Under the walnut
tree
It all started when
I received my grandmother’s will. Or rather, discovered her hidden
history.
She died in peace in
her apartment in outer London, in which she had always lived in, at
least as long as I can remember. My mom was brought up with her two
older brothers in that small apartment by grandma and grandpa.
Grandma must have lived there since her marriage to grandpa in the
early fifties. I can’t believe that she didn’t move when grandpa
died, but she resisted that she would remain there. That hopeless old
lady. But I suppose she loved that apartment filled with happy
memories. Many nights, when mum worked late, I would stay at grandma
and grandpa’s. Grandma used to show me the old secretaire with all
its corners and tiny draws and hidings which grandpa had given to
grandma as a wedding gift. It was made out of beautiful walnut, it
had a warm brown tone and looked at home in grandma’s living room.
It always was my grandmother’s pride in her humble home, and I have
to confess it also was one of the reasons she didn’t want to move
when grandpa died. It was too heavy to move and she couldn’t take
it with her if she moved to a retirement home, so she promptly shooed
away mum and my arguments about such “silly homes”. So she stayed
behind in her lonely apartment till the day she passed away, and left
her favorite walnut secretaire to me, her favorite granddaughter.
In the middle of my
apartment stood the secretaire, still proud and handsome, not a day
older. Had it been a man I would have married him. But it was a
heavy, immovable desk and it didn’t fit my modern apartment. It
stuck out, aesthetically and physically. My tiny apartment was a
two-room apartment and the living room was the middle room, to get to
the kitchen or the bedroom or the hall or the bathroom located in the
hall, you have to move through the living room, where this much
adored childhood object was strategically displayed for everyone to
see or trip over.
When the movers came
carrying the desk, panting after the many stairs to my apartment on
the tenth floor with no elevators, I readily showed them into my tiny
apartment and in a rushed thought of relieving the men of their
burden pointed out the living room. But where else could I put it?
The bedroom contained the bed and an armchair where all my clothes
were carefully scattered, the hall was narrow and had closets on the
right side which contained my clothes and it was therefore necessary
to be able to open them and the kitchen was tinier than the closets
combined. The living room was the only room able to obtain the old
secretaire and even in there it was in the way. I kept walking into
it and ended up with blue and yellow bruises on both legs and hips.
By the end of the first week of our co-habitation I sat down by
grandma’s beloved secretaire and reconsidered my love for the
furniture. I started to poke into its many drawers and tried to find
all of its hidings that granny once had showed me. The secretaire had
been emptied before I got it, by my mum and uncles. It was only the
secretaire that I had inherited. All its drawers had been cleaned out
properly, not even a fluff of dust left for me to observe. Grandma
and I had counted the many drawers several times, there should be 17
drawers in different sizes, whereof 3 hidden ones. But I could only
find 2 of the hidden ones. I recounted all the drawers and still got
it to 16, 2 hidden. Where was the 17th?
This is when I
called my dear mother. But she had never heard of the 17th
drawer. She only knew there were 16. She asked me if I hadn’t
imagined it and I hang up on her. My mum and I don’t get along. So
I continued the search of the 17th
drawer without any clues to where it was and without any help. Two
hours later and in light of the setting sun, embracing my living room
with golden arms, I gave up and sat down to eat my dinner on the
window seat. In the golden light I watched the secretaire while
munching on some bread which I swallowed down with rich red wine.
Suddenly I got an idea. I got down on the rug and crawled underneath
the desk so I could see its bottom. The maker’s initials where
painted in black, F.D. I searched the corners and found the hidden
button and pushed it. The hidden pocket opened up and I curiously
stuck my hand right in to it. It was narrow and my not so small hand
got almost stuck trying to reach all the way in. Then I felt it, that
rough piece of paper from a lost time. I pulled it out and in my hand
it was small, not larger than small cell phone, not the iphone type
though. The paper was folded and when I turned it around I saw that
it was a letter. On the front it was addressed with beautiful curly
letters, the ones my grandma always tried to teach me without hope,
to:
To
Edith Hope
Edith Hope was my
grandma, though I had only known her as grandma. Hope was her maiden
name and when she married Herbert Grace, my grandpa, she of course
changed her surname to Grace. So this letter was written before my
grandma got married. I could feel my heart race, equally curious of
the content of the letters as me. With careful fingers I opened it
up. It contained no letter, only a photo of a young man in his
twenties standing beside a huge walnut tree. The photo was in black
and white, so it must have been really old. On the back side there
was a short message:
Under
the walnut tree, I will always be waiting.
Yours
truly, Fred Dauncy.
Always
be waiting? Was he still there? He must be awfully old and skinny by
now. But when was the photo taken and when and where had he met
grandma? Because this wasn’t grandpa, that was for sure. I’d seen
photos of grandpa when he was younger and he didn’t look this
handsome, and his name sure wasn’t Fred Dauncy. Who was this kid!
Working up a temper
I sat down by my laptop and hit some buttons furiously till I found
some satisfying answers. And I booked a train ticket to travel up
north.
-Honey, isn’t this
a bit rash. So what if grandma had an affair before she got married…
My mum’s tired voice tried to speak some sense into me over the
phone. –It probably was just a flirt.
-Saying that you’ll
be waiting forever isn’t
exactly a flirt! It’s a bloody romance.
I angrily steered
the rented car through the winding woods of beeches , it rained and
my sight was reduced. Bloody spring weather!
-But it’s in the
history, grandma’s dead, so it doesn’t mean anything…
-It’s my family
history, I wanna know.
-Oh, dear. Mum
sighed deeply. –Fine, you do what you want to do. Drive safely, you
hear me, Kelly?
-Yees.
I pressed off the
call and took my eyes from the road one second to look for some
chocolate in my handbag. The next second I hit something hard, I
stepped on the brakes and my head hit the steering wheel. Slowly I
raised my head and saw the backside of a deer jumping away through
the woods.
-Damn! I wrinkled my
eyebrows and picked up my phone to call the police to report the
accident.
And they told me to
stay put, that they would send a hunter to put the animal down. After
that I tried to find any chocolate in my handbag that I could wolf
down . Without any success I gave up and left the car to scrutinize
the damage made. It wasn’t pretty but it wasn’t as bad as I
thought it would be. And it had stopped raining though the wind was
pretty harsh, even in the forest. I looked around, the deer couldn’t
have got far, perhaps I could find it. I scouted into the forest but
couldn’t see the animal. I walked deeper but saw no deer. Suddenly
I came to a clearing and in front of me was a huge walnut tree. I dig
in my pockets and found the little photo and held it up to compare.
It was the same walnut tree, except for the man in the photo and a
bench in front of the real tree, it was new. I put away the photo and
walked up to the bench. On its back it stood with the same squiggly
letters, “under the walnut tree, I always will be waiting”.
Except there was no one waiting. Well, what could I expect, the man
should be old dotard by now or even dead like grandma. I sat down on
the bench with a little sad sigh, I really had hoped that he was
still here waiting for grandma to come. I know, it wasn’t logic
but it would be a sweet romantic story. I wasn’t really mad about
grandma being in love before she met grandpa, but I wanted to know
who she was before she got married. I never got to ask her about her
life, how it was back then with wars and all. Now that knowledge was
lost. This Fred Dauncy had seemed like my last chance to get to know
my dear grandma.
Some branches broke
and a stranger stood before me in the clearing. The sun shone down on
the two of us in the clearing and I think the spring birds begun to
sing. It was him.
-Fred Dauncy?
The man smiled.
-Not really, he’s
my grandpa. Do we really look so alike? The man answered and stepped
forward and reached for my hand. –Adrian Dauncy, the police sent me
to shot a deer. And you are?
-Oh, yes, Kelly
Grace.
Adrian smiled
pleasantly and his brown eyes glimmered. His hand felt warm like the
sun.
-Do you always
present yourself with your surname first? He said, still smiling.
I wrinkled my
eyebrows.
-What do you mean?
-Like the Japanese.
Kelly Grace, Grace Kelly.
I looked dumbly at
him.
-My name is Kelly
Grace.
-I know, I’m just
teasing you. Or paying you a compliment. Anyway, I suppose you’re
then one who hit the deer.
-Er, yes. But it was
rather the deer who hit me.
Adrian laughed and
walked off.
-Well I have to find
the bugger anyway so…
And he disappeared
among the trees. And so did the sun and rain begun to drop again from
the grey sky. I run back to my car for shelter and behind it stood a
dark green pick-up parked, probably his.
After checking in
and finding my room, I instantly undressed and threw myself into a
tub filled with warm water and pleasant perfume hanging in the air. I
had finally found those little bits of chocolates that had hid
themselves cleverly in my handbag and I devoured them pretty quickly
while enjoying the warm bath. The grey spring weather was depressing
and cold, but the bath refreshed my spirit and so had the meeting
with Fred Dauncy’s grandson. So, he was still alive. All I had to
do now was to find him. Tomorrow, I thought, put another chocolate in
my mouth and sunk deeper into the warm water.
I woke up a lot
earlier than I usually would. I wondered why I had woken up. And I
remembered my dream. Under the walnut tree, he was waiting. Always
had been waiting.
I sat up quickly and
put on my boots and went out. The forest was just around the corner
and I walked right into it with decisive steps. It didn’t rain but
the fog from tonight’s chilly weather was thick. It was almost like
raindrops hanging in the air. My hair curled by the wet but I didn’t
mind, it was already a mess after last evening’s bath and then I
had went straight to bed without brushing it. It was still chilly and
I thought that I should have dressed a little more warmer than just
rushing out in nightgown and, though in wool, rather thin cardigan. I
was glad it was early since I must have been a strange sight, but no
one would wonder around in the forest at this hour.
I must have walked
for about twenty minutes in the woods when I finally saw the thick
trunk. I came from the left this time. And then I saw the bench in
front of the walnut tree. On it was an old man, the old dotard that
had been grandma’s love once upon a time, before grandpa. He looked
the same as in the photo, but of course older. He had grey hair,
wrinkles, glasses and he seemed smaller than in the photo. I think I
broke a branch because slowly he turned his head to the left. I could
see his eyes turn wider when he saw me.
-Edith, he
whispered.
I couldn’t help
but smile and a tear trickled down my cheek. I brushed it aside and
walked up to Fred Dauncy. He stretched forward his hand and I took it
and sat down beside him.
-No, sir, I’m
Edith’s granddaughter Kelly.
-You look so much
like her, my child, I’m sorry if I scared you.
-You didn’t, I
smiled sweetly at him.
-But why are you
here, dear child.
-I’m here because
of a photograph you left in my grandmother’s secretaire, the one
made of walnut. She left me it to me when she passed away and I found
it.
-I see, so she’s
gone.
-I’m afraid so,
sir.
I took up the photo
and handed it to him. He looked at it and his eyes teared.
-When and where did
you meet my grandma? I know you two met before she married grandpa,
before she changed her surname from Hope to Grace.
-We stayed at the
same country house during the Blitz. I came a year before her and was
used to the country but Edith, she was younger and very afraid when
she came. So I took her to my favorite place, the big walnut tree
with its steady branches which you could easily climb as a child.
Edith and I became very good friends and we adored each other a lot.
But when I was old enough, I joined the army and took part in the war
and I lost all contact with Edith. One summer after the war I
returned to the country house and the walnut tree and I took that
photo as a memory of those years.
Fred pointed with
his old wrinkled finger and smiled at me.
-I settled down in
this area and begun to make all kinds of furniture. When I found
Edith again she was getting married and she looked happy, so I
thought that at least I should give her a gift. I made a secretaire
out of walnut and sent it to her fiancé and said it was a gift from
an old friend of Edith’s and hoped that they would appreciate it. I
left that photo well hidden.
Fred shook his head
with a little smile.
-You made that
secretaire? I asked and remembered the initials F.D.
-Yes, just so she
would remember our happy time together. The photo was to remind her
that I would always be her friend. Do you think she knew?
He looked weakly at
me and I felt my cheeks wet.
-Oh yes, she
remembered you, all her life. That secretaire was the center of her
home, it was her pride. She often showed me all its drawers to me as
a child, she taught me to love it. But not did you wait for her all
your life, did you?
I looked afraid at
him, and he laughed heartily.
-No, no, I married
and got three children and now I have seven grandchildren.
-Yes, that’s
right. I met your grandson…
-Adrian.
-Yes! I thought he
was you.
Fred laughed and I
could understand why grandma had loved him. His whole being shined
and the air felt warm.
-He remind me of a
young me. Just like you remind me of Edith, the same spirit and joy.
You have her eyes, like blue forget-me-nots.
-I don’t look like
Grace Kelly then? I muttered.
-You’re even
prettier, the old man said with a voice of velvet.
He turned his eyes
to the blue sky and the bird sung their morning tune. I took his hand
and he squeezed it gently and looked into my blue eyes before he
closed his own walnut brown eyes. We sat there and listened to the
world awakening.
-But I always waited
under the walnut tree, if you would return to me. And now you have,
Edith, now you are here with me.
The funeral was held
a few days later and I sat in the back of the church, crying more
than I had ever done before in my life. I searched my handbag for
chocolates to soothe me but as always my handbag kept them for
itself. I needed to get another handbag, one that didn’t steal my
chocolates, especially not when I needed them the most. I had bought
a new black dress to wear for the funeral and I had bought some
forget-me-not to put on Fred Dauncy’s grave. Afterwards I wondered
into the forest and my feet took me to the walnut tree. On the bench
sat Fred’s twin and grandson Adrian, dressed in black and with his
head in the palm of his hands. When I sat down beside him he lifted
his head and looked into his walnut brown eyes filled with tears.
-Oh. Grace Kelly, he
said with a sad smirk. –I saw you at the funeral.
-Yes.
-Why are you here?
-To put flowers by
the tree, I answered and held up the forget-me-nots.
-His favorite
flowers. How did you know?
-I didn’t, I just
thought… that they would be a token of love from my grandmother.
-Oh, so your grandma
knew my grandpa.
-Yes, a long time
ago, during the war.
-Your grandma was
Edith Hope? Adrian turned to watch me.
-Yes, how…?
-He told me all
about it, about the secretaire and the photo. You see, he had a photo
of this tree, in it he and a girl sat on its branches, and as a child
I asked him who that pretty girl was and he put me in his knee and
told me a story that begun with “Once upon a time under the walnut
tree I met a girl with eyes like forget-me-nots and her name was
Edith Hope”. He used to walk here every morning and sometimes I
followed him. When he got older I made him this bench, I carved the
words on its back for him. So, you are Edith’s granddaughter Grace
Kelly?
-Kelly Grace, yes.
Adrian smiled at me.
-Do you know who has
the secretaire now? I would like to see it.
-Well, you have to
follow me all the way home then.
In the middle of my
apartment stood the secretaire, still proud and handsome, not a day
older. The secretaire was the heart of my apartment, it stood firmly
and looked beautiful in the evening sun. It’s corners were smooth
and it turned the living room alive with its warm walnut colours.
Behind it sat my husband, writing down the history of his grandfather
and my grandmother’s life. Behind him, I sat in the window seat
with my feet placed on his warm back, drinking some red wine and
eating chocolate. On top of the secretaire was three photos, a young
Fred Dauncy in front of the walnut tree, Edith and Fred climbing the
walnut tree and the third was my and Adrian’s wedding photo. Under
the walnut tree.
So what do you think? No sci-fi or fantasty, just a plain old love story (which I realised, as I skimmed through it, has some language problems^^). It's not really a coincidence that the grandma's named Edith, same as Edith Sword in Merula. I love that name. I wrote this short story a year ago for a competion but in the end I didn't send it.
