The House on Heron Hill

The house had been in the family for generations. It sat on five acres of land situated near a large pond where, if you woke early enough, you could see the neighboring wildlife stop to quench their thirst. Every spring without fail, ducks would nest and lay a new clutch of eggs, hatch and raise the fluffy new ducklings, and then move on once the weather turned. Charlene had spent many weeks of summer in that house, so it wasn't being there itself that felt off; it was being there without Gran.

 Like her mother, Charlene was an only child so it wasn't surprising that Gran had left the house to her. She should have expected as much. Charlene's mother, Grace, had a falling out with her parents years ago. The same year Grandpa passed though, Grace resolved to spend more time with the one parent she still had left, but their relationship had still been somewhat broken.

Gran didn't have too much by way of personal possessions, but the thought of having to sort through all of the acquired belongings that made up a life, even one as special to her as her grandmother's, was something Charlene hadn't planned on. But here she was, making mountainous piles. Trash, donate, keep.

She thought of Gran now, as she folded a light blue lace blouse and placed it in the donate pile. It still smelled of Gran's unique perfume. She had mixed two bottles creating her own scent, always an individual. Gran was outdoorsy and fun loving in her younger days, always keeping Charlene occupied with nature hikes and local outings while her mother worked double shifts at the clinic.

At first, Charlene fully intended to sell the house, but Gran's Will specifically asked that the house not be sold. It was her last wish. She had to be the good granddaughter that she had always been and at least grant her grandmother that.

She sighed heavily, as she glanced down at her phone. Tuesday. Gran had been gone only two weeks. A week had passed since the funeral, and it had only been five days since the she put her condo up for rent on Zillow. Her financial advisor told her a rental property would be better than selling, and to her, passive income sounded like a good idea.

She saw it as a fresh start really. Now that she was working remotely, she didn't really need to be as close to downtown. She wasn't exactly a "one with nature" kind of girl, but she could appreciate the beauty of the little piece of woodlands that now belonged to her.

She hadn't cried at the funeral, instead feeling that she needed to keep it all together. Flowing through the room thanking friends and acquaintances for paying their respects. The first night she spent at the house however, she broke down, really letting herself feel the pain of losing one of her last family members. It was just her and Mom now.

The following weekend rolled around and, thanks to Charlene's, Don't put off until tomorrow what can be done today, attitude Gran's things had been sorted and Charlene's own furnishings, clothes, and trinkets had been moved in. The stormy day meant that she would be able to tackle some more organizing and finally move some off season things up into the attic.

She grabbed the pull down string that allowed the stairs leading to the attic to appear. She began her wobbly ascent, awkward shaped box in hand, and placed it down on the rafter.

She expected the attic to be empty. How would a 87-year-old woman have climbed those steep stairs? However, a single box sat at the far end of the attic, gathering dust. As Charlene stepped closer she noticed her name written on top of the box in her grandmother's neat cursive.

It wasn't secured shut with packing tape, but only by the top flaps interlocking, so it was a bit jarring to find stacks of money, $5,000 at least, and a single file folder in the abandoned box. Charlene's first thought was to call her Mom and ask if she knew what this was about. She decides against it, knowing that the box bearing her name meant it was for her alone to discover.

Her breath catching, she opens the file folder and begins to read the letter addressed to her.

  Dearest Charlene,

I write this in hopes that you find this when you are meant to. I am so proud of you and the woman you have become. Your grandpa and I were always so happy to be as involved in your upbringing as we were and will always cherish the days we spent together. I must admit, however, that while I taught you many things, I have not always been truthful.

You see, sweetheart, Joseph Ballion, my husband, is not your biological grandfather. No one else knows this truth and I've carried this knowledge alone since I was twenty-five years old. Grandpa had always been somewhat of a workaholic and I had spent so much time alone at the beginning of our marriage.

You know I love to play cards and found a place to play weekly at the Community Center. It started only as a friendship, but soon turned into more. A occasional bite to eat after a round of cards soon turned into me accepting an invitation to have a cocktail at his place.

I was not a faithful wife. Eight months the affair went on, all without your grandfather knowing. I broke it off, the guilt eating away at me, but afterward I realized that I was pregnant with your mother.

Vance Ellis is his name. He moved out of state at some point. Sadly, he lost his battle to cancer a decade ago. I am sorry you never got to meet him as he was quite an interesting man.

In this folder, are the names and addresses of all the members of the Ellis family. Charlene dear, you have aunts, uncles, cousins, even nieces, and nephews. You've never been one to mind being alone, but darling if you so choose, now you don't have to be. These people are your family just as your mother and I are.

The money should cover plane tickets and a place to stay for at least a month should you choose to meet with them.

Please understand, I never told your mother of this because she would never forgive me. The secret lies with you now.

Love,

Gran

Gran had always been one for surprises, but never would Charlene have imagined this. What was she supposed to do, carry this secret to her own death bed? How could she not tell her mother that the man who raised her wasn't her real father?

That's when she heard a bustle in the downstairs hallway. "Charlene, it's Mom! I let myself in. What the heck are you doing up there in the attic?"