Spring by Mail

Reedsy Contest #235: Springtime Flowers

4. Start your story with one character pointing out the first sign of spring to another. 

Spring By Mail

I’m a pretty lucky kid. Nana and Gramps live just outside of town and I can walk there from school. I’m welcome to visit anytime I want, so I go a lot. Home’s a bit rocky with the folks and I don’t really fit in with the kids here. I don’t play an instrument or sports.

Nana and Gramps are great. They let me drive their tractor, climb in the orchard and swim with the frogs in the pond. Sometimes Gramps and I fish. Sometimes we putter in the shop with Archie the barn cat. Gramps named him Archie for the stance he assumes when stroked. He is a friendly but scruffy orange and white beast with a very loud purr. Archie guards Gramps’ tool collection, hunts mice and sleeps on the roof of Gramps’ first car that is stored in the garage under an oil-stained tarp. Archie is not allowed in the house as Nana has a rule about farm animals. Nana thinks they’re dirty and should stay outside. She won’t even let Archie in her greenhouse, but I think Archie likes the shop just fine.  

Gramps is a skilled welder and sometimes we work on garden projects for Nana together.  Nana is an avid gardener and a fabulous cook.  I don’t think there’s anything she can’t grow or make herself. The house is full of her handiwork, knitted afghans, hooked rugs, baked goods, quilts, jams, paintings, and fresh flowers. There are always fresh flowers. Nana grows flowers all year in the greenhouse that Gramps built her. And every year she brings home multiple ribbons from the county fair. It’s no wonder that Gramps is smitten with her.  

But all that was before Covid, before social distancing, masks, self isolation and Nana’s trip to her sister’s house. Nana’s sister Amelia was sick and great aunt Amelia was a spinster, no husband, no kids, no one to nurse her back to health. So when Amelia called for help, Nana packed up and went, leaving Gramps with a healthy list of things to tend in her absence. 

Amelia’s health was serious when Nana arrived, but not grim. She was coughing a lot, spiking random fevers and really tired. The doctors said it was likely pneumonia and had started her on a course of antibiotics. But she wasn’t getting better. Her symptoms seemed to ebb but never really retreat. As Nana’s short nursing visit lengthened, Gramps became anxious to get Nana back home.

A few weeks in, Gramps begged Nana to abandon the mission and leave Amelia to the professionals. News articles were cropping up about a new deadly virus and Gramps was fearful that Amelia’s symptoms were clearly identified. Gramps outlined the risks to Nana, but Nana stayed. It was her duty, she said.

Gramps spent Valentine’s Day alone for the first time since he met Nana in high school. The call he received from Nana that day wasn’t the romantic greeting that he had expected. Nana had found Amelia unresponsive that morning and called an ambulance to their family home. Amelia’s breathing was shallow and she’d been admitted to the ICU at the local hospital. Nana wasn’t permitted to stay and the doctor’s prognosis wasn’t good. Nana was unsettled, but when Gramps offered to come for support, Nana declined. One way or another, she said, she’d be home soon.

As Nana feared, Amelia did not recover.  Nana called Gramps to tearfully break the news of Amelia’s passing. Gramps was sympathetic but urged Nana to come home, tempting her with the promise of spring planting and new flower bulbs. Nana was responsive, but there were burial arrangements to make and things to tidy up at the house before she could come home to Gramps and her flowers. Just a few more days, she said, and I’ll be home again.

Amelia’s funeral was a small, private affair. Nana had discouraged anyone else from coming as travel risks were boldly splashing through the news. Stay home. Stay safe. Nana stood alone with the lily sprays that she’d purchased for the service. They were Amelia’s favorite.

Gramps called Nana the morning after the memorial service to check Nana’s flight plan. Nana hadn’t finalized her itinerary, but admitted she was tired and ready to come home. She missed Gramps’ strong arms and firm shoulder, and though most estate items were settled, she needed to sign a few more papers with Amelia’s lawyer mid-week. She should be home by the weekend. Nana promised to let Gramps know when to pick her up as soon as she was done at the lawyer’s meeting. Gramps was relieved and refocused his energies to Nana’s ‘Honey-Do’ list, spending his time on anything having to do with Nana’s flower and gardening passions. Gramps trimmed, edged, mulched, weeded and turned compost. They weren’t chores, he told me as I pitched in, they were a welcome home gift for Nana.

Early Thursday of that same week, Amelia’s lawyer called Gramps. The day before, Nana had cancelled their mid-week meeting. She wasn’t feeling well and she hadn’t felt well for a few days. She was so tired, she’d told the lawyer, perhaps they could reschedule. The lawyer urged her to seek medical advice and directed her to a nearby clinic. Nana called a cab, but when she arrived at the clinic the staff quickly arranged transport to the hospital for her. At the hospital, Nana was swiftly admitted and requested Amelia’s lawyer be notified of her situation. A kindly nurse made the call and explained to the lawyer that due to Nana’s advanced health compromises and her recent exposure to Amelia, she had been placed immediately in isolation with a suspected Covid infection. The severity of Nana’s fever and respiratory distress was dire. The patient would not be allowed visitors and would the lawyer please contact the patient’s family. He hadn’t realized how sick Nana was, the lawyer apologized to Gramps, but Nana had not survived the night. He offered to assist with any arrangements that needed to be made.

Poor Gramps, he muddled through the next couple weeks sorting through the last of Amelia’s estate issues. Amelia’s lawyer was an enormous help, just as he’d promised, as travel was restricted and everything was handled by phone, fax or email. Nana was cremated and sent home to Gramps. She arrived in a pewter urn and he placed her on the fireplace mantle as he processed his goodbyes.

At the same time, lock downs were mandated by the state. No unnecessary gatherings were allowed and with my father, a medical professional, there were no exceptions. A memorial service for Nana would have to wait and it was determined that I was a walking Petri dish. I was not allowed to visit Gramps. We spoke on the phone quite a bit, but it was not the same. Gramps was sad. Gramps was lonely. Gramps missed Nana more than anything. We all did.

All things were not normal. My Mom took Gramps groceries once a week, whatever he asked for, but he never asked for much. She’d try to sneak in a few treats and she left everything on the porch for him. Gramps would wave out the living room window, force a weak smile and retrieve the bags after she drove down the driveway. I was not permitted to tag along.

I’m not sure what Gramps did with his time during lock down, but he didn’t plant a vegetable garden. He did mow along the driveway and kept the front lawn down to a decent length, but he wasn’t much interested in flowers or any of Nana’s passions. I found myself worrying about the green house plants. Gramps would sidestep my questions about the orchids, violets and bonsai trees during our phone conversations, though once he grumbled that they would be fine. Everything in the green house was automated: the lights, the watering, the ventilation, the humidity. They’d be fine.

The county fair was cancelled due to the state enforced limits on public gatherings. Gramps contacted a few fair officials who expressed their condolences about Nana and Gramps took the opportunity to sell Nana’s sheep. Gramps sold the bags of wool she’d collected too. She had wanted to learn to spin her own yarn someday, when she was old. Gramps had started making her a spinning wheel in the shop, but there was no urgency to finish it now. Gramps sold her chickens and the milk goats.

I petitioned my parents to let me visit Gramps late in the summer, but my folks were steadfast against it. Mom couldn’t bear the thought of losing another parent to the pandemic, so Gramps had to stay isolated. At least, she admonished, you can talk on the phone together. My father was working long hours battling the virus in his clinic and volunteering at the nearby hospital. He was rarely home and when he was he couldn’t stop sharing the health cautions that he preached at the office. Wear your mask. Wash your hands. Keep your distance. Stay away from sick people.

I read a lot of books and almost looked forward to back-to-school season. The local kids still didn’t resonate with me, but it was better than the online learning we’d been forced into last Spring. September arrived, but school openings were postponed again and again. Focusing on a lesson through Zoom was not engaging and I grew more disinterested in my studies every day. The routine was monotonous and claustrophobic. I suspected that Gramps felt the same way, trapped on the farm all alone with nothing stimulating to do and no one to share things with.

The fall holidays were nonexistent for our family. Each occasion had a star on the calendar, but that was pretty much it for acknowledgement. I was too old for trick or treating, but I sure missed Nana’s mincemeat pie at Thanksgiving. There was nothing traditional about our Christmas either. All I asked for was the usual three or four day sleep over at Nana and Gramps. It had always been an annual event around New Year’s and I really wanted this one thing to be normal. Please I had begged, really, it’s the only present I want this year. The folks were still keen on the isolation thing, but Gramps stepped up and said it was the only thing he wanted for the holidays too. Surprisingly my folks relented and on New Year’s Eve they dropped me off at Gramps after dinner. There’d been a light snow fall and my folks were anxious to get home. Don’t stay up too late, my mom called out as she and my father drove away. We’ll pick you up in a couple days. Be good, she added as the tail lights receded into the brisk clear night.

Gramps apologized that the spare room was still as Nana had left it. It was full of her unfinished projects. She had always promised to make it a proper guest room, but it was tradition for me to sleep on the couch. Quietly we made up the hideaway and spoke of nothing important. Gramps recognized the awkwardness and suggested we talk in the morning. I agreed.

I woke to Gramps stirring about in the kitchen and Archie staring me down from the lazy boy by the fireplace. There was a crackling fire burning. It smelled familiar and comforting. Archie seemed to be enjoying it tremendously. Gramps wandered in with his coffee and stroked Archie until the old cat practically roared with pleasure. When Gramps realized I was awake, he announced that he had attempted to make sourdough pancakes. They were nothing like Nana’s, he warned, and we’d probably end up eating toast, but he’d crack open a jar of Nana’s special holiday apple butter if I wanted.  Of course, I wanted! Gramps knew it was my favorite and I was happy to fetch it from the root cellar. It was where Nana had stored all her best stuff.

Gramps and I spent the morning talking about happier memories, but I noticed that Gramps was shorter than I remembered as we washed the dishes together. Or was I just taller? I noted that Gramps moved older too. He was more mechanical as he reached for the dishes or his coffee and he shuffled his slippers across the linoleum. This year had aged him terribly and I realized how hard it had been for him without Nana.  

It was late morning before we opened the curtains and discovered that it had snowed again in the night. It had snowed quite a lot in fact and much of the winter nakedness of Nana’s gardens were draped in fresh white brightness. In years past, we would have already gathered eggs, feed the animals, cleaned stalls, milked the goats and tended to the green house plants. Nana would have cut new flowers to freshen the house bouquets and arranged them artfully about the house. Nana and I always searched for the first signs of Spring while Gramps readied the toboggan to tow me down to the mailbox to fetch the newspaper and any late holiday packages. There would be no sled ride this year, no fresh flowers and no signs of Spring.

Gramps fetched his newspaper every day, so we bundled up and headed down the snowy driveway together. Nana’s dormant fruit trees stood starkly at attention on either side as we pushed downhill through the deep powder to the main road. It was magically quiet, except for the crunching of our footsteps and Gramps’ heavy breathing. No birds were singing. No wildlife was moving about. I remembered that the sled ride always seemed too short, but today the walk seemed a suspendedly long time.

When we reached the mailbox at long last, Gramps retrieved his treasured newspaper and turned to go. Gramps, you forgot the mail, I reminded him. Dutifully Gramps reached into the box and began to draw out a sizable stack of mail. Look Gramps, I cried out excitedly. The first sign of Spring! Gramps looked around bewilderly. He searched the orchard trees and scanned the ground around his boots. Quizzically his eyes met mine to admit that he hadn’t found it. There Gramps, in your hand, I explained. Nana’s beloved seed catalogs. There are the first signs of Spring!

Gramps' face slowly lit up with a youthful smile. So it is, he agreed and he hugged me firmly. Let’s go make some lunch and plan out this year’s vegetable garden. We can have hot cocoa with those mini colored marshmallows you like.

I smiled back and returned Gramps' hug.  I’m a pretty lucky kid.