Chapter 1

 

          [The scent of her grandmother’s perfume still hung in the air, even though it had been four years since she passed away.]  Yellowed newspapers piled high on end tables, added a hint of stale paper to the scent that made up Grandpa’s house. Unopened mail filled the kitchen countertops. The carpet had a worn path from the front door to his study. [Even though Grandpa now lived alone, the door to his study was always kept locked.] Mya sat on the brown and green plaid sofa. As she sat, a plume of her grandpa’s tobacco scent filled the room. He quit smoking in the house after his wife’s diagnosis of lung cancer, one year before her passing. Mya liked the smell of his pipe; it reminded her of the comfort the house held before everything changed.

 

            Mya sat in the living room, waiting for directions. Her parents and she were helping to move Grandpa into a smaller place; assisted living is what everyone kept saying. Mya just knew it wasn’t going to be the same. She gazed around the room. She saw where pictures once hung on the wall, now removed; brighter green paint in a variety of squares and rectangles remained. Only one picture still held fast to the wall.

            A large black and white photograph of an oak tree hung, framed and matted. Mya always wondered how many arms would be needed to circle its great trunk. In the photo, the great oak stood bare, its branches stretched out to the sky, empty. There were no clouds and only skinny, young trees grew at his base, mixed in with fallen trunks and decaying stumps. The photograph was so perfect; she stood mesmerized by the detail of the bark.

            “Mya… Mya what are you doing?” A voice echoed from a distant room.

            “I’m…” Mya stood up, looking around the room again, “I’m making sure everything is packed away in here.” The room was empty but for the sofa, the framed photograph on the wall, and a floor lamp hovering over the last end table in the room which stood strong for a black rotary phone.

            “Would you help us up here, please?” Her father’s tone was not to be questioned. Grandpa was not his father, but Mya’s mother’s. Grandpa had touched nothing of his late wife’s since she passed away. He kept himself to his study and the spare bedroom on the first floor due to his arthritis. [The rest of the house held the memories of their marriage and life together.]

            “Coming,” Mya shouted, as she ran up the stairs.

            “Why can’t we just trash this stuff? It’s junk!”

            “Are you going to help or just make it worse?” Mya’s mom was the only child that lived close to Grandpa to help with the move. Mya leaned on the door frame.

            “Here, Mya, could you take this to Grandpa? He needs to go through some of this stuff.” Her mom handed her a medium sized box which sunk into Mya’s outstretched arms. She stepped down the stairs much slower than she had coming up. Step, step, step. Both feet had to be on the same step before she stepped lower. Once at the bottom, she took the worn carpet path to his study. She leaned her knee against the wall, next to the door. Knock, the door creaked open with her first rap, setting her off balance a little. Quickly, she regained her balance and placed the box on the floor next to the wall. The scent of his pipe rushed at her through the slightly parted door. She poked her head into the study.

            The walls of the study were lined to the ceiling with bookshelves, bookshelves full of books. A long desk pressed against one wall, the only section not dedicated to shelving. Above his desk was a framed charcoal drawing of a tree that looked exactly like the photograph in the living room. Above the drawing was a rectangular window, the length of it parallel to the ceiling. In the sunlight, Mya noticed a thin trail of smoke rising; she followed the smoke down to a pipe sitting on the desk. Grandpa hadn’t moved since she peeked in, but he sat in his tall office chair, staring at a small picture frame on his desk. It was too small for Mya to see the picture from the door.

            “Do you like trees?” Grandpa broke the silence, and turned the picture frame facedown.

            “Yeah.”

            “Do you have a favorite tree Mya?” Grandpa hadn’t moved his gaze from the picture frame.

            “I guess.” Mya stood motionless in the door frame, since she hadn’t been invited into the room.

            “If it’s a Christmas tree, I don’t want to hear it.” Grandpa’s tone shattered the air of trust that was sprouting.

            “My favorite is the oak tree.” Mya paused, unsure if she should wait or keep talking. Grandpa picked up his pipe and puffed a little, holding it with his right hand. Finally his gaze shifted.

            He looked directly at her, but simply puffed a few more times in his pipe. His glasses covered more than his eyes, reaching above his eyebrows and extending half way down his cheek. He was wearing an old suit coat with matching dress pants. He used to teach theology at the local college and would never retire the professor look. Today he dressed more casual than normal, the bowtie he always wore when out and about sat on his desk and his feet sat comfortably in his favorite sheepskin slippers. He sat tall and proper in his chair; his salt and pepper hair ran in every direction atop his head. Mya always tried to avoid seeing the whisker like hair protruding from his ears. The hat he always wore sat next to his bowtie on the desk.

            “I like their leaves and the acorns they drop.” Mya’s eyes opened wide, and she pressed her lips together tight, anticipating a scolding. Grandpa released the pipe from his lips and smiled. He even winked his eye, which appeared to send him forward with a great whirl of motion. He spun towards his desk, and motioned for her to enter his study.

            “Close the door, close the door,” Grandpa said gently. “How old are you now?”

 

 

 

            “Eleven.” Though Mya was invited, she stood in front of the closed door, holding her hands behind her back. Grandpa turned the back of his chair to her.

            “Come over here, sit for a while.” Grandpa patted a stack of thick books. A cloud of dust jumped into the air. Mya carefully stepped around smaller piles of books and manuscripts scattered around the floor. Sitting down onto her new makeshift chair, Grandpa swung his chair around again, almost hitting her. A rattling sound came from the other side of the desk. Grandpa opened a desk drawer and pulled out a wooden box. He locked the drawer and spun around, holding the box in his lap.

            Mya sat upright, rather stiff with her legs tight together, proper, as a young lady should, even if her jeans were littered with grass stains and her knees poked through.  Grandpa lifted the cover off the box -- fresh cedar. Mya set her hands on her knees and leaned forward, the box being just out of her sight. Grandpa turned the box over, dropping a stack of cards into his palm.

            Grandpa held up the first 4x6 card. It was thick and yellowed. On it was a hand-painted leaf, life-size and exact color, with even the tiniest detail.

            “What kind of leaf is this?” Grandpa studied Mya’s face as she looked intently at the card.

            “Birch.” Grandpa flipped the card around; it was in fact a birch tree leaf. He picked up another.

            “And this one?” As she thought, her lips moved to the names of different trees, but none she said aloud until she was confident.

            “Maple,” she said as she looked at Grandpa’s eyes through his glasses. Again, he turned to look at the painted leaf, correct again. A third card now, he held it up just as the last.

            “White Oak.” Mya opened her eyes wide in amazement. She barely looked at that card, and yet the answer shot out of her mouth like an arrow.

            “Mya! Mya!” The muffled sound of her mother’s voice crept beneath the closed study door. Both Grandpa and Mya were stuck looking at each other. Grandpa had a smile slowly growing, while Mya sat in shock.

            “We can continue this later,” Grandpa said as he put all the cards back in the box, closed it tight and placed it in the center drawer of his desk, unlocked. Knock! Knock! Knock!

            “Dad, is Mya in there with you?” The door opened with Mya scooting out, quicker than when she entered. Mya’s mother pushed the box Mya half- delivered into his study.

           

 

 

            “Dad, you need to look through all this stuff. It won’t all fit in your new place.” Grandpa was still watching Mya who was lacing up her shoes near the front door.

            “Dad, this box,” Mya’s mother tapped loudly on the box, “get through at least this box tonight. We’ll be back tomorrow.”

            “Oh, yes, yes. This box I’ll look through tonight,” Grandpa appeased his daughter. She bent down, hugged him and left the study, leaving the door open.

            Grandpa watched them leave through his front door. A few more words were exchanged as they left, but all was white noise to him. Mya was the first of his lineage to show the slightest interest in nature, much less trees. He withdrew his cedar box from the drawer and held up last card. He turned the small picture frame back up to standing as he placed the White Oak leaf card next to it.

            “There is still hope,” Grandpa smiled as he looked them.

           

Author's Note

The parts in brackets are still under consideration. This is a rough draft, but I would love feedback involving the plot and character formation.