My Blood Ran Cold

my neighbor Vi is a personable woman with determination in every action. The day I met her she came over, introduced herself, and told me that where I know live is land that was called "Indian Village" fifty years ago. The Wyandotte came down here in the summers, and all you could see was Indian tents, she informed me. She proceeded to point out a variety of plants, naming them one by one. One day, she said "I turned and my blood ran cold". I jumped when she said this. "What was it?" I asked, barely breathing. "An iris," she told me. "I knew it was from a bulb salvaged by an Indian maiden." I never fully understood her story, but I have never forgotten the fear that I felt as she told it. renegade plants iris planted by natives my blood turns cold