“I used to have a pet mouse,” said Adam, recovering from his initial shock. “It slept under my bed.”
“Dr. Tabbypaws used to sleep under my bed,” said Daisy. “Now he’s pushing daisies in the ground.” She giggled at the phrase, then looked at Adam and explained, “That’s a euphemism. It’s a politer way of saying someone died.”
Adam was taken aback. The little girl acted much older than five. “Sorry about your cat,” he murmured. Then, after a brief pause, he said, “Listen, speaking of death…” He tried to think of a good way to bring up the impending fire—one that wouldn’t happen for over forty years, but which would nonetheless kill one member at the table.
“It’s inevitable,” Daisy answered before Adam got a chance to continue.
“What?”
“Death. It’s inevitable. That’s another word Grandmother taught me. It means ‘bound to happen.’ Just like how my flowers always die in autumn.” The little girl nodded to the window, where they could glimpse the garden. “But then new seeds will grow, and the cycle repeats itself, like the seasons do.”
Adam stared at the five-year-old, who he decided was indeed far more mature and intelligent than half his classmates.
“I don’t mean to interrupt,” interrupted Robert Baron II sarcastically from the other end of the table, “but nobody wants to discuss gardening over lunch. Why don’t we talk about something more appropriate, like money? How much money do your folks make, Adam?”
Luckily, before Adam could answer, Robert Baron III reached over for more soup and knocked over three empty dishes with his large belly. His father sighed impatiently, then clutched the pendulum around his neck and yelled for the maids.
Adam suddenly felt drawn to help pick up the dishes, too. Not only that, but he felt compelled to help Robert Baron II with whatever demands the man needed, even if it was something as farfetched as climbing the tallest oak tree to retrieve its highest acorn. He rose from his seat in a dreamlike quality.
“Not you,” the elder Robert Baron barked at his son, who had also risen halfway to help clean up the mess. Quick as a blink, Adam’s mind began returning to normal—though parts of it remained curiously blank. He felt as if he’d just broken the surface of a pool of water after holding his breath underneath for several long moments. For a while longer, he forgot what was going on around him and stood still while a group of maids fervently swept up the mess.
After the mess was cleared, Daisy’s father left the room mumbling about pesky children. As Adam finally and fully regained his senses, a question popped into his head. He turned to Daisy and asked, “Does your dad use the pendulum to—to—hypnotize people?”
Daisy bit her lip and didn’t answer.
“He doesn’t hypnotize you, right?” Adam pressed. “You aren’t forced to cook for him?”
At this, Daisy laughed. “No, I really do enjoy making food,” she reassured him. “Especially sweets. I’ve been testing flavors since I last saw you. I’m leaning toward cream, with a hint of strawberry and lemon. I think they’d be lovely to share with friends—”
“You don’t have any friends,” sneered her brother. “Besides, who needs to make candies when you can just buy them?” He let out another belch, then waddled out of the room.
Adam thought of the Bittersweet Bonbons from Francine, as well as Jack’s story about the Gold Mold’s rivalry, and once again wondered if this Daisy was the same candy maker. He was about to mention this, when Daisy said to him, “I’m going to help bring the dishes back to the kitchen. You should go. Your snow globe is empty again.”
Adam glanced at the snow globe on the table, which he had almost forgotten. The town inside had vanished.
“How did you know—?” he began.
“It was really kind of you to join us, just like you promised,” Daisy said, her eyes bright. “You weren’t lying about what you told me last time either, then? That you’ve tried my candies and love them?”
“Well—I’ve tried a couple, I think,” said Adam hesitantly. “Someone did tell me you’re the best candy maker in all of New York.”
Daisy nodded. She headed for the doorway with a determined look, a trace of a smile on her face. “Till next time,” was all she said before leaving the room.
Confused, Adam picked up the snow globe and watched the snow confetti twirl.
A split second later, he was back in his bedroom. The dining room, the silverware and dishes, the mansion had all vanished. Downstairs, Uncle Henry was calling him to dinner.
The next day after school, the first thing Adam did was hike to the library. He knew he should get home—the Biscuit Basket was likely already swamped—but something had occurred to him that morning while his science teacher expounded upon the brief existence of the mayfly. “Think of that obituary,” Ms. Thyme had said. “An entire life cycle, all lived in a day!”
When he walked inside, Adam did not make his customary beeline to the local archives, which contained the collection about Candlewick’s Candles Corporation.
Instead, he pored over microfilms of death notices in the region from August 1967.
After an hour of squinting at tiny print, he finally found what he’d been looking for.
Candlewick, N.Y. – Robert Tweed Baron III, 53, died Tuesday, August 15, 1967, in the tragic fire that engulfed the factory headquarters of Candlewick’s Candles Corporation.
Born and raised in Candlewick, Baron inherited the famed candle factory from his father, Robert Tweed Baron II, and oversaw its continued success until disaster struck earlier this month.
Mr. Baron will be remembered for his lifelong devotion to wealth accrual and meticulous maintenance of his cigar collection. He is survived by
