Tree Of Memories

By Deborah Bainbridge

Ambling through the orchard to the rear of my estate, I found an old friend. The worn handle of my cane firm in my grip, I whispered my questions. They floated away on the gentle breeze caressing me.

But the mighty maple did not answer. I shivered and tightened Mom’s favorite shawl around my shoulders. I was out of time, but one question burned brightest.

No matter where my travels had taken me throughout Europe, I still preferred the grass beneath the magnificent boughs of this beautiful maple. Today, the branches towered above me in a splendor of fall glory. Fresh air, memories, and nostalgia filled my lungs as I rested against the familiar trunk.

“My oldest and dearest friend! It’s me, Grace.” My palm caressed the coarse bark. “How I wish I knew your name. It seems rude somehow, to call you Tree.” I traced the veins of a scarlet leaf caught on my shawl. “I confess I do not know the language of trees, but I have questions for you.”

I circled the base of the magnificent maple, my finger tracing grooves in the bark, wondering what this noble tree had seen throughout the years. “How many birds have taken refuge in your branches? Does everyone stand in amazement at your beauty and in awe of the God who created you? Do you have any words of comfort as the end draws near?” I lifted my green skirt wide around me, swishing it back and forth, aware that my dancing days were long gone.

“I have measured my life by your rings. I am old now, but I still remember the day Dad planted you on my sixth birthday, back when I believed in fairies. Dad said you were an impressive lad even as a sapling.” I giggled. “You were taller than me, even then.”

The thought of the green fairy dress Mom had made for my sixth birthday present made me smile until a tear slipped out of the corners of my eyes. I hummed, my crooked finger waving in the air like a conductor’s baton. “I remember that day like it was yesterday. The song Mom and I sang. Dad’s adoring smile. I could have stayed out here with them forever, laughing and dancing.” I took a deep breath and brushed a tear from my cheek. “That is my fondest childhood memory. And, you were right here with me, old friend. Do you remember?”

Nothing but the breeze answered my heart’s question that brought me here one more time. Dad had warned me that trees may not move nor speak in the same timeframe as humans.

My legs trembled. I leaned hard on my old friend, relying on his strength to steady me. The world was spinning, and fairies seemed to be dancing in my stomach. “I think I’ll just”—I knelt down—“sit for a while.” I rested against his base, a pillow of soft leaves crunching beneath me, my heart beating fast as hummingbird wings.

A gust of wind blasted through the mighty tree, raining leaves. A harsh chill scraped across my cheek, reminding me of winter’s coming sting. Clutching my shawl, I lifted my gaze to a breathtaking fall wonderland. A flurry of glowing yellow, orange, and scarlet leaves pirouetted in the air, performing just for me, the audience of one.

“Dear maple,” I said, “Do you remember my sixth birthday?” I wiped beads of sweat from my forehead, my skin cold and clammy. “I have little time before I go. Please, will you tell me?”

The earth rumbled. A large yellow leaf passed before my eyes, and Dad was on his knees, hiding small fairy toys in the bushes for me to find. He caught Mom’s eye and laughed. A red leaf glided by, and he was gone.

I looked to my left, and a dark orange leaf hovered before me. Mom clutched my hands, twirling me as we danced and sang together. Gleeful tears blurred my vision. “Grace,” she said, a smile reaching up to her brown eyes. I reached out, my hands small and youthful, my joy rekindled, hearing my name from Mom’s voice.

A red leaf slipped past, and my lifted hands were old and withered once more. Beyond them, a blanket of leaves covered my legs. “Thank you for warming me, old friend. I was getting so cold.” I rubbed my arms as much as my gnarled hands would allow. “The pattern you crafted is beautiful, like the quilts Mom made.”

I sighed. “I never knew Dad hid toy fairies while Mom and I danced. Thank you, for letting me hear their voices one last time.” I clutched my chest. “The most beautiful sounds in all the world.” Tears of joy and longing streamed down my face.

I placed my head in my hands, rubbing the left side of my jaw, and my hands trembled. “Everything has changed, and I grow weary, my friend. God has prepared a place for me. I’m sure of it. And yet, I’m afraid.” My voice choked. “I’m glad you’re here with me.” I leaned against his trunk and closed my eyes. “This is my favorite place in all the world. Did I tell you that?”

Crushing pain plunged down my left arm, and my shoulders slumped. Melancholy wrapped me in an unwelcome embrace, clutching me so tightly, I could not catch my breath. Like leaves drifting to the ground, it slowed and faded.

Tiny lights flickered before me… mesmerizing me… beckoning me. They were beautiful! Is this Heaven? Warmth radiated through me, and I jumped to my feet. My gnarled hands were young and slender and my legs full of strength.

“I remember,” the maple resounded. “I remember every moment of every ring.”

“Thank you, friend. For everything.” I twirled in circles, my green skirts whirling around me. “Is Dad hiding toy fairies to guide my path?” I giggled. “You know, I think I’ll go and dance with them again.”

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Deborah Bainbridge is a Christian, wife, and mother who enjoys running, traveling, writing short stories, and cookies. Her genres of choice include fiction and mystery. Throughout her life, she has been inspired by J.R.R. Tolkien, C.S. Lewis, J.K. Rowling, and Suzanne Collins. She is thankful to her friends and family for their encouragement and dedicates this story to her friend, Sarah.

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