The last time Sarah had been to Grover Junction was two
years ago, to attend Poppy's funeral and now her mother had left a
message on the answering machine, telling her that great-grandfather's
will was being read this coming Tuesday. Could she please come to the
old homestead?
Driving along the dusty, gravel road, she recalled a humid day in July,
almost a decade ago. That Sunday at the family reunion, she had
announced her plans to pursue an Engineering Degree and travel,
something that would erase Grover Junction from her memory forever.
Nobody really understood how she felt, least of all her mother.
Her mother had been too busy working on her law degree to take time out
and raise a daughter. So after school, Sarah would be picked up by her
great-grandfather, Poppy, and
taken care of,
as her mother would often say. On the weekends, she and Poppy would
plant flowers, walk in the spacious rose garden, and play chess on his
homemade kitchen table.
Poppy had come over from the old country as an apprentice in cabinet
making. After arriving at Ellis Island, and introduced to a
furniture-maker from Mississippi, he met Louisa at a local church
social. After a brief courtship, they were married. Ten years later,
they were blessed with a little girl.
Life was hard, but after several years his business began to prosper
and grow. People sought out his ingenious craft from all over this new
country. Their daughter was soon a young woman with a child of her own.
Poppy and Louisa were disappointed with her behavior, but managed to
overcome it. The years went by quickly and the cycle repeated itself
again... and again. Now once more there was a young child in the family.
As Sarah pulled up her second-hand car beside the weathered clapboard
house, she observed the weed-infested garden that once held beautiful
roses. She looked very professional in her two-piece suit and matching
shoes, plus her long golden hair was neatly French braided, then
encircled at the nape of her neck. The broken screen door creaked as
Sarah carefully opened it. She approached the kitchen slowly and caught
sight of a dozen people gathered around the square table.
“I’m glad you could come, Sarah,” her mother said. “Have a seat and
we’ll begin.”
It seemed to Sarah that time was passing by when she heard her name
mentioned. “Sarah?”
“Yes, Mother…”
“Sarah, your great-grandfather Poppy has left for you his homemade
kitchen table.”
“What? You mean to tell me that after he has given thousands of dollars
to every charity between here and Jackson, he has left me this old,
warped, run-down piece of wood? I don’t think so!” Then she shoved
her chair back quickly, and bolted out the back door. Her mother
politely excused herself and quickly joined her daughter on the back
porch.
“Have you lost your mind, Sarah? I didn’t raise you to be rude and
impolite!”
“Well, I have news for you, Mother! You didn’t raise me at all! You
know what really galls me? There sits a vintage Studebaker over in that
shed while I’m struggling with a dilapidated car! Or how about helping
me out in college? No, he had to load me down with that scarred table!”
“Do you want to take it with you, or would you rather me take it to my
house?”
“Mother, do what you want. I’m going back to school.”
* * * * * *
Sarah hadn’t planned on returning home for the holidays, but several of
her professors encouraged her to go, so she arrived at her mother’s home
around eight o’clock the following evening, after fixing not one, but
two flat tires. Having a key, she let herself in, announcing her
arrival while walking down the hallway.
“I’m in the kitchen, Sarah. I’m baking cookies and pies.” When she
pushed aside the louvered door, she spied Poppy’s table pushed up
against her mother’s oak sideboard.
“Why have you got that old thing in here?” Sarah questioned.
“Oh, that? I needed extra surface area… you know, for the cookies…
while they cool.”
Sarah moved slowly toward the huge block of wood. “You know,” she
drawled, “he cut this from one fallen oak tree, Mother?”
“Yes, I remember that story.”
“Here’s my initials.
In this corner. It was my twelfth birthday and the first time I beat
him at chess. And here’s the gouged mark when he fixed your petunia
pot. Mother, here’s a drawer. Did you see that?”
“Yes, I did.”
“Well,” replied Sarah, arching her eyebrow. “I didn’t!”
“That’s because you always sat on the opposite side.”
“What’s in it?”
“Why don’t you open it and see.”
Sarah slowly pulled the heavy drawer open, revealing two envelopes
addressed to her. Her fingers maneuvered underneath the sealed flap,
exposing its contents.
“Mother!” she exclaimed. “Poppy left me the title for the Studebaker.
“How about the other one?”
Sarah was extremely nervous now. She picked it up and peeled back its
flap, then quickly clutched it to her chest. Running towards the
window, tears flowed down her cheeks.
“Sarah, honey, what’s the matter?” her mother asked, turning her around.
“Momma, can you ever forgive me? Can Poppy forgive me for acting like a
fool?”
“Oh, we all do at times, Sarah. You know how Poppy felt. To him the
heart of the home was in the kitchen around this old table.”
Looking over her mother’s shoulder, she saw the light flash, signaling
the cookies were finished baking. “Momma, you knew all the time that
Poppy set up the trust fund for my college, didn’t you?”
“Uh, huh.”
“Merry Christmas, Momma!”
“Merry Christmas, my sweet Sarah. Now, would you like to help me with
these cookies?”
“I know right where to put them. On my old, wonderful kitchen table!”