A Flowerbed Needs Fed

         We let Mr. Milfield's daughter have a flowerbed of her very own.
         At first, we thought the eight-year-old might be of help, digging and such, even if she was...different.  But she'd be sitting there amongst the dirt and the seeds and the manure, and start in rocking.  When April starts rocking, pretty soon comes the babbling.  After that, well, there's dirt and crap and flowers strewn every which way.  Ain't no way the kid's going anywhere near our prize-winning begonias.  No way, no how.
         So we let her be to herself.  She never got up to trouble.  Well, almost never.
         Having a bed and breakfast down here in Alabama's not unusual.  Having guests who pay up for a week and go missing after only a couple days could be.  We never did make a fuss about it to the police or anything.  After all, people are able to do as they please in this free country.  If they want to up and go in the middle of the night it's no big deal, so long as their bill is taken care of. 
         Sometimes April woke up in the wee hours to go out to the garden.  Sometimes she'd be digging in her own flowerbed, smiling and planting bulbs or maybe even some fruit seeds from supper the night before.  Nobody minded so long as she was quiet. 
         Mr. Milfield always slept through his daughter's late-night wanderings.  We didn't question it, how a man could be so tired as to miss what was happening with his own child.  We didn't question it even though we never saw him do any work during the day, so what wore him out?  They'd been with us two months, and always paid on time.  And it's a free country.
         The night April screamed bloody murder when she found that hand, Mr. Milfield never even stirred.  We ran out to the garden and there she was, rocking and babbling, and she'd been up to her throwing things.  She was holding it by the pinkie.  We recognized the wedding band of the man who'd passed through the week before.  He was some sort of salesman, had these big bags full of pretty smelling candles and Jesus plaques. 
         Too bad she found the hand.  But like they say, a flowerbed needs fed.
Mr. Milfield's going to be upset in the morning when April's gone.  But her flowerbed sure will bloom up nice and pretty now that it's been fed. 
         Our begonias are needing to be fed, too.  So if Mr. Milfield wants to make a big fuss over the girl, well, so long as his bill's taken care of, he could go missing, too.  Nobody stays in one place forever.  Not in this free country.
         We let Mr. Milfield's daughter have a flowerbed of her very own.  Mr. Milfield can have one of his very own, too.


(word count: 479)  For Inspirational Quote Contest:  "April comes like an idiot, babbling and strewing flowers."