Ecstatic about finally being out of the house after a long winter, Sallie pulled me along in her wake. As we navigated the winding sidewalk, I concentrated on avoiding the patches of ice while she concentrated on finding some piece of ground that wasn't covered by snow. Snow from the latest storm seemed to cover the entire town. Just yesterday they had cancelled school, and everyone was forced to stay indoors.
The wind picked up as we neared the edge of town. The old cemetery looked eerie this evening; the trees reaching out with their leafless branches, the wind giving the appearance that they would scoop us right up. The elaborate grave markers with their chiseled memories cast shadows over the icy path. One grave always drew me. My great-grandmother’s grave had a simple headstone, but someone had planted rose bushes around it. In the spring they would be full of flowers, but now they slept just as soundly as the grave they adorned. Brushing the snow off the headstone, I cleared the writing: Sallie Marie Foster, 1921-1937.
My great-grandmother’s namesake began digging ferociously among the rose bushes. I managed to pull her back, but she just sat down and stared intently at her work. Seeing as she wouldn't budge, I squatted down and to my surprise found a small black velvet box among the uncovered roots. The box was very old and covered with dirt; it had obviously been in the ground a very long time. Why my dog happened to be the one to unearth it can only be called fate.
Inside the box was a simple gold wedding band, still bright with hope, and covering it, a folded piece of very old crumbling paper. Although the day had warmed up enough for a nice brisk walk, it wasn't warm enough to stand around in the wind, so I pocketed Sallie's find, and headed home.
Later sitting in my favorite chair by a warm fire with a full belly and a nice snifter of brandy, I unfolded the letter and read,
My dearest love,
By now you know what my answer must be. Father won’t hear of our marrying. He’s determined to sell me off to old Foster. I will not be wife to a man who is forty years my senior! If it was not for the heart that beats below mine, I would take my life. Should I tell him, would that change his mind? I think not. Please know that my heart will always belong to you.
Sallie
My mind reeled! I felt as if I’d been hit by lightening; my entire world shattered in a moment. I thought of my family Bible sitting on display in the town hall. I had to check the handwriting. There was to be no sleep for me that night as I wondered who my real great-grandfather might be. Did others know? I’d always known that she’d died giving birth, but I never heard that the baby had been premature.
The minute the town hall opened its doors to the public, I was there. As usual there were neighbors to be greeted, the weather to be discussed. Mrs. Matthews had twins again. Desperately I waited until there was no one near the pedestal. Although obviously shaken with emotion, the writing was definitely hers.
I must have been wandering aimlessly because I found myself at the edge of town again. Now her grave looked different to me. A young woman, no more than a child really, who had lived only long enough to give life to another. As I stood there, old Mr. Penniford approached slowly. This was a favorite haunting ground, so to speak, of his also. We often met up here, discussing everything and anything. He’d always been around, known to everyone in town, and a favorite dinner guest of my father’s. The town had recently celebrated Mr. Penniford’s 88th birthday.
When he saw the open note in my hand, his eyes met mine briefly before returning to my great-grandmother’s headstone.
“It surfaced, did it?” he asked.
“Yesterday, Sallie found it. My dog, I mean”, I muttered lost in thought. Suddenly the pieces fell into place, “Are you…”
“Yes, Foster, my boy, I am”, he said sadly. “Had I been a stronger man, she might still be alive. She left her heart in my keeping. I have cared for it ever since.”
Mr. Penniford had been a part of my life for as long as I could remember. He taught me to ride a bicycle, stopped by to watch my ballgames. I had assumed he did that for everyone, the town grandpa, but now I knew he was doing what he’d been asked to do.
For a few minutes longer, we stood sharing the peace and quiet, and then my great-grandfather and I walked back into town together.
Showing posts with label prompt. Show all posts
Showing posts with label prompt. Show all posts
Saturday, March 17, 2007
Monday, March 5, 2007
The Black Velvet Box
This is the first short story I've written from a "prompt".
Here's the prompt from WritersDigest.com:
"The temperature outside is finally above freezing and winter's snow is beginning to melt, revealing a season's worth of lost things. Disregarding hats and mittens, a man walking his dog becomes intrigued with a black velvet box. He opens it and is shocked to discover its contents. What's inside the box and how did it get there?"
And here's my story:
Finally out after a long winter, Sallie pulled me along in her wake. I concentrated on staying upright while she concentrated on finding some piece of ground that wasn't covered by ice and snow.
The old cemetery looked eerie in the winter; the trees reaching out with their leafless branches; the elaborate grave markers with their chiseled memories. One grave always drew me. My great-grandmother’s grave had a simple headstone, but someone had planted rose bushes around it; now they slept just as soundly as the grave they adorned.
Sallie began digging ferociously among the rose bushes, I managed to pull her back, but then she sat down and stared her work. Seeing as she wouldn't budge, I squatted down and to my surprise found a small black velvet box covered with dirt. The box was very old; it was obviously in the ground a long time. Why my dog happened to be the one to dig it up can only be called fate.
Inside the box was a simple gold wedding band, still bright with hope, and covering it, a folded piece of paper. Although the day had warmed up enough for a nice brisk walk, it wasn't warm enough to stand around in the wind, so I pocketed Sallie's find, and headed home.
Later sitting by my fire with a nice snifter of brandy, I unfolded the letter and read,
My love,
By now you know what my answer must be. My father won’t hear of our marrying; he’s determined to sell me off to old Foster. I will not be wife to a man who is forty years my senior! If it was not for the heart that beats below mine, I would take my life. Should I tell him, would that change his mind? I think not. Please know that my heart will always belong to you.
Sallie
My mind reeled! My family Bible sat on a display in the town hall. I had to check the handwriting. There was no sleep for me that night as I wondered who my real great-grandfather might be. Did others guess the truth? I’d always known that she’d died giving birth, but was the baby premature?
The minute the town hall opened its doors to the public, I was there. Desperately I waited until there was no one near the pedestal. Although obviously shaken with emotion, the writing was definitely hers.
I must have been wandering aimlessly because I found myself at the edge of town again. Now her grave looked different to me. A young woman, no more than a child really, who had lived only long enough to give life to another. As I stood there, old Mr. Penniford approached slowly. This was a favorite haunting ground, so to speak, of his also. We often met up here, discussing everything and anything. He’d always been around the town, and was a favorite dinner guest of my father’s.
When he saw the open note in my hand, his eyes met mine.
“It surfaced, did it?” he asked.
“Yesterday, Sallie found it. My dog, I mean”, I muttered lost in thought. Suddenly I realized, “Are you…”.
“Yes, Foster, my boy, I am”, he said sadly. “Had I been a stronger man, she might still be alive. She left her heart in my keeping. I’ve cared for it ever since.”
I watched as my great-grandfather walked away.
Here's the prompt from WritersDigest.com:
"The temperature outside is finally above freezing and winter's snow is beginning to melt, revealing a season's worth of lost things. Disregarding hats and mittens, a man walking his dog becomes intrigued with a black velvet box. He opens it and is shocked to discover its contents. What's inside the box and how did it get there?"
And here's my story:
Finally out after a long winter, Sallie pulled me along in her wake. I concentrated on staying upright while she concentrated on finding some piece of ground that wasn't covered by ice and snow.
The old cemetery looked eerie in the winter; the trees reaching out with their leafless branches; the elaborate grave markers with their chiseled memories. One grave always drew me. My great-grandmother’s grave had a simple headstone, but someone had planted rose bushes around it; now they slept just as soundly as the grave they adorned.
Sallie began digging ferociously among the rose bushes, I managed to pull her back, but then she sat down and stared her work. Seeing as she wouldn't budge, I squatted down and to my surprise found a small black velvet box covered with dirt. The box was very old; it was obviously in the ground a long time. Why my dog happened to be the one to dig it up can only be called fate.
Inside the box was a simple gold wedding band, still bright with hope, and covering it, a folded piece of paper. Although the day had warmed up enough for a nice brisk walk, it wasn't warm enough to stand around in the wind, so I pocketed Sallie's find, and headed home.
Later sitting by my fire with a nice snifter of brandy, I unfolded the letter and read,
By now you know what my answer must be. My father won’t hear of our marrying; he’s determined to sell me off to old Foster. I will not be wife to a man who is forty years my senior! If it was not for the heart that beats below mine, I would take my life. Should I tell him, would that change his mind? I think not. Please know that my heart will always belong to you.
Sallie
My mind reeled! My family Bible sat on a display in the town hall. I had to check the handwriting. There was no sleep for me that night as I wondered who my real great-grandfather might be. Did others guess the truth? I’d always known that she’d died giving birth, but was the baby premature?
The minute the town hall opened its doors to the public, I was there. Desperately I waited until there was no one near the pedestal. Although obviously shaken with emotion, the writing was definitely hers.
I must have been wandering aimlessly because I found myself at the edge of town again. Now her grave looked different to me. A young woman, no more than a child really, who had lived only long enough to give life to another. As I stood there, old Mr. Penniford approached slowly. This was a favorite haunting ground, so to speak, of his also. We often met up here, discussing everything and anything. He’d always been around the town, and was a favorite dinner guest of my father’s.
When he saw the open note in my hand, his eyes met mine.
“It surfaced, did it?” he asked.
“Yesterday, Sallie found it. My dog, I mean”, I muttered lost in thought. Suddenly I realized, “Are you…”.
“Yes, Foster, my boy, I am”, he said sadly. “Had I been a stronger man, she might still be alive. She left her heart in my keeping. I’ve cared for it ever since.”
I watched as my great-grandfather walked away.
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