This house held so many secrets, but if it were to shelter a new family, prior history would have to be dealt with. Precious belongings would have to be stored in safekeeping, ready to make room for more secrets.
I told myself my curiosity was purely from a renovation point of view even though I knew whatever was in the box would butcher me.
Gritting my teeth, I opened the lid and raked a hand through my hair as I found hundreds upon hundreds of letters, all addressed to my father.
A few held just one lines, others multiple paragraphs, and some with sheets and sheets of news.
My mother had always been a writer. Her journaling was mostly why their love story was fashioned into a book, and instead of stopping a lifelong calling, Mom had turned to writing to Dad when he died.
The paper felt otherworldly as I claimed a small note and held it in the light.
My Dearest Ren,
It’s hot today.
Hot enough for a swim in a stream in some empty forest, just the two of us. I had a dream last night of our many camping trips—of you when you were just a boy looking after an annoying little girl. Remember those days? God, I do.
I wonder if we’ll have that again…when I find you.
I stopped reading, placing the letter face down on the desk.
It felt like an intrusion. It filled me with grief.
Scooping the massive pile of paper from the box, I placed the tower before me. So many notes. So many little snippets of her life she’d wanted to share with the ghost that watched over her. I wanted to hide them somewhere safe, but I reached for another, adding salt to my wounds.
My Ren,
Today is a hard day.
I miss you more than I can bear.
My heart lurched, tasting my mother’s sorrow.
Dear Beloved Ren,
Jacob adopted a new horse today.
They’re both as broken as the other, so one of two things will happen: they’ll end up killing each other or will heal together, but for now, they have a friendship no one else truly understands.
Jacob has called him Forrest.
There’s so much of you in him, Ren.
It’s unbearable sometimes.
Then again, there’s me in there too. His temper and stubbornness, for one.
Anyway, I have to go cook dinner.
I’ll see you in my dreams.
Another page fell from the stack as I pushed the letters neatly to the side. My eyes skimmed it before I could stop myself.
Ren,
Hope is slowly winning, you’ll be glad to know. She’s not afraid of Jacob’s temper. You’d be so proud of the way she pushes him to be happier. I know she loves our son. And I love her. She truly is a Wild, Ren.
She belongs here, and I hope, one day, she officially becomes family.
Turned out, I’d kept her wish and fate’s design.
Hope was family. A true Wild.
With my wedding ring glinting on my finger, I ran my touch along the stack of letters.
Declarations of love and loss—a life my mother had to live without her husband by her side.
I had no idea what to do with them. They couldn’t be given away, and they definitely couldn’t be destroyed.
They would have to be protected and guarded—a talisman for our own love story; a reminder to adore each and every day, even if it killed us.
Bracing myself for yet more tragic notes to ghosts, I looked inside the box again.
Tucked at the very bottom was a piece of soft leather tied with tan string.
I pulled it free and undid the fasten, flopping open the leather to reveal yet another piece of paper.
This was different, though. This one wasn’t a love note but a short manuscript. Written in secret, stored in dust, and dedicated to the family she’d left behind.
I looked out the window again, searching for Hope and the horses. She’d guided the creatures to the stable where she’d begun tacking up Snowy for our evening ride.
The world of the living summoned me to join it, but the whispers of ghosts made my eyes fall back to the pages.
Should I read it?
Was it private?
I didn’t have a choice as my attention fell on my wife’s name in the dedication.
To Ren, my husband who lives in my heart.
To Jacob, my son who keeps me whole.
To Cassie, my sister who keeps me brave.
To John, my father who keeps me smiling.
To Hope, my daughter who I hope becomes family.
My hands trembled as I turned over the page, committing myself to this tale. I couldn’t trap away my mother’s words again without honouring them.
The description page was neatly typed.
‘Come Find Me’
A Short Story
by
Della Wild
I swallowed hard as I turned the page and began.
A SHORT STORY might be a single paragraph, a simple page, or a complex novella.
It should have a beginning, middle, and an end.
It can be fact, fiction, or fantasy.
This is none of those things.