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Thursday, June 13, 2019

Chapter 3 The Box of This and That and Everything

(Edit in progress.)

Daylight suddenly slipped into dusk. Through the arched windows, colors of the rainbow reflected onto dancing dust particles. Then time stopped altogether.

Beth drew a long, purpose-filled breath as if taking in all the fragrance of another world, time, and space. She turned the weighty iron key of Grandpa Seth’s peculiarly crafted box, listening for that click. It arrived with an echo and deep sigh, the way Grandpa used to exhale when Beth was in no particular hurry. She gasped as she felt his presence engulfing her. It was almost unbearable. But she lifted the rustic lid, nonetheless, to explore the contents inside. Her eyes widened.

An orchestra of sweet music flowed into the open space. It was his favorite hymn calling her from long ago: “It is Well with My Soul.” He had hummed that tune while working on his wood carvings in his farmhouse barn. She hummed along, fully aware that the box had no batteries or wind-up key. Everything around her seemed to move twice as slow, as the smell of old books and pressed flowers seeped out. Memories flooded her soul. Droplets of tears found a path down her face as she took out the contents one by one, none more precious than Grandpa’s old Bible.

She blew off a thin layer of dust. Crushed rose petals and cherry blossoms fluttered around her like butterflies. Closing her eyes she could see Grandpa smiling. Standing straight, without a cane, without a clunky tank of oxygen. That's how she remembered him best—shoulders back, strong arms to hold her, always begging her to play Hacky Sack with him.

A smile lit up her face as she turned her attention back to the box. “Wow,” she whispered taking out the heavy leather-bound book. “He left me his Bible. This meant so much to him.” Her fingers brushed over the names of her family tree. “He loved us all, didn’t he? He just didn’t trust us.”

“He trusted you.”

Beth giggled. “I guess he did. We used to read this Bible whenever we were together.”

“Yes, he told me he looked forward to that every day.”

With much care, she opened its frail pages. Sticking to the inside of the cover was a note, smeared with crafty lines and artsy hearts, addressed to her and the boys: Here is the deed to my favorite worldly possession—my acres of desert land. No family member, except your grandma, knew about it, and I suspect none of them would care to know about it. Granted, my dear Beth, you will have to clean it up. I’m afraid since your grandma passed away I have neglected it. This will be hard work as it’s in the middle of the desert, though I am convinced you will not shy away from hard work. It will require a lot of raking, digging, sweeping, pruning, chasing critters, and a rattler or two. But if you don’t give up you will find trash-ures.”

“Trash-ures?” Beth crunched her eyebrows together. 

Mr. Weatherly chuckled. “There’s more.” He took out a bundle of keys.

“The old school bus?"

“Newly renovated school bus. And one key to the house … in the desert.”

“There’s a house?” She closed her hand over the keys. “Did I mention I was homeless and … between jobs?”

“You did, indeed.”

She polished the keys with the tail of her shirt. “I love that bus!” The keys clanged together as she clutched them over her heart. “I know it must be falling apart by now but I don’t mind. It’s better than that bus from Hell … um, I mean ... Grandpa taught me how to drive in that bus.”

Mr. Weatherly clicked the heels of his shoes together and gave a courteous cough. Then he took out a lumpy manila envelope from the box which Beth swore had already been emptied.

“Not quite the inheritance you expected, but like your Grandpa said, “you’ll find the trash-ures if you don’t mind the work. Here’s a little money to buy necessities.” His voice was hushed. “From Grandpa’s Beth-Fund.”

“Grandpa had a Me-Fund?”

“Indeed, he did.” He put the envelope in her trembling hand. “Every time you declined his offer of help, he stuffed the money in this envelope. It's quite hefty. Now … let’s go see that bus, shall we?”

Just then, Gabe floated ominously out of the elevator and ushered them inside. He’s got a little of that doomsday look, Beth thought. She could only adjust her eyeballs and thought better than to ask the giggling Caleb if he saw what she saw.

As they stepped back into daylight the garden released its new colors as falling cherry blossoms showered upon them. The weeping willow shook loose the sprays of water received from the waterfall and washed Beth and her boys from the inside out.

"Bright!" Caleb shouted as he bathed in sunshine and cherry drops under the willow tree.

"Refreshing," Beth whispered. She chose to thank Grandpa’s God, Jehovah Jireh she remembered, and kept these things to herself. Who was she going to tell anyhow?

The sage green van with a few rusty spots, waited for them at the edge of the gardens. Beth cupped her hands over her mouth. This is perfect! Our own little house on wheels. It was clean and had a full tank of gas. The back had been loaded with bottled water, a large ice chest crammed with food, and healthy snacks oozed out of a picnic basket. Blankets were neatly stacked in the overhead of the roof that opened up into a red and white striped tent framed by two windows, a skylight, and a new solar panel. “Trash-ures.”

“Make sure you look in the glove compartment.” Mr. Weatherly squeezed his arm through the open window. “Besides all necessary papers, your grandfather left you his journal. It will answer all your questions … like he was still with you.”

Beth shuddered. “Is he—?”

“No,” Mr. Weatherly said with a smile.

She hugged Mr. Weatherly—an honor reserved only for her grandfather. “Thank you.”

Gabe appeared from the apple orchard with Caleb on his shoulders shouting, “Look, Mom, we picked blueberries, strawberries, and Skittles®!”

“Skittles?”

Caleb giggled while slapping his kneecaps.

“Get in the bus, little man,” she replied. “I guess we’re off to the desert.” She double-checked to see if Gabe’s feet were touching the ground. They weren't but she kind of expected that.

Mr. Weatherly and Gabe secured the children. “We’ll see you three soon,” they both said just before Beth thought the two had become one.

She blinked twice, shaking those cobwebs out, but gave up on any explanation. Taking one last sweeping glance of The Grand Seville and its gardens—the fountains, the waterfalls, and ivory statues, the climbing rose caressed by ivy; lilies white, sunflowers gold, and cherry blossoms drifting like snow in perfect spring weather—she started the engine.

Mr. Weatherly, of course, disappeared and left no proof he was ever there before she heard the sputter, then a hum of the engine. Scanning the paths through the gardens for the sweet man and Gabe, too, was useless. They were nowhere. “Indeed,” she said.

The bus sputtered but settled into a smooth hum as a musty, but cool air whipped through when Beth clicked on the air conditioner. She laughed. “Oh, how I love you, Grandpa. I’ll take good care of it.” 

But as she left the garden, the darkness of the storm confronted them as the old bus maneuvered into the world she dreaded. She blew out all her anxiety and whispered Grandpa's favorite quote, “It is well with my soul.”