Under the Walnut Tree

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 17^th?

This is when I called my dear mother. But she had never heard of the 17^th 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 17^th 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.