Memories

~~~~~Note : I wrote this Short Story last summer and never had time to edit it so I just decided to publish it anyway.~~~~~

Grace didn't just find the box, she tripped over it. It was a dry, hot, summer day and she had just stepped outside to get some fresh air by going on a walk across the fields, into the village and down to the crumbling church which was home to her mother's grave. Half way across the field she stopped, thinking of picking wild flowers to put on the grave. By the hedge lining the field were some beautiful blue Cornflowers. Without another thought, she ran over to the edge.

Suddenly, she found herself flying through the air before landing roughly onto the grass, squishing quite a few flowers. Picking herself up and dusting herself off she surveyed the damage. Dirty hands and knees, her dress had a tear in it. This didn't bother her much, she didn't really like wearing dresses but the heatwave had meant she didn't have a choice. Looking now for the object that had caused her to fall over she caught sight of something a few feet away – a box.

Carrying it under one arm she rushed home. The clear blue sky was darkening, with streaks of purple beginning to appear. Her dad would be worried sick. When her mother had died five years ago, her father had become very protective of Grace, so her evening wandering would not go unnoticed. Sure enough, the moment she stepped past the front door of the cottage, her dad asked,

"Where have you been? It's nearly dark!"

"It's eight o'clock dad, and the sun hasn't set yet." Grace replied, "Anyway, I'm going upstairs."

Quickly she scooted past her dad before he could say anything else and rushed upstairs to her bedroom. Flicking on the lamp she placed the wooden box under its light, on the desk. As far as she could see, it was old, and made of wood. At the front there was a silver clasp, but on the top and sides there were intricate carvings. Prising open the lid she peered inside.

It seemed to be a memory box. Dozens of letters tied in a purple ribbon were weighted down by stone. Beneath that were photographs and miniature pressed cornflowers. But Grace wasn't interested in those. She had caught sight of the woman who featured in the top photograph. It was her mother.

Hands shaking she shifted the flowers to the side and took the photographs from the box. Flicking through them she saw that her mother was in every single one. However, she wasn't the only person in the frames. A man, wild and smiling was dancing with her in some, holding hands in others. In some they seemed to be at a festival. Each photograph was beautiful and confirmed that the man was not Grace's father. In each photo, her mother looked beautiful and... carefree. She had always known that her mother was a free-spirit, a contrast to her father, who was devoted but so much more serious.

Confused, she turned the pictures over. Each was dated to about a year or less before her mother had died. That meant she had still been married. Setting them aside, the gingerly picked up the letters and pulled on one end of the ribbon. Feeling like an intruder, she began to read.

Dear Thomas,

Last week was wonderful, I'm still dreaming about dancing with you again every night. I hate myself for doing this but it was magical to be so close to you, to not have to worry about anything. You have helped me to rediscover who I used to be.

Thank you for the Cornflowers, they're my favourites. I had a bit of explaining to do when they turned up on the doorstep. I just told Eddie they were from Mrs Wood to say thank you for looking after her cat last week. I feel awful every time I lie to him, but I can't tell him, it would break his heart.

Grace was shocked. Eddie was her dad's name. She couldn't comprehend what was happening. She thought she knew what this meant, but she didn't want to believe it. Taking a deep breath, she continued with the letter.