Seeds Never Sent

Prologue

Our father used to tell my siblings that once a seed of truth is buried beneath the fertile soil of deception, layers upon layers of falsehoods grow like overgrown wheat fields, obscuring the original grain so deeply that unearthing it requires tearing through the dense thicket of lies, a task almost as burdensome as threshing the entire harvest.

I was just a two-year-old when the seeds of deceit were sown, taking root in the rich soil of our lives. Avery and Elgi, being ten at the time, had a more profound understanding of the tragedy that befell us. Our parents were violently taken from the world, forever altering the course of our lives.

Growing up, my childhood was a bittersweet blend of love, laughter, and secrets whispered behind closed doors. Our home was the Crestwood Orphanage, a humble abode with creaking wooden floors and the comforting aroma of freshly baked bread lingering in the air every morning. Avery would always say that the scent reminded him of our mother, while Elgi, in her characteristic brusqueness, would tell him to shut up. I now understand that it was her way of avoiding the painful reality that our mother was no longer with us.

Avery, with his wavy chestnut hair inherited from our father and our mother’s gentle hazel eyes, embodied kindness. His presence alone could fill a room with warmth, and his laughter had the power to melt even the iciest hearts. Elgi, on the other hand, possessed an enigmatic aura. Her cascading ebony curls mirrored our mother’s, framing a face the bore our father’s piercing emerald eyes. Behind that captivating gaze lay a depth of wisdom far beyond her tender years. Elgi was the keeper of unspoken answers, using her silence as a shield against a world that had taken so much from us.

I vividly recall the days before Avery ran away, when the three of us would embark on adventures in the wheat fields that extended beyond the orphanage’s backyard. The golden stalks would sway in harmonious rhythm with the wind as we raced through the towering blades, losing ourselves in nature’s whispering symphony. In those stolen moments, time seemed to slow, and the weight of our burdens would momentarily lift.

Yet, beneath the breathtaking beauty of those fields, a hidden truth lay dormant, yearning to be unearthed. The murder of our parents had sent a shockwave through Crestwood, leaving behind a lingering atmosphere of suspicion. The weight of that burden pressed heavily upon Avery and Elgi’s young shoulders, turning them into subjects of accusation and scornful glances. The townsfolk spun tales of darkness around them, and the once-dreamed-of chance of being adopted became eclipsed by a vast field of rumors threatening to engulf us all.

As the rumors began to circulate through our small town, the once peaceful evenings at home turned into a battlefield for Avery and Elgi. I was just a wide-eyed five-year-old when their arguments became a daily occurrence. It puzzled me, for I had hoped that in the aftermath of our parents’ tragic departure, their love for each other would grow stronger. Yet, it seemed that the only common ground they found was their concern for my well-being. Perhaps they failed to realize that amidst the chaos, all I yearned for was the cessation of their ceaseless shouts.

In those tumultuous times, the vast wheat fields became my sanctuary, a realm where my anxieties and pent-up frustrations could momentarily fade away. The golden expanse offered solace, if only for fleeting moments. With every step I took into the sea of swaying wheat, I could momentarily escape the deafening echoes of their discord.

It had been a couple of years, and it was right around the time of my siblings’ fifteenth birthday when Avery disappeared from our lives. He didn’t bother saying goodbye, leaving me feeling betrayed and hurt. I understand now why he made that choice, but back then, I couldn’t find it in my heart to forgive him. All he left behind was a letter, filled with promises to keep in touch as soon as he could. Yet, for almost two years, there was no word from him.

In his letter, Avery mentioned his quest to find our long-lost uncle, Jonael Santos, who supposedly was our mother’s brother. Elgi was livid when she read those words. She tore the paper into shreds right before my eyes, her voice trembling with anger. She muttered about our mother’s words, claiming that she had said everyone from our family who lived in Puerto Rico was dead. I couldn’t confirm the truth behind that statement, and honestly, it didn’t hold much significance to me at the time. My main concern was Avery’s well-being, and I yearned to send him a letter of my own. Unfortunately, I was clueless about where to send it.

Days turned into weeks, weeks into months, and still, Avery’s absence loomed over us. I often found myself lost in thought, reminiscing about the memories we shared, wondering where he might be. The ache of his absence was a constant companion, a void that couldn’t be filled. I longed for his familiar presence, his laughter, and his reassurance during uncertain times.

Each passing day brought with it a sense of restlessness. I felt trapped, unable to reach out to Avery, unaware of the world he had ventured into. Questions plagued my mind. Was he safe? Was he closer to finding our uncle? Did her even remember us amidst his search? It was a whirlwind of emotions, alternating between worry and frustration. I wished I had a way to let him know that we were here, waiting, desperate for a sign of life.

Sometimes, in the quiet of the night, I would find solace in writing letters that I never sent. Pouring my heart out onto paper became a therapeutic escape, a means to bridge the distance between us. I would write about the mundane events of my life, the bittersweet moments that I wished he were a part of. I would recount stories of our adventures in the wheat fields, hoping to evoke a flicker of familiarity in his mind. Each word was an expression of my unwavering love and longing, a silent plea for him to return.

But even as I panned those letters, uncetainty gnawed at me. Without an address or any way to contact him, it felt as if my words were drifting aimlessly, never to reach their intended recipient. The lack of closure and the absence of news from Avery weighed heavily on my heart, tugging at my emotions day in and day out.

As the months stretched on, I remained hopeful, holding onto the belief that one day, Avery would fufill his promise to write. My determination grew weaker with each passing day, fueled by Elgi’s incessant doubt and anger. I refused to let doubt overshadow my optimism however, convinced that someday, somehow, our paths would cross again. Until then, I would continue to navigate through life, cherishing the memories we had, and eagerly awaiting the day I would discover where to send that long-awaited letter.

Until that illusion shattered and that year, we met Bennie Franklin Anderson. Our new foster parent.