Down Memory Lane

Down Memory Lane

Alex Roamer climbed the steps of his parents’ house, dreading the job of cleaning it out. He and his mother had planned to go through everything when they got the time. But the stroke and his mother’s death made that time now. His father had passed several years before and he had been nagging his mother to get rid of all the junk he used to hang on to. Every time Alex would say, “Dad why do you hang on to this?” His father would answer, “I have a good memory about that.” His mother said the same thing about her ancient pieces of junk like an old butter mold or a box of antique buttons. Betty and Artie were packrats.

The clothes were the easy part. He boxed them up and sent them to charity. Then he went through the jewelry boxes. He kept their wedding rings and everything with real stones. He would see which pieces his siblings, George and Dana, wanted. (They both lived in different states and left right after the funeral.)

All the appliances and furniture went straight to the thrift store. There were three beautiful sets of china and silver, one for each of the children, which he set aside. Alex had no idea how old they were. Everything else in the kitchen was sent with the furniture.

Finally, he trudged up the stairs to the attic. He switched on the light and the glare from the single bulb, suspended by a cord from the ceiling, revealed a store of boxes and piles covered by carpets and shawls. It looked as if everything was thrown into the space before anyone could catch them hiding it. Alex opened the nearest box. I was full of books. Not just old books but books with no dates or page numbers. Where would they get these, he thought, they never left the city.

He opened another box, it held a hangman’s noose, a dueling pistol and a Colt revolver. “That’s pretty creepy”, he said to no one, “Why would they save these?”

The next box was marked for Dana. He found three wedding dresses inside. Alex recognized the first one on top as his mother’s from his parents wedding in the fifties. The other two looked like museum pieces. One had buttons all the way down the back and satin flowers all over the bust. The other had a huge skirt and a top that looked like it had to be sewn around the bride. I was embroidered with red roses along the hem.  Underneath these, he found christening outfits and baby clothes. Everything so old it was rotting. Who did these belong to?  His parents never mentioned grandparents or older relatives.

Beside Dana’s box was one labeled for Alex and George. What sort of weirdness is in this one, he thought. He pried open the flaps and found more clothes, men’s clothes. On top was his dad’s tuxedo, underneath was his army uniform. Then, oddly a pair of chaps. “I don’t think Dad ever rode a horse.” Then, weirder, knee breeches with ties on the side. What the heck is this stuff? Were the folks secret hoarders of antique junk?

An old carpet was thrown carelessly over another pile. After fighting with the weight and the suffocating dust, he managed to pull it off an ornately carved chest. It was made of oak and the hardware was iron. The lock had broken but still hung in place. Alex lifted the lid and it came away from the old hinges. He put it down on the dusty floor. First, he pulled out a photo album. It was a record of his parents’ life.  The first picture was of his folks beside a giant old tree. They had staged it to look like they were climbing out of a crack in the trunk. On the back his mother had written, “One last adventure.” (weird again) This was followed by courtship pictures, war pictures, wedding pictures, pictures of Alex and his siblings and anniversary pictures.  

Alex reached into the mystery chest again. He pulled another album out. It was older. “Probably baby pictures of Mom and Dad and the grandparents, who they never mentioned.” He was wrong.

This album contained a lot fewer pictures, really old pictures. The tin type kind from the 1800s. It started with another picture of the ancient tree and a couple beside it. The man was dressed in western clothing and wore a Colt revolver. The woman looked as if she had just stepped out of a dime novel. But they looked a lot like Alex’s parents. The note on the back read, “Newly arrived in Kansas.”

“Why didn’t Dad ever tell us about these old relatives?” Alex asked the attic.

The next image was the wedding photo. It showed a remarkable similarity to his mother and the exact wedding dress from the chest. Alex scrambled across the floor and retrieved it. It was the same dress.

The rest of the scant collection showed the couple on the porch of a farmhouse. The stern couple in stiff clothing with a small haggard boy. The last was a picture of the mother alone in black mourning.

Further down in the pile was a small portrait. The couple stood in front of a fireplace in formal clothes. The man in velvet breeches and the woman in a tight gown with roses embroidered along the hem. (Alex didn’t even need to check.) Beneath the portrait was a watercolor of the tree. There was no caption or image of the couple, just the same ancient tree.

There were no more pictures in chest. In the bottom corner there were was a bundle of letters tied with a satin ribbon. It contained four letters. They were all addressed to his mother. The first was dated 1941.

“Dear Elizabeth,

We are glad to hear you have arrived safely once again. Your last misfortune was brough about by a selfless act by Artemus. Even though it was sad, it shows improvement. We are confident that this attempt will be successful and you both will not have to sojourn again. Blessings on you and Artemus.

Lovingly,

Ceridwen”

The next was dated 1856.

“Dear Elizabeth,

Maybe our new location on the frontier will instill a more neighborly and less superior attitude in you and Artemus. Your last attempt was disappointing. Remember we are striving towards benevolence and charity. Blessings on you and Artemus.

Lovingly,

Ceridwen”

The third was dated 1768

“Dear Elizabeth,

Your first attempt was a woeful failure. To take advantage of others who are similarly poor and finish at the end of a rope is not the ideal towards which we are striving. With more advantage we hope you can demonstrate more charity. Blessings on you and Artemus

Lovingly,

Ceridwen”

The last was dated 1683

“Dear Elizabeth,

You have been given a chance to make a good life and example for others. You will pair with Artemus who is in need of the same chance. You both have much to learn. Kindness, charity and gratitude mostly. You will travel until you have accomplished this. Blessings on you and Artemus.

Lovingly,

Ceridwen”

Alex sat on the dusty floor, surrounded by confusing artifacts and unexplainable history. Why did all the relatives have the same name? And who in creation was Ceridwen? He went back to the chest. Under everything he found a small carved stone on a length of leather. It looked like some old rune. He put it back I the chest with everything else. George and Dana will be here at the end of the week. I’ll ask them if they know anything about this. Anyone else will think I’m crazy, he decided.

Alex searched the house for records, birth certificates, marriage licenses anything to explain what was in the attic. He found the birth certificates for him and his siblings but not for his parents. He found their marriage license but no records prior. He went online and searched the census for Artemus Roamer in their town. The listing for 1950 showed husband, wife and two children. The 1960 census showed husband, wife and three children. Nothing was listed before 1941. He searched for Artemus Roamer in Kansas. The listing showed husband, wife and one child in 1860 but nothing before or after. It was like they only existed when this Ceridwen person put them there. But Ceridwen who? And how was she able to write to people through four centuries?

George and Dana arrived on Friday evening and Alex showed them the letters and the carved chest.

“It’s probably one of those role-playing clubs like the Civil War reenactors. The organizer writes up the letters and everybody gets dressed up to act out the story,” said George.

Alex laughed aloud at himself, “That’s it. Here I was thinking it was something all mysterious and spooky. But what about the census’?”

“That is weird,” said Dana. “The census from Kansas could be wrong, but the 1940 census should have shown Dad.”

“Let’s talk about it in the morning,” said George. “It was a long drive over here.”

The next morning, Dana had already gotten breakfast and coffee before Alex and George awoke.

“Where did you get this?” George asked.

“Butler’s diner, down the street. I remembered they opened at six.” Dana answered.

“Did you bring extra coffee?” Alex asked.

“Yup, and I remembered where I had herd that name Ceridwen before. Remember the park we used to go to like every day? Mom called one of the trees Ceridwen. It was a huge thing like in the pictures.” Dana explained.

Alex was already fetching their coats and George carried their coffees as they hurried down the front steps. The park was only a few blocks from the Roamer house and the siblings knew exactly where the tree was. When they approached the spot, they searched the area and gave each other questioning looks. The tree was gone. They searched the ground for a stump or burned spot. Finally, they found the remnant of the tree. The stump was cut of nearly level with the ground. A brass plaque was attached to the top “Well done Roamers, Love Ceridwen.”

Alex, Geroge and Dana walked silently back to their parents’ house. They burned everything related to the Ceridwen story. They sold the house and never spoke about Ceridwen to anyone, not even each other.