Chapter Two Part Two
By Ruth O'Neil
Not wanting
to dwell on that memory, I quickly continued on the winding path through the
woods. A breeze swirled around me, chilling me to the bone. I snuggled deep
into my coat and remembered how Grammie had once walked down this path on a
windy day, holding our two small hands in her own.
“Do you
hear that?” she had asked.
“I hear the
leaves in the trees,” Lauren had answered.
“That’s
right. Do you know what they’re saying?”
“Grammie,”
I said, “trees don’t actually talk.”
“Oh, but
they do. They’re singing and praising God, their Creator.”
“Grammie,
that’s silly.” Even Lauren had a hard time believing it.
“I’ll show
you the verse that proves it when we get back to the house.”
At the end
of the path was the hill where we used to take Grammie and Gramps on picnics
when they came to visit. In the winter months, we would sled down that same
hill and exhaust ourselves climbing back up, only to slide down again. We would
do this over and over again.
I laughed
out loud as I remembered the pricker bushes at the bottom of the hill. Somehow,
Lauren always used to end up in their grasp. The briars would be stuck to her
coat, her hat, and her hair, and Lauren would cry as Mom removed them. Lauren
and I had raced down that rise during the other seasons of the year when no
snow lay on the ground. I looked around, just to make sure no one was watching
me, before throwing caution to the wind and running down—arms outstretched—like
I used to do. For a moment, I felt young and carefree once again. Back at the
house, I read the other note Grammie had left for me in this package.
Dear Gracie,
I hope you have enjoyed your trek around the
old home place. Sure brings back a lot of memories, doesn’t it?
Now, do you remember the tree fort you girls
built in that huge maple tree in front of the house? I had a little help, so
you should find a ladder to make your climb easier. I left a special gift for
you there.
I love you,
Grammie
I looked to
the front of the house. I had forgotten about the maple tree fort. In fact,
there were two huge maples shading the house in the heat of summer. One of the
trees stood closer to the road. That was the tree where Lauren and I had built
our fort. The other tree was precariously close to the window of our bedroom. I
took a deep breath and walked toward the tree fort, then I climbed the ladder
and sat down on the dusty platform. Another memory rushed back: Lauren
screaming as her hair got caught in the maple tree branches. I tried to release
her tresses but eventually had to fetch Mom, who had been forced to cut
Lauren’s hair free. I remember Grammie laughing on the phone and muttering
something about Absalom in the Bible. It was about the only time in our lives
that Lauren and I looked a little different.
A chilly
breeze blew and fluttered the couple of leaves that were still hanging on for
dear life. Something else moved in the breeze and caught my eye. A Christmas
ornament. I reached out for it. Not just any old ornament, mind you. A “God’s
eye,” just like the one Grammie had taught us to make one cold, blustery day
when we couldn’t go outside. After that, we had made one every year, taking
small but sturdy branches from the tree, crossing them, and then wrapping
various colors of yarn around them. Some years there were three colors; one
representing each of us. Some years there were only two colors, representing my
sister and me.
A single
tear slid down my cheek.
Clutching
the God’s eye, I climbed down from the tree. I’d had enough of my visit to my
childhood home. Even here, pain hovered around every corner. Driving back, the
cheerful Christmas music grated on my nerves. I switched the radio off. Grammie
always used to pray in the car, and for a fleeting moment I considered doing
the same. Then I remembered that God and I were not exactly on speaking terms.
As the miles crept past, I tried—in vain—to capture all the memories this visit
had unleashed, and push them back deep into the dark recesses of my heart.
Another envelope awaited.
Grace takes delivery of a package and her life is turned
upside down by nine sealed mystery envelopes from her late grandmother.
Grammie’s instructions require Grace to take the journey of her lifetime, not
only to far off places, but also into the deepest parts of her heart. As she
follows the trail laid out for her and uncovers her family’s darkest secrets,
Grace is forced to confront the loss and betrayal that has scarred her past and
seek the greatest Christmas Treasure of all.
Read More:
Learn more about this fun project at Write Integrity Press.
J.A. Marx is the
Featured Author today at WIP, so drop by to read her Favorite Christmas Memory and Recipe.
Don’t forget to pop over to Magnificent Hope’s Christmas Party! We’ll see you there.
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