Petals of the Past

Victorian Floriography

Lavender

Lavandula

Meaning:

Calmness, purity, devotion

White violets

Viola renifolia

Meaning:

New beginnings, secrecy, unstated emotions

Salt Lake City, Utah

Present-day

Jessica stared at the bouquet on her doorstep, dew still clinging to the delicate petals. She wouldn't have seen them if she hadn't gone out onto her porch to have her morning coffee. No one had knocked, and there was no card, just a carefully arranged collection of lavender sprigs and white violets tied with a simple satin ribbon. She glanced up and down the empty street, but whoever had left it was long gone.

With curiosity, she lifted the bouquet. The scent of lavender transported her instantly back fifteen years to summers at her grandmother’s cottage in Provo Canyon, to herb gardens and flower presses, and to Matt.

In her mind’s eye she saw his dark eyes that crinkled when he laughed. Matt, who had kissed her for the first time beneath a ceiling of stars and had taught her the Victorian language of flowers one golden afternoon under the shade of an ancient oak tree. Her grandmother had called him “an old soul.”

“Lavender means devotion and faithfulness,” he had said, twirling a stem between his fingers.  “And white violets—” his eyes had met hers with quiet intensity, “—white violets mean ‘let’s take a chance on happiness.’”

She’d pressed those very flowers in her journal that night, alongside the words: I think this is what falling in love feels like.

They had been eighteen then, full of whispered promises and dreams that seemed to dissolve like morning mist when summer ended. Jessica went to university three hundred miles away, and Matt stayed to finish his degree locally. Letters became sporadic, then stopped altogether. Life, with all its complications, moved on.

Now, at thirty-three, Jessica carried the bouquet inside her modest townhouse, searching for a vase as memories flooded back with painful sweetness. Who would send her such a specific message after all these years? It had to be Matt. No one else knew their shared fascination with floriography, the secret language they’d used to communicate feelings too overwhelming for words.

That summer they sent each other bouquets and whoever guessed the correct meaning got to pick what they did for their next date. Jessica rarely got to pick, but she didn’t care. Matt's love of the outdoor world was contagious and she knew he would be successful as a landscape architect.

Jessica placed the arrangement on her kitchen counter and pulled out her laptop. Before reaching out to Matt, if she could even find him, she needed to be sure of the message. She typed “flower language lavender white violet meaning” into the search bar.

The results confirmed what she remembered about lavender representing devotion and loyalty. But her breath caught when she read the complete meaning of white violets: “Let’s take a chance on happiness” was the romantic interpretation, but they also traditionally meant “innocence” and, in some contexts, “secrecy.”

A flutter rose in her chest. Was this an invitation to reclaim what they had lost? To uncover the truth of why their love had withered before it could truly bloom?

She closed her laptop and approached the bouquet again, examining it more carefully. The flowers were fresh, expertly arranged. As she turned the bouquet, something caught her eye, a tiny blue thread woven into the ribbon. Matt always wore a blue woven bracelet that summer, one she had made for him, the threads dyed with blueberries from her grandmother’s garden.

Jessica’s heart pounded as she pulled out her phone. After three searches and several dead ends, she found a Matt Andrews who matched her Matt, now a landscape architect specializing in historical garden restoration. His business was based just thirty miles away.

Before she could overthink it, Jessica sent a message through his company’s contact form: “Did you leave lavender and white violets on my doorstep? I remember what they mean. —Jessica.”

She waited all day, jumping each time her phone pinged, but received no response. That night, she dreamed of running through a maze of lavender, someone always just out of sight around the next corner, their laughter familiar and heartbreaking.

The next morning, another bouquet waited on her doorstep, this time with a small card. Her hands shook as she opened it, expecting Matt’s familiar handwriting.

Instead, she found a typed message: “Jessica, do you remember what happened in the garden? Truth blooms even in winter. —N”

N. Not Matt. Jessica felt a chill as she stood frozen on her doorstep. There was only one person it could be: Nancy Winters, Matt’s former stepmother. The woman who had made that last summer so uncomfortable with her strange behavior and undisguised animosity.

The bouquet held the same flowers but was arranged differently, the violets forming a circle around the lavender, like a protective barrier.

Jessica carried it inside and set it beside the first arrangement, her mind racing. What had happened in the garden? She remembered arguing with Nancy near her prized flower beds when the woman had accused her of trying to steal Matt away. “You think love like yours lasts?” Nancy had hissed. “It burns bright and dies just as quickly.”

But there was something else, something buried deep in her memory.

She called in sick to work and drove the familiar route to her grandmother’s old cottage. It had been sold years ago after her passing, but Jessica needed to see it. As she parked across the street, she noticed a figure tending to the front garden, a tall man with a face she would recognize anywhere.

Matt. Was it really him? Jessica could barely believe it.

He looked up as if sensing her presence, his hands freezing mid-motion. For a long moment, they simply stared at each other across time and distance. Then he crossed the street to her car.

“Jessica?” he asked as she stepped out, his tone one of disbelief. “I’ve been trying to find you.”

His eyes were the same deep brown, though now framed by fine lines that spoke of years and experiences she hadn’t been part of. The sight of him made her heart contract painfully.

“Was it you? The flowers?” she asked.

He shook his head, confusion clouding his features. “What flowers?”

Jessica explained about the bouquets, the messages, the signature. With each detail, Matt’s expression darkened.

“My father divorced Nancy a couple of months ago,” he said quietly. “She’s been…unstable. Ever since Dad told her he was leaving, she’s been obsessed with the past, with what she calls ‘real love.’ I thought she was just bitter about the divorce, but—”

“What happened in the garden, Matt?” Jessica interrupted. “What am I supposed to remember?”

Matt’s eyes searched hers, and she felt the same electricity that had always sparked between them. “You really don’t know? That last night, when we were supposed to meet at the gazebo and plan our future, and you never showed?”

Jessica frowned, pain resurfacing. “You’re the one who never came. I waited for hours in the rain.”

“Nancy told me she saw you leaving with some other guy. She showed me your note saying you had feelings for someone at home and didn’t want to continue a summer romance.”

“I never wrote any note,” Jessica whispered, pieces falling into place. “She told me you’d left early with a family emergency, that you’d call when you could.”

Matt reached for her hand, and the familiar warmth of his touch sent a jolt through her. “She kept us apart because she couldn’t stand seeing what she and my father never had: real love and connection. She told me later she’d done me a favor and that you would have left me eventually.”

“I never would have,” Jessica said, tears brimming. “I loved you.”

“And I loved you,” he replied, his voice rough with emotion. “I think part of me still does.”

Something in his words unlocked the memory she’d been struggling to recall. She remembered Nancy in the garden that day Jessica had confronted her, burying something beneath the violets.

"She took something from me,” Jessica whispered. “My grandmother’s locket, the one with our pictures inside. She said it was childish to think love could be captured and kept. She asked to see it and never gave it back.”

Matt’s expression softened. “We need to go to the old house. I think I know why she’s reaching out now.”

They drove to the Andrews’ family home, starting to catch up on life, where Nancy still lived alone since the divorce. The immaculately kept garden remained her pride. Nancy answered the door, unsurprised. “I wondered how long it would take,” she said, eyes moving between them. “Come in. It’s time.”

In the sitting room, she handed Jessica a small velvet pouch. Inside was the missing locket, polished and restored.

“Why now?” Jessica asked as Matt sat beside her, their shoulders touching.

“Because I was wrong,” Nancy said simply, her voice hollow with regret. “John and I got married for practical reasons. I watched you two that summer, so certain of your connection, so blindly in love. It infuriated me. I convinced myself I was protecting Matt from inevitable heartbreak.”

“You had no right,” Matt said, his hand finding Jessica’s.

“No,” Nancy agreed. “The divorce made me realize what I’d done. John found love again, real love, at sixty-three. And I realized I’d denied that chance to both of you because I couldn’t bear witnessing what I’d never experienced.”

Jessica opened the locket to find their faded pictures still inside, preserved like their feelings, buried but never truly gone.

“The flowers,” Jessica said. “Why not just call?”

“Would you have answered?” Nancy asked. “I needed you to remember how it began between you, with a language all your own.”

As they left, Matt kept Jessica’s hand in his. Outside, the afternoon light gilded everything in possibilities.

“Fifteen years,” Jessica murmured. “Do you think we can find our way back?”

Matt brushed a strand of hair from her face, his touch just as she remembered. “Lavender means devotion that withstands time,” he said softly. “And white violets—”

“—mean let’s take a chance on happiness,” she finished, leaning into his touch.

Some love stories aren't meant to be decoded in a single season; some require patience, forgiveness, and the courage to begin again. As Matt drew her close for a kiss that tasted of lost time and new beginnings, Jessica knew that their language of flowers had finally delivered its message.

Teacake Tidbits

Lavender:

1. Symbolism: Lavender traditionally symbolizes devotion, serenity, and grace. In the Victorian language of flowers, it also conveyed loyalty and steadfastness in love.

2. Medicinal Use: Historically, lavender has been used for its calming properties. Victorian households often placed lavender sachets under pillows to ward off nightmares and promote restful sleep.

3. Cultivation: Native to the Mediterranean, lavender thrives in sunny, dry climates and was commonly found in herb gardens during the 19th century for its fragrance and practical uses.

   
   

White Violets:

1. Symbolism: White violets symbolize modesty, innocence, and the gentle plea, "Let's take a chance on happiness," in Victorian floriography.

2. Rarity: White violets are less common than their purple counterparts and were often considered more refined or delicate in floral arrangements.

3. Habitat: These petite blossoms grow in shady, moist woodland areas and were beloved in both cottage gardens and pressed flower collections during the 1800s.