Flower Bud
Chapter 1
Jack stared at the faded, crooked, wooden sign with sadness. The sign read "Flower Bud Village", and it was where he had spend countless summers as a child, with his grandpa, on his farm. He remembered the first time he milked a cow, and how his hands were so little and weak, he could hardly get any milk out. His grandpa stood behind him, just watching, knowing that he would get it in the end. Now his grandpa had passed away, and he was returning to take care of the legal and business end of things.
As Jack stood at the entrance to the village, tears hung in his eyes, knowing that his beloved grandpa was gone. He sighed heavily, and started up the path toward the farm that he loved so much.
The doorknob felt familiar and trusted in Jack's hand. He paused for a moment before turning it. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Then he very gingerly opened the door.
Jack had to stoop to get through the doorway. He hadn't seen his grandpa in a few years, but now he guessed that he might have been a lot shorter than he remembered. A few rays of light trickled through the one small window. Jack blinked his eyes a few times, trying to get them to adjust. There was a small bed against the left side of the room, neatly made, with a dark blue bedspread on it. A nightstand with some books on it was next to it. A presumably homemade table was in the center, with an empty vase on it, and an ancient TV set sat on the opposite wall from where he stood. That was it.
Jack inhaled, taking in the scent of his grandpa. He knew it would eventually dissipate, but for now, it was just as if he had never left. He walked over to the bed, and sat on the edge. A dark red, leather book was on the end table, and Jack picked it up. It was a photo album. He opened it, and on the inside cover was a handwritten note. It said:
Dear Jack,
This is a photo album that I made for you. You see, I'm old and sick, and I know that soon I will be gone, and you will be called to put my affairs in order. I understand that you are a young man now, and you have much more exciting things to do than to come take care of paperwork, but I could only have you to come do this for me. I trust you more than anyone.
I also have a favor for you to ask. As you know, my farm was one of the greatest sources of pleasure for me, and I would be very sad to see it fall into disrepair, or for it to be sold to someone who didn't care about it the way I did. I want you to have it. I know you love this place, and I cannot think of anyone better suited to run it. Therefore, I have left it to you. All of it. My tools, my land, the barns, everything.
I understand if you don't want this responsibility, or if you have obligations back home. If so, please feel free to sell the farm, and keep the money for yourself. But if you do want to keep the farm, please know that nothing would make me happier.
As I come to the end of this letter, I realize that I haven't told you how much I love you. I will always love you. You made me the proudest grandfather in the world, and I thank the Goddess for all of the time we had together. I hope that you have a wonderful life,
Love always,
Grandpa
Jack closed the album, tears blurring his vision. He should have come to see him before this. He could have told him that he loved him. He could have told him how proud he was to be his grandson. But it was too late. He wiped his eyes, and opened the album again.
The first page was a picture of his grandparents' wedding day. His grandmother looked beautiful and bright. She died before he was born. His grandpa was young, handsome, and full of promise.
The next one was of his grandparents and his father, when he was just born. After that came pictures of his father at various ages, the teenage ones with a pretty young girl. She was his mother. They moved to the city together and got married. Shortly after, they had Jack. They divorced when he was 12, and she moved somewhere down south. He hadn't heard from her since.
The last picture in the book was of him and his grandpa, sitting under an apple tree, with Bessie, the dog. Jack was about six in the picture, and was wearing his grandpa's baseball hat.
Jack slowly closed the album, running his hands over the soft leather cover. He swallowed, and replaced it on the nightstand. He thought about his grandpa's request. He had been planning on going to university in the city, but it was never something he had truly desired. His father wanted him to be a lawyer, and Jack had just assumed that that was what he would do. The thought of spending the rest of his life in this village, on this farm, was strange, but not unpleasant. It certainly wasn't something he could just decide all of a sudden.
A glance to the old wall clock with a knife and fork for the hour and minute hands told Jack that it was nearing 9:00 pm. He was exhausted, and rubbed his face hard. He yawned, and kicked off his boots. He pulled back the covers and slid into bed, his whole body relaxing. He closed his eyes, and sleep soon claimed him.
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(Author's Note: Well, what do you think? I know it sounds like a million other HM fanfics out there, but my whole goal here is to finish it, because I don't normally do that. I hope you like it, it's just going to chronicle the first few years on the farm. I'm going to try to make it long, and I love reviews! Please, please, please review! The more reviews I get, the more I will want to add chapters. Also, I promise to read my reviewers' stories!)