Memories
"Hey, Pa! Would ya look at this?" Joe held a up a small, wooden trunk. "I think I remember this old thing!"
Ben trudged carefully across the room through the opened boxes and piles of memories. Sitting cross-legged on the floor next to Joe, he smiled as Joe fiddled with the rusty, old latch and hinges. By the time the lock was pried open, Hoss had joined them on the floor and Adam stood leaning against an old dresser, his feet crossed at the ankles and his arms folded across his chest.
"Joseph, your mother kept this trunk beneath our bed. I never asked what it was for or what it contained, but many's the time I would catch a glimpse of her adding something to the trunk before locking it." Ben's eyes glistened as he spoke of Marie and his voice softened with a mellow tone and a sense of longing. "She had a sort of routine that she followed...She'd add whatever it was to the box, place a kiss on her fingertips, touch the box to place the kiss just so, then she'd slide it back under the bed. Go on, Son, Open it."
Inside the trunk were papers, all neatly folded or tucked into their envelopes. Most of the papers had yellowed with age, and some had torn edges, as if scraps had been used to write special notes. Joe carefully lifted the topmost paper, holding it up to the warm afternoon sunshine streaming through the window. After a moment, he chuckled and shook his head.
"Pa, these are things that Adam, Hoss and I wrote in school! Papers, tests, notes. Why do you suppose she'd save these old things?" Joe asked as he rifled through the box.
"Well, Son, I suppose she was trying to keep her little boys little!" Ben remarked. He reached out his hand and touched the trunk ever so gently as he imagined Marie's fingers doing the same. Lost in a melancholy moment, Ben quickly snapped back to the present. "Why don't you read one?"
"All right," Joe said as he rummaged through the box and pulled out a random sampling of his mother's cherished papers.
"Hoss, this is your writing! And up here, in the corner, that's Mamma's writing. She must have dated it before saving it...That puts you at about nine years old when you wrote this...Golly, Hoss! It's a poem!"
"Oh, this is gonna be good!" Adam smirked.
Joe cleared his throat, cracked his neck and theatrically prepared to read the prose of nine year old Hoss.
"Bats
By Hoss
Bats ain't very perty
Even when they ain't real dirty
They like to fly at night
I guess that is all right
My pa don't want like them in our yard
'Cause catchin' 'em can be real hard
Bats have big 'ole flappy wings
And Adam says they don't bump inta things
One time we found one in the hay
And it was big and kinda grey
When Adam looked it made him smile
So he called Joe out fer a while
He gave it to my little brother
So he could show it to our mother
'Guess Adam thought she'd be real glad
But she and Pa were really mad
They made Joe take a bath that day
Then Adam weren't allowed ta play
So that's why none of us likes bats."
Joe doubled over and rolled on the floor. Laughter rang through the entire house. Even Hoss shook-off any embarrassment from his literary attempt and howled along with his father and brothers. Tidying the rest of the room would have to wait. Adam dropped to the floor and settled in beside Hoss as the Cartwrights spent the rest of the afternoon reading through Marie's treasures.