The Grave Planter

Story Time Begins

                 

The clouds dribble sunlight onto a small, rural town. The buildings are the same age as most of the residents, but a few young ones stick out like weeds in a field of weathered brick and wood. The elderly folk were proud of their age and stubbornness that kept the town functioning, so much so that none of them dyed their hair. The young ones did.

Cobblestone roads remain uneven and bear the marks of carriage tracks pounded into them. Today, some of the shops are closed. So, we drive down the cobblestone road to the north towards a distant cottage. We end up at the brick cottage that's sharing a fence with a small graveyard on the right. Three cars and a motorcycle are parked on the dirt road in front. A garden full of flowers stands to the left of the house. A small greenhouse lies behind the garden of flowers. Look through the window! Do you see a widow and her guests at the dinner table? Heartfelt laughter defies the walls of the home and tickles our hearts. The smiles they wear are as innocent as a 1-year-old child's joy from seeing something for the first time. But then our eyes fall upon an empty chair at the corner of the table. A vase containing a vast array of flowers sits where the tableware should be.

The widow catches us admiring the scene and ushers us in. We enter and everyone raises up their glasses in welcome. The widow shuffles to us and gives us a toothless grin. "Come, come, sit," she says with a lisp, "Join us for a bite to eat before you go."

I shake my head no and address the room, "Sorry to intrude, but we're here to hear the story about the grave planter. We wanted to drop by and ask you." I turn to the widow. "About the story. In the letters I exchanged with a few residents, they told me to ask you. We can come back tomorrow or sometime later this week."

Laughter erupts around the room.

"Story?" The widow says. "My dears, I lived it."

One grizzly occupant chuckles, "Hey now, ma'am! We lived it too, you know! Don't hog all the experience to yourself. We'll help ya tell it."

The rest of the guests voice their approval.

"Then let me make some tea and stoke the fire." The elderly woman shuffles to the open kitchen. "It seems you are in luck. We can tell you it after a quick dinner."

The grizzly man stands and picks up a poker. "Ma'am, I got the fire."

"Thank you, dear." She peaks over the counter to check on him.

"I'd worry more about that tea."

She lets out a laugh of air and turns to the teapot sitting on an unlit stove.

A dinner later, we settle around the fireplace. The window lets in the setting sunlight.

"Will everyone be okay driving home late?" asks the elderly woman.

Everyone nods yes and sips on their tea.

I perk up my eyebrows at the taste. "I've never tasted such an exquisite rose tea. This is excellent."

The widow laughs in her armchair causing her wrinkles to dance in the firelight. Her round face remains rosy and her brown eyes light with energy. "It's a special ingredient you'll know when you're old enough." She wraps her red rose patterned shawl closer to her. "Now, this is the first time we'll be telling the story. I guess it'll all come together once we fill in each other's gaps." She wiggles her shoulders and gives everyone a childish grin. "I'll start."