Sunshine Sally's Arc

Chapter 1 of 1

Sunshine Sally wanted every neighbor to remember her as their own bit of sunshine. But this morning her hands were empty, and empty hands leave nothing behind. She stood outside her cheerful house, where a bright sun was carved into the front door, and counted her problem out loud. "No cookies. No coins. No gifts at all." She smoothed her green sundress, the one covered in black dots ringed with yellow, and frowned. You could not be remembered if you came with nothing in your hands. She tried the kitchen first. The jar held no flour. The bowl held no sugar. Sally huffed and pushed back her short blonde curls. A sunny person should have something sunny to share. Instead she had a growling stomach and a plan that was going nowhere. Sally walked outside to think. The grass stretched wide and green in front of her door. White daisies grew everywhere, each with a yellow center like a tiny sun. She knelt down. She remembered how her grandmother once split a daisy stem with her thumbnail and threaded another through the slit. Sally picked one daisy. Then another. Her thumbnail slipped on the first stem, and the flower tore in half. She tried again, slower this time, and the second stem split clean. One flower looped through another. A third joined the chain. Her fingers learned the trick as she went. The sun climbed higher. Sally's knees pressed into the dirt until they ached. She kept linking flowers until the chain curved back on itself. She joined the ends and lifted it up. A ring of white petals and yellow centers hung from her finger. A bracelet. Small enough for a wrist, bright enough to make anyone smile. Then her stomach dropped. One bracelet was not enough. She wanted to give one to every neighbor she met. She looked at the single ring, then at the wide field of daisies still waiting. Her hands were sore, but they were not empty anymore. They knew how to make the gift now. Sally sat back and counted the flowers around her. Hundreds. Maybe more. She could make a bracelet for each neighbor. She could make enough to fill a basket. For the first time all morning, she grinned. She went inside and found a wide basket by the door. She carried it to the grass and set it down. Then she began again, faster now, splitting stems and looping petals. By noon the first few bracelets lay coiled in the basket, white and gold against the woven reeds. Sally stood and brushed the dirt from her sundress. Her hands were no longer empty. She had the gift. Now she needed the neighbors. She lifted the basket to her hip, looked out past the field, and wondered which door she would knock on first.