The Cottage

The Cottage

By: Rebecca Redd

The old grandfather clock ticked away in the corner of the parlor. Through the glass window pane, she saw large, soft snowflakes whirl around frantically giving the early signs of a snow storm. A fire was lit in the weathered-brick fireplace; it crackled softly, the occasional ember leaping from the fire becoming white ash. She sat there, in the antique, over- stuffed, arm chair sipping her tea. This was her first night in the cottage alone. The cottage was her inheritance from her favorite Uncle Thomas. After 12 years of seeing his face on the missing persons posters and plastered on every police website, Uncle Thomas was declared dead. The little cottage was half a mile outside of a small town, down a bumpy, dirt road, and set deep in the forest. Upon her arrival, she met the groundskeeper, Mr. Jones, who gave her the house keys. He maintained the grounds for years and gave her a quick tour before driving off into the snowy evening. The cottage had two moderate sized bedrooms, a large kitchen, a parlor room, and two bathrooms. It was perfect. The walls of the parlor were covered by large, oak book cases and each case was meticulously lined with old novels and works of great poets. As she gazed around the room, something caught her eye on fireplace mantel. A small, glass globe sat alone, slightly shadowed by a large oil painting. She set her cup of tea on the end table, slipped her feet into her slippers and tightened her sweater around her body. She stood up and walked toward the oil painting to get a better look. The painting was masterfully crafted; the strokes of paint were raised, creating a unique texture with beautiful autumn colours. As she admired the work of art, she wondered why she inherited this coveted cottage. Just before she headed out for the cottage, her family begrudgingly wished her a good trip, the image of their sour, jealous expressions lingered in her mind. She had recently chosen to go back to school to further her education. The University was located 20 minutes outside the little town near the cottage. For her, the timing of the inheritance and her first semester worked out wonderfully.

She walked over to the book shelf and ran her finger across a row of books that were embossed with curled, gold lettering. The last book in the row seemed out of place. It stuck out an inch further than the rest of the books. She carefully pulled the book out from the shelf and read the cover, “Treasure Island”. She made her way back to her over-stuffed chair and sat down. She took a sip of her cooling tea and then opened the book. She gasped as she looked at the contents. A sizable hole had been carved out of the book and inside the opening, a small, black book lay beside an old, silver, skeleton key. The key lay gleaming in the light of the fire, reflecting the dancing flames. Her pulse began to race and she could hear her heartbeat thumping inside of her ears. She carefully pulled out the little, black book, which was made of soft, worn, leather and flipped through the pages for further examination. As she did, a small, curled, roll of paper fluttered to the floor. She swallowed hard as she bent over to pick up the paper. With trembling fingers, she carefully unraveled the little piece of yellowing paper;

“I’ve been around the world, and never met one as true as you. The world is your oyster, if you know what to do”.

“Strange”, she thought. She slipped the key, the paper, and the little, black book into the pocket of her sweater and made her way back across the cottage floor. The book was returned to its place on the shelf. She pulled out her phone and thoughtlessly typed in the description of the key. The first link was for a museum. She took a deep breath and clicked the link. The site exhibited the key. Her key. She scrolled down through the page and discovered a note under another picture, it read, “This key and its sister key belonged to one of the wives of King Henry the 6th. The keys were created for a secret cottage built by the wife, where she kept her love child.” She eagerly pulled the key from her pocket to re-examine it. To her amazement the markings were identical. She rummaged around her pocket and pulled out the note. She carefully re-read it and thoughtfully looked around the room. The note from the little, black book, mentioned the word, “World” twice. She chewed her bottom lip and thought, “Maybe this word is a clue. The key might unlock an object like a jewellery box or maybe it was just a keepsake”. She made her way around the room, attentively looking at every shelf. She pulled her chair over to the book cases and balanced on the springy cushion as she tried to peer at the top.

The wind was howling outside and the snow had begun to pelt the glass window panes. She hopped off the chair and dashed over to the window to pull the wooden shutters in and latch them together. The room was getting cold. She headed back toward the fireplace to throw another log on the fire. As she stoked the fire, she contemplated the tiny, glass globe that sat there within a thin layer of dust. “The globe is the world”, she thought. She carefully picked up the little world to further examine it. As she did, a wall panel beside the fireplace slowly opened. She gasped and examined the cold, glass orb. She looked back at the mantle and saw a small, raised, wooden button where the orb had sat. The orb seemed to be the perfect weight to keep the wall planed sealed. She carefully returned the orb to its spot on the mantel and the panel effortlessly closed. She removed the orb again and gently placed it on the end table. “Maybe there’s another clue in the little book”, she thought. She reached into her pocket and curiously pulled out the small, black notebook. She began thumbing through the yellowing pages. She discovered mostly odd little poems and a few well drawn doodles, however at the back of the book she saw a poem titled “Charlie”, which was written in red ink. “Why is my name here?” she pondered. She licked her drying lips and inquisitively began to read;

“With a heart so true than those around you. The most deserved, my fortune she’s worth”

She tried to swallow but her throat was too dry. She walked back to her cold tea and finished it with one large gulp. The firelight was slowly dimming and there was a cold draft that carried from the window, sending chills down her spine. She went back to the fire and added some dry wood, it crackled and she felt the warmth fill the room as the fire ate the fuel. The open wall panel beckoned her to walk over and investigate. She stared into the pitch-black hallway. She hit the light app in her phone to get a better look at her surroundings. She shone the light around the dark hall as dust particles floated lazily in the stream of light. She spotted a light switch and carefully took a step into the hall to flick it on. The whole passage way illuminated at once. The walls of the thin corridor were covered with burgundy wall paper embossed with intricate, gold leaves. The floor was made of beautiful hard wood and single bronze sconces lined the walls. She took a deep breath and followed the narrow path to the end of the hall, where it stopped abruptly at the beginning of a steep set of stairs. The stairs had a rail on one side, to make the trek down safe. She placed her hand on the curled, iron, hand rail and with shaky legs; she descended down the steep steps. When she reached the bottom, she stood in front of a large, red door. She drew in a few calming breaths, turned the handle, and gave the door a push. The door slowly creaked opened and the dim light from the hall shadowed a large, black room. She bravely reached in and pressed her hand against the side of the wall, searching for a light switch. She felt the smooth light covering and with a sigh of relief, flipped the switch. The centerpiece of the room was a majestically-carved wooden desk. The desk sat on an immense, plush, Turkish carpet designed with mysterious flowers. The walls were lined just like the parlor walls, with wooden book cases stuffed with novels. Behind the desk was a grand, leather chair.

She made her way over to the desk; she tenderly pushed back the chair and crouched low so she could shine her light under the desk. She saw nothing unusual. As she stood back up, she removed the key from her pocket; perhaps hoping that it just might fit one of the locks on the desk drawers. No such luck. She brushed her fingers along the underside of the desk and felt a small, elevated button. Naturally, she pushed it. And, as she did, she heard a panel slide open from underneath the desk. She could feel the excitement building in her chest. Back on her knees, she shone her light under the desk, the back of desk had opened up to reveal a simple, wooden box. She sat for a moment in stunned silence. Swallowing what little spit she had in her mouth, she crawled in further to examine the box. She returned her phone to her pocket so that she could use both hands to remove the box from opening. As she did, the panel slid back into place and locked with a soft click. She shuffled back and slowly stood up, the box was heavy. She placed the box on the desk and pulled the leather chair in. She placed her thumb over the lock and felt the grooves. Slowly, she pulled the key from her pocket and inserted it into the lock. A perfect fit! The key turned with ease and the lock clicked open. She opened the heavy lid with eager anticipation. To her surprise, on top was a yellowed envelope with her name, in beautifully written script. She turned the envelope over and pried off the red, wax seal at the back. She removed the contents, unfolded the paper, and began to read;

My dearest Charlie,

If you have found this letter, I am either dead or missing and you have found your treasure. This cottage belonged to my great, great grandmother. It has been passed down through the ages and now belongs to you. As you know, the family has always been deceptive and greedy, so you understand why I had to keep this money a secret all of these years. But you, my dear, have never asked for anything. You’ve never had expectations or entitlements. You were always true, even at a young age. This cottage will ease your burden of housing and I hope this money will help you hone your talents and abilities, to become the great leader I know you to be.

Affectionately,

Uncle Thomas.

There was a lump in her throat and an ache in her heart as she peered into the box. The inside was filled with 100-dollar bills. Her eyes widened as she carefully counted the crisp bills amounting to $20,000! She leaned back in the chair and felt an overwhelming sense of gratitude. With dusty hands, she covered her eyes and began to sob. “Thank you! Thank you! Uncle Tom”, she whispered to herself, “Thank you for believing in me when no one else did.”