6. Here, too, her father had died and her mother had beaten her and her sister had poisoned the mice, but Maggie supposed that just like people, a building cannot be made up of only good things. 
7. The stranger, of course, was right. The Church had crumbled since her father had died, falling into a state of disrepair they could not keep up with. Admitting this, though, was admitting that they were not managing without him, and this was something Maggie could not manage. 

[Tyler]

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The girl by the church had been more standoffish than I could've ever expected. I must admit now, looking back, that I can see how I may not have been the most tactful. Caught up in my own fantasies of the wonders of the old church as it had journeyed through the years, not thinking about what it might mean to this girl now in its current… well, less than pristine… state. I promise I meant no offense! At the time though I had just felt the touch of coldness, or mistrust, building an invisible barrier between me and the girl. It was of minor consequence to me though. I was determined to not let anything spoil such a perfect day.

The girl was direct as she questioned why I was here at the church. "Oh, I just love the idea of the place is all," I had gushed earnestly back. It seems silly now, a question taken at face value and answered at the surface level while my head was in the clouds high above. How I should have known that she was asking a much deeper question! Why had I come into her space, invaded the sanctity of somewhere she held in high importance? I was a stranger interrupting something intimate. I have a habit of losing myself in the romance of an idea, I truly am sorry!

One thing I am grateful for is my determination at the time to break through the barrier with the girl. Politeness is the hallmark of any good interaction, after all. If I want the children to learn its importance, I know I must do my utmost to lead by example. I extended another olive branch out to connect with the girl. "Do you live here, on the grounds? Is this your orchard?" And with that I had made good work of leaving the door open, for the girl to decide if she wanted to step through that invisible barrier or slam the door shut.

[attr="class","MaryFace"]

[WC: 334]

[clover ❁]

magdalena clark

---

The girl seems surprised by Maggie's reaction; it occurs to Maggie that she did not realise that the Church belonged to her, instead had believed it to be some kind of crippled relic of a former time; empty, uninhabited, a victim of rot and decay. She frowns at the girl, noticing for the first time the careful way she has arranged herself; not a strand of hair out of place, her full lips painted with a steady hand. Maggie crosses her arms to hide the state of her own clothes, which have been mended and reworn over and over.¹

"Oh, I just love the idea of the place, is all," the girl says, backpedalling frantically. Maggie frowns at her, undecided as to whether or not she is forgiven. "Do you live here? On the grounds? Is this your orchard?" 

Maggie's first impulse is to tell her nothing, to turn away from her and run back to the safety of the Church, but she plants her feet and stands her ground. The girl seems harmless, if somewhat indelicate. After all, it is godly to be kind to thy neighbour, however nosy thy neighbour may be. As Maggie has some making up to do with God due to an unfortunate incident involving her mother's best pair of leather shoes², she decides she must stay. 

"We live in the Church," Maggie explains, warily. "This is our orchard. People don't usually come here." 

In her head she hears her mother's voice, scolding her. You're always so rude, Magdalena. You must be nicer. 

Maggie has never spent any time around children her own age, and she is not sure exactly what to say to achieve this, but she tries her very best. "Would you like an apple?"³

---

1. The dress had belonged to Imedla before her, and her mother before that; it was patched and darned and dyed to cover the stains. 
2. It was an accident. 
3. It may be difficult to find an apple that has not been gnawed at by the birds, but in her best attempt at hospitality, Maggie is willing to look. 

[Tyler]

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I could see clear as day that the girl in the Orchard was trying to make her mind up about me. Suddenly I felt the rouge of embarrassment on my cheeks. I did it again, of course I did. Sometimes I just get so caught up in the whimsy of an idea like this. Spending hours chasing the details of the old stone chimney standing alone on a mossy foundation, or a signpost naming some long gone village buried in ivy, or a weathered church giving new life to an orchard, a family. I see the stories these places could tell, imagine the lives of the people that had put these things in place. I forget that to most, all of these things are simply an old chimney, a forgotten sign, a former church.

Perhaps this was what was running through the girl's mind as she looked over at me. I had waited for her to inevitably shoo me on my way, or run to escape the strange girl who happened to stumble by. Instead, she surprises me and seems to silently permit my presence. She informs me that the church is her house, the orchard is hers. Hers and the rest of her families. Oh, how foolish I'd been! I'm ashamed even now just mentioning it all again! I had been so caught up in the whimsical mystery I had created for the place, it hadn't crossed my mind that it had found new life as a place for someone to call home. And there I was, sticking my nose into the life of this little girl, turning her sanctuary into something for me to admire.

"Oh goodness, I'm so dreadfully sorry, I'll just -" I start, turning already to excuse my intrusion. Save myself some further embarrassment, prevent it from ruining a day that had otherwise been so perfect. Seeing Argyle again was sure to help brighten my spirits once again. But the girl cuts me off with an offer of an apple. An invitation in, not an exile. I pause in surprise, the girl seems to stand awkwardly in the wake of her offer. Always unsure what to do with me. And even still, she had extended kindness. It almost moved me to tears.

"Why that's quite kind of you! I would be delighted, if it's not too much trouble!" I imagined for a moment eating it myself, or sharing it with sweet Argyle on our walk. But I already knew exactly who I want to save it for. It's always a treat to see how little Ruthie's face lights up at her favourite fruit. "What kind of apples do you have, if I may ask?"

[attr="class","MaryFace"]

[WC: 448]

[clover ❁]

magdalena clark

---

The girl apologies profusely, hands up, proclaiming her innocence. "Oh, my goodness, I'm so dreadfully sorry, I just-" With this, Maggie was satisfied. God instructs us to forgive, and forgive Maggie shall - the stranger repents so bashfully that Maggie, too, is embarrassed.¹

She is surprised, too, when the girl accepts her offer of the apple gleefully. She does not seem suspicious, does not appear to fear poison, as Maggie would, but graciously assents, if it's not too much trouble. 

"What kind of apples do you have, if I may ask?" Maggie doesn't quite understand the point of the dependent clause - what is the point, she wonders, of asking if she may ask, when in fact she has already asks? People from outside always confuse her, they talk in convoluted riddles full of secret messages, but nobody has bothered to teach Maggie the code. 

Imelda would know what kind of apples. After all, she planted them, painstakingly, read carefully which seeds to use and how best to care for them.² Maggie looks at the intruder, perplexed. "We have red apples and green apples. But the ones in this tree are green." 

Keen to get away, Maggie reaches up for a branch and kicks off the trunk, finding a foothold and then another until she is up in the air.³ She can breathe easier, once she is off the ground, away from the girl. She searches the branches for a good one - one with no bruises or bite marks - selects one and plucks it from the tree. She won't tell Imelda, who frets too much about having enough left to sell at market. Maggie swings down and lands lightly, with her knees braced. She tosses the apple to the girl. 

"Did you get lost?" she asks, "Or did you come here on purpose?" Suddenly, another thought strikes her, and she narrows her eyes. "Are you trying to sell us something? We won't buy it, I'm afraid. We don't have a lot of money."⁴

---

1. Maggie herself isn't really one for apologies. She is no stranger to guilt, of course, but moulding and shaping that into something worth handing back to the person she has wronged is generally more than she can stomach, and she makes it up to them in other ways: she prays for them, she cuts flowers and presses them between the pages of old books and scatters them in their beds, she serves them the best slice of pie at tea. Her apologies are heartfelt, but ultimately silent. 
2. The apples are granny smiths and ambrosias. Down the back there is a line of bravos, too, but they aren't growing well and the fruit has mostly rotted. 
3. This particular tree is one of her favourites; there is a good spot where she can wedge herself between the trunk and a thick branch and read her book.
4. The truth is, they don't have any money, but mother would tear her hair out if she told somebody that, so she settles on a half-truth.

[Tyler]

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The girl seemed to pause again at my question, as if digesting it fully before deciding how to reply. In the sea of reds and greens, it is one of the green ones on offer. "Oh, wonderful!" I had gushed out. I know you're thinking 'but Mary, aren't the red ones your favourite?' And, well, alright, you might be right with that. The red ones are just so juicy and sweet, it's hard to resist them when they're put on offer. That doesn't mean the green apple the girl was climbing the tree to grab for me was any less good! There is still quite a joy in the more tart taste hidden in the flesh.

I once heard, too, that there had been a time long, long before where there apples had been something completely different; where reds where the rarity and instead the fruit could be found abundantly in greens and even yellows. That green apples are closer to the natural way of the plant, and it was us humans who shaped the plant into something entirely different. I guess maybe secretly the green apple makes me feel just a little bit more connected to that ancient link.

The girl tossed the treasure down from the canopy high up, and I extended my arms out to let it fall softly into my hands. The flesh was smooth and free of blemish, save for the natural white spots faintly sprinkling its surface. I wouldn't have dared to expect an apple quite as nice as this. "It's splendid, thank you!" I called up to the girl.

For a moment I had thought to myself that maybe her gift was a sign of welcome, that she made up her mind about whether or not my presence was tolerated. Then the cloud of doubt began to rain over us both as she asked me if I had meant to come to this place, if I was here to sell something. My, how it took me by surprise! I tried my best not to look crestfallen that my beautiful dress, picked out just for Argyle, had been taken for attire for a saleswoman. After all, the girl had shown me such kindness given the stranger that I was to her.

"Goodness no, honest! I was just walking by and the marvelous church caught my eye is all. I'm on my way to meet someone, you see. A real special someone." I had practically sighed out the last sentence as I remembered who was waiting for me. "I don't mean to be a bother, I can leave if I'm causing you any trouble."

[attr="class","MaryFace"]

[WC: 439]

[clover ❁]

magdalena clark

---

Maggie examined the flush on the intruder's cheeks curiously; they looked at one another for a moment, neither of one them quite able to figure the other one out. 

"Goodness, no," the girl cried, turning redder still¹ "honest!" 

It was not clear to Maggie why, exactly, the girl was offended - she seemed quite shaken by the suggestion that she might be selling something.² Maggie was just about to ask her what she meant, however she did not pause, and instead continued on, "I was just walking by and the marvellous church caught my eye, is all. I'm on my way to meet someone, you see." 

Maggie wondered where she was, what kind of places people went in order to meet people they knew. All of the people Maggie knew, really, were inside her house right now, likely scrubbing the floors or washing the curtains or turning the fresh harvest into jam. Outside, there were only strangers- she had kept in touch with nobody from when she had gone to school, before her father had died.³

"-a real special someone," the girl added. As she said this, her voice changed peculiarly, as if her mouth was full of sugar. Maggie found herself drawing a little closer to her. "I don't mean to be a bother. I can leave if I'm causing you any trouble." 

"No!" Maggie said, a little too urgently. She tried again, more subdued. "No. Please. Stay. Tell me about the someone, if you will." 

It was only then that she remembered her very best manners, impressed ineffectually into her by her mother and sister. "My name is Magdalena, but my friends call me Maggie."⁴

---

1. Maggie noted approvingly that she does not say: God, but instead, Goodness - for this is certainly on the list of things that a respectable girl should do. 
2. Maggie lives exclusively on the pennies her sister makes selling their fruit at the market. Imelda protects her from most things; she does not know that people would scorn such an existence. 
3. Even back then, Maggie had been strange; obsessive, unnaturally invested in the sort of things other little girls weren't. People did not warm to her easily. Even as a baby, she had not drawn the usual coos and gushes of affection from strangers that most children did. 
4. This is a lie: Maggie's only friends are the mice, and they call her nothing at all. 

[Tyler]

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I made to turn away, relieve this girl who had been so patient a host to me from the burden of doing so any longer. I had been too self-indulgent, holding this poor girl hostage with my inquisition into the world she lived in. I was always doing this; something catches my eye and I simply must learn more about it. Always forgetting that maybe the shopkeeper doesn't want to discuss the aged brick building housing his goods, that the imported Peacekeepers have no interest in what stood in place of the Justice Building long before it had arrived. Now I had failed to consider whether the girl on the orchard had really wanted her work interrupted by a stranger walking into her yard, prying into her home. My body had barely moved when her quick "No!" startled me back into stillness. "No. Please. Stay. Tell me about the someone, if you will."

Oh, how my heart had soared at her words! The weights that had been dragging it slowly down into the depths of my embarrassment let go, and it bounced high above the waves into cotton-candy clouds and dapples of golden sunlight. I had been so used to my curiosity being met with dismissal. For one rare moment, I had been granted permission by the girl to be here, to learn about her world, to divulge a wonderful piece of my own. "Oh, how splendid!" I gushed through the smile stretching cheek to cheek. "Thank you ever so kindly, I'd be delighted to tell you all about him!"

The girl introduced herself. "My name is Magdalena, but my friends call me Maggie." As soon as her name lands on my ears, I think of how it is a perfect name for this wonder of a girl. Magdalena carries something ancient in the name, from long before the days of Panem. How many women had shared in that name, living countless lives in countless different times? "What a beautiful name!" I sigh. "I'm delighted to meet you, Magdalena. My name is Mary."

I know I had hesitated before her name, I was hoping nobody had noticed! I wasn't sure that I had made it into the ranks of the people Magdalena would consider a friend. After all, I was just a strange girl from the road, already treading carefully into the space she's granted me. I didn't want to risk any offense in calling her Maggie. Oh, I do hope she doesn't mind. It truly is a splendid name! No offense seems to bubble to the surface of her face, just the expectancy of stories of the special someone I had promised her.

I was easy to talk about Argyle; besides the stories of the past and of the kids back at home, he was my favourite topic. "His name's Argyle, and we've been going steady now for three years! He's such a gentleman, and dashingly handsome. I'm supposed to meet him tonight for a wonderful walk, and there's a part of me hoping tonight will be the night he promises me that we'll marry each other, as soon as we can!" The thoughts seeping back into the front of my find fill my world fresh with roses, the sweet scent intoxicating. Tonight was going to be perfect. I force myself to remember Magdalena in the orchard, and let the rose perfume change places once more with fresh fruit. "What about you? Is there a special someone in your life?"

[attr="class","MaryFace"]

[WC: 581]

[clover ❁]

magdalena clark

---

"Oh, how splendid!" the girl cries, flushed and beaming. Maggie wonders which one of them is strange; she has certainly never heard someone who speaks the way the stranger does, in carefully selected, almost stilted language. She sounds like a character in one of the dusty old novels that rot slowly in the Church cellar.¹  "Thank you ever so kindly," she goes on, in her shrill, storybook cadence. Maggie wonders if she has made a mistake with her encouragement, if it is too late to slip away. 

"I'd be delighted to tell you all about him!" Certainly, she lights up at even the thought of him. Maggie wonders whether it can really be a good thing, to be gripped so firmly by love, as nice as it seems to be. It strikes her as a vulnerability, an underlying, dangerous sort of insanity, that might rob a person of their usual strength and resolve.²  

She called Maggie's name beautiful. She seemed enchanted by everything, thoroughly delighted by each new step forward. Maggie found it unsettling; she preferred to move cautiously, take her time in deciding whether something unfamiliar belonged on the 'good' or 'bad' list.³ She introduced herself, then, as Mary. Not the sort of name you heard often, these days, but it was biblical, Maggie noted, which surely counted for something. 

Mary tells Maggie the story, then, and Maggie listens carefully, with her brow furrowed. The tale is familiar, is just like the boring paperbacks - featuring gentleman and promises of forever and ever. It all sounds a little fanciful to Maggie. She thinks of the boys her age she knew, back when she went to school. They picked their noses, she remembered, and jostled and swore and thought girls were gross.⁴ Something must have changed in the time since Maggie's father had died and everything had changed - those boys must have hatched from their ugly cocoons and transformed into these fabled gentlemen, if Mary was to be believed. Maggie finds this wholly unlikely. 

"What about you? Is there a special someone in your life?" Mary asks, and Maggie blushes bright red. It has been years since she has even spoken to a boy, and the idea repulses her, makes her toes curl up in her shoes. Now that she thinks about it, she should probably add 'talking to boys' to the bad list, just in case. 

"You seem young, to get married," Maggie says, bluntly. "Why such a rush?" 

Deliberately, she ignores the query into her own love life, and averts her eyes to avoid confronting it. Surreptitiously, Maggie steals a glance back over her shoulder towards the Church, half-hoping that her sister or mother might be on their way to fetch her and drag her to her chores, in order to save her from this question of grown-upness.⁵

---

1. Maggie has flipped through them once or twice, but grew quickly bored by the incessant discussion of marriage. 
2. She wonders if Mother and Father were ever in that sort of love. By the time Maggie had been born, their marriage was the gritty, enduring sort of love that has survived hardship. They depended on each other, certainly, but Maggie never saw any evidence of romance between them.
3. By default, almost everything she didn't know ended up on the 'bad' list. 
4. This opinion was not one-sided. 
5. If there is one thing Maggie fears more than anything else, it is becoming grown, and feeling the expectations of the world fall down on her narrow shoulders. 

[Tyler]

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As soon as the question had parted from my lips, I knew I had pushed too far into Magdalena's life. The walls that I had felt slowly coming down from between her and I seemed all at once to shoot back into place, enclosing the girl from the orchard in her own safe world, myself once again looking for a gate to step through and reach her.

Oh, not again! I'm always doing this, getting swept up by the ideas that bloom in rose colour in my mind until they've carried me too far. Then suddenly I'm trespassing on someone's property, or someone's time, or someone's life. Argyle says it's like I'm a cup of rose petal tea. People tend to prefer something more common and accessible, like a trusty chamomile. I like to think he says it because rose petal tea is his favourite. And ever since he first said it to me, I've found the taste of rose petal tea to be perfect.

Even then my rose dreams had started carrying me off again, only Maggie's words helping tether me to the place I stood. "You seem young, to get married. Why such a rush?" The question hit a familiar spot as the same words echoed from the voice of Ma, of my friends, of Argyle's parents too. Of people who had a tough time seeing the future in the rosy pink hues that coloured the world ahead of me. I never could understand why they couldn't see the path for Argyle and I in the same light that I saw it, lined with fields of daisies and bushes of multicoloured roses, paved with stones of golden moonlight. I know how madly in love I am with sweet Argyle, and I know he feels just as madly in love with me. Why must we wait, then, to make that commitment to each other that can cement that love in place? Why must a few years separate the two of us from one of the few traditions that have transcended lifetimes?

I want to tell Magdalena all of this, paint her the beautiful picture I see in colours of splendour. But I can see in her eyes darting back towards the majesty of the church that I am at risk of her closing her walls back up for good. Maybe Maggie, too, prefers dandelion tea to one of rose petals. I hold back as many of the fine pink petals from my answer as my hands can carry. "Well, I feel certain in my love for him, and in his love for me. Why wait to profess it with a wedding?"

The next part I add on surprises me, leaving my lips before my brain has even registered the idea. It was something that had never crossed my mind before. Perhaps the girl closing her walls had helped it cut through my rosy daydreams and see light for the first time. "What if we die before we get a chance to be wed?"

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