the ashes

I know—it went against all my hurt feelings and bitter sense of entitlement, but as Mother said, I’d always end up doing the right thing—whatever the hell that meant.

The fact was, I hadn’t decided what to do with the property, but until I did, her remains would rest on her beloved estate with a view overlooking the pond. Lucky her.

I wasn’t being anything—not resentful, maudlin or overly sentimental—it just seemed the appropriate thing to do under the circumstances—and if I sold the property, I’d scatter her ashes over the pond and feel I served her memory well.

Anyway, that was the lie I told myself, and resolved I wouldn’t cry for something that couldn’t be helped. Not then, not now—not ever.

I took up my residency the next week. It was early June and the weather was golden.

I spent the first few days taking inventory of the house and grounds. The house was in a better state of repair than I remembered, but then, my thoughts were clouded since I left in bitterness and anger—went away to college and never came back—except, of course, for the funeral and the disposition of what remained.

It was sad. We never reconciled. And it was both of us really—our stubbornness. But I was determined to make it on my own and I did—I made millions in Internet marketing before the credit crisis and the economic downturn that followed.

So, now here we are—both interred in our separate limbos—she, possibly at peace, and I pondering whether to rebuild the ancient ruins and restore places long devastated. As for our relationship—well, that boat has sailed and burned, and yet, I hope she’s found her own Valhalla.

“That’s a lovely gesture—interring your mother’s remains in the place she loved so well.”

I turn and see a beautiful young woman smiling at me, standing beneath the windy trees in a shimmering current of shadows.

“I’m Emily Winterhill, your mother’s gardener—you must be her son.”

“I am,” I smile, bemused by her directness and beauty.

“I hope I didn’t interrupt your solitude, Mr. Lennox, but thought we should meet.”

“Yes, of course,” I stammer, “but you didn’t disturb me—and please, call me Jonas—or preferably, Jay. All my friends call me that.”

Her eyes shone with a strange light I couldn’t quite define, but they fascinated me. She had such a dramatic beauty—honey colored hair and dark brown eyes. I was completely taken with her.

“I saw you walking the path to the pond. Were you aware the deed to the property entitles you to launch boats—row boats or sail boats if you wish?”

“Really? Well that’s something to keep in mind,” I laughed.

“I trust you’ll find the grounds have been well maintained—your mother took great pains to ensure the black oak savannah is properly tended with prescribed burns.”

My interest was piqued. “You mean you actually light fires on the property?”

Her eyes brightened again reminding me of the sun behind a sky of scattered cloud, brightening and dimming on cue with the wind.

“Oh yes, I have to set carefully controlled fires that burn close to the ground and consume dried leaves and twigs. The burning mimics the natural wildfires that occur in these ecosystems.”

“The practice seems really curious,” I remarked.

“Perhaps,” she smiled, “but necessary. The fire turns the leaves to ash and that becomes fertilizer for the black oaks. The trees have evolved to become fire dependent. Do you know their acorns have a very hard shell the flames soften, allowing the seeds to germinate and replenish the savannah?”

I whistle softly. “I didn’t know that.”

“That’s why the estate is called The Ashes—it’s a two acre part of a much larger ecosystem and your mother took every effort to conserve it.”

“I’m impressed,” I told her, and I really was. I had no idea Mother was involved in conservation. I was as ignorant of my own flesh as I lacked insight into the history of the house.

“I better get back to my chores,” the girl said. “Maybe we can chat again.”

“I’d like that—thanks for the information about the savannah—that’s really fascinating.”

She flashed a bright smile and pushed her wheelbarrow along the path in the direction of the front gardens. I wanted to tell her she was also fascinating, especially to a confirmed bachelor with the habits of a recluse.

Maybe a two-week stay in the house might not be the trial by ordeal I anticipated.

Over the next few days, I’d use every occasion to stop and chat with Emily. She had an ethereal quality about her that drew me and I found her enchanting and irresistible.

Mother’s will stipulated I couldn’t leave the property, so I went online and purchased a row boat and phoned the market and had them make me up a picnic basket lunch.

I had gotten to know Emily’s routines, so on this lovely golden afternoon I waited until she took her break and then whisked her away with me, down the long winding path to the pond.

“Where are you taking me?” she giggled. She left me breathless and I’d have gladly traded a thousand days for the surprised look on her face when I showed her the boat tied up in the shallows.

“I have no idea how to row, but if you’re willing to risk life and limb we can sail off to Key Largo.”

“Key Largo, huh?” Her eyes danced. “But there’s no outlet from the pond to Lake Ontario.”

“Well, it’ll just have to be a tour of the pond with a picnic later on the side of the hill.”

I pulled back a picnic blanket covering the wicker basket. “There’s a chilled bottle of Dom Perignon as well—if you’ve nothing against bubbly.”

“I’m not adverse to spirits,” she smiled.

We got in the boat and I used an oar to push off from the bank. Within minutes we were in the middle of the water with a swirling sky of cumulus above, reflected in the glassy surface of the pond below.

She reached out and touched my arm. “Oh look, Jay! How lovely the house looks from here.”

It was a moment so intimate and touching—the tender way she whispered my name.

I held onto her arm, pulled her close and pressed my mouth down on hers. Her lips were soft and full and I never wanted the kiss to end.

“I’m sorry, Em,” I said, “you’re just so lovely.”

“There’s nothing to forgive, Jay. I think this was meant to be.”

After a while we rowed back to shore and spread out the blanket on one of the plateaus on the path leading down the hill.

It was a glorious June afternoon with a slight breeze—just enough to stir the trees and dapple her face with shadowy leaves.

“It’s so beautiful here—I don’t know why I never noticed it before,” I confessed.

“You were young and reckless—you didn’t notice me either.”

I put down the champagne flute. “You were here, back then, before I left?”

“I was,” she whispered.

“I can’t believe I could be so blind. Did we ever speak?”

“No—you were unreachable then—like a dark smoldering fire beneath ashes. You were very fierce—you frightened me.”

“I’m sorry. I was headstrong and unruly.”

“Your mother and I would sit on the back verandah in the cool of those summer afternoons and she’d confide in me. She loved you, Jay, but couldn’t seem to find a way inside you.”

My heart broke then—all the tears I didn’t shed, or wouldn’t allow, I shed now. I felt Emily’s arms around me—and Mother’s as well, in the softness of a woman’s heart I had shut out.

We spent a long time on the hillside and shadows were deepening and the pond was dark when we finally made our way back up the path to the house.

I was shivering, so Emily built a fire, and we sat there staring through the windows at the setting sun lighting the western sky like a forest fire.

We sat spellbound as the sun lit up the room with its dying rays, and in the magic of its afterglow, Emily began talking in drowsy tones.

“One of my ancestors built this house you know—after he designed and built the Presbyterian Church just up the road. Some of the stained glass windows at the rear of the house are reclaimed church windows your mother installed as a tribute to my family’s ecclesiastical work.”

“I didn’t know that. Then your family has been involved over the years in the care and maintenance of the property?”

She nodded. “We’re tied—like your mother to this house.”

“That’s incredible! I’m only sad I didn’t know you before.”

She caressed my cheek. “Well, you know me now, and I doubt we’ll ever part.”

“I hope we never do part, Emily. And by the way, I’ve made up my mind—I want to stay on here at The Ashes and continue to restore the house. I hope you’ll stay too and care for the gardens and the black oak savannah.”

“Of course, Jay—I wouldn’t dream of leaving.”

“You know it’s only been a short while, but I feel I’ve known you forever. I can’t believe how deeply I’ve fallen in love with you. I want to marry you, Em and have a family with you, here in this house. We can go on a honeymoon anywhere in the world you want.”

Her face fell and tears began to trill down her cheeks.

I hugged her and tried to console her.

“Don’t be sad, Em—it’s a happy thought.”

“It is, Love, but you don’t understand.”

I looked at her blankly. “Understand what?”

“I can never leave this house.”

“And why not, Love? If you’re worried about my forcing you to go on a honeymoon or trips to far off lands—I won’t. I understand you’re not a traveler, and I’m a recluse myself. I’d be happy to spend eternity with you behind these walls.”

She grasped my wrist tightly, imploring me with her eyes. “But that’s just it—don’t you see, Jay? I can’t leave because I died a century ago–the Emily you know is a spirit bound to this place.”

“Tha-that’s not possible,” I sputtered. You’re a flesh and blood woman as real as any other.”

“I am,” she smiled bleakly, “as long as I remain on these grounds. But is that the future you want, Jay—to be bound with me to The Ashes with no children for your posterity?”

A groan arose from somewhere deep within me. “Can’t you see, Em—I’m hopelessly in love with you. Nothing else matters to me.”

As Mother said, I always end up doing the right thing in the end.

And since love extinguishes all other choices, Em is now my life and my love forever.

As for Mother, I’ve decided to scatter her ashes as she intended. In some way she’ll be a part of the black oaks and our lives too.

Em tells me Mother may some day choose the grounds as her haunt or continue on to bliss in a world beyond—either way, I wish her well and know somehow we’ve been reconciled.

As for me, my hard shell has been softened and I’ve been given space to grow like the oaks.

It’s a beautiful thing this hope that rises from the burnt-over earth—for Em and me, it’s beauty for ashes, and joy continuous.