The Garden

Ellie never wanted to move. It was a lovely house in a friendly neighborhood, and she hated it. Change never brought her good things. The moving truck had been delayed, furthering her distaste. All she had was a sleeping bag, a thin blanket, and a soft sweater she used as a pillow. Her parents tried to lift her spirits by calling it “indoor camping”, but nothing could sway Ellie’s stubbornness. 

A thunderstorm loomed over the neighborhood their first night in the house. The roof creaked and protested under the weight of the storm. The unfamiliar sounds of a new home and severe weather made it difficult to sleep for Ellie. She tossed and turned in her sleeping bag, trying to slip into a peaceful slumber, but every time she neared the edge of sleep she would jerk awake. A crack of thunder or the walls groaning would bring her back to reality, reminding her that she hated this house. She gave up on her attempt to sleep, crawled out of her bag, and sat by her window to watch the storm. To her surprise, there was no storm to watch.

The window itself was old and the wood pane was damp with the relentless rain, but there was no storm behind the glass. A beautiful garden spanned as far as she could see, with sunlit hills and magnificent full trees. The long untrodden grass swayed gently and brightly coloured flowers sprouted from the dark soil. It was wild and unkempt; its natural character was absolutely captivating. Another roll of thunder shook the attic, yet there was no lightning in the window. Only soft clouds drifted across a light blue sky, aglow in rays of sunlight.

It made no sense. Ellie knew it made no sense, but she had to know. She searched for a latch or lock, and there were only rusted hinges. The window was stuck shut, no matter how hard she pried. She sat back on her heels and frowned, trying to analyze the possibility of the garden’s existence. Perhaps this was just a dream, a very vivid dream. She crawled back into her bag with a sigh of defeat and slowly fell into a restless sleep.

Her mother knocked on her door to wake her, listed their limited options for breakfast, then left Ellie to her privacy. Ellie could still hear the rain, but no thunder. The worst of the storm had passed. The faint memory of the garden tugged at her mind through the fog of poor sleep. She sat up with a jolt, sprang from her sleeping bag and ran for the window. Despite the heavy rain outside the garden was still there. She knew she should have been confused, or at least concerned for her sanity, but her heart had filled with excitement. A magic window? Impossible. But a wondrous garden to escape the terrible house to? A miracle. 

She told her parents over breakfast, and naturally they didn’t believe her. Her father investigated the window himself and only saw the street below the attic. She insisted the garden was real and would watch it every night, growing increasingly frustrated that it was just beyond her reach. No tool could open the window, the glass was impenetrable. She even considered breaking the wall around it just to learn its secrets. Why the sun never set, why it never rained or snowed, where the rolling hills ended. How it even existed, she would never know.

For years the garden taunted her with its promise of peace, its unobtainable prosperity. She acquired a library card in her teens and researched public records. The previous owners of the house weren’t listed, no local myths of hauntings or magic. Its construction was peculiar: built in the 1940s by an anonymous owner, occasionally renovated by unlisted contractors, designed by an unknown architect. No names could be attached to the history of the house, and yet it existed. Her annoyance began to grow beyond containment.

During a quiet dinner Ellie casually asked her parents who they purchased the house from. Her father immediately became combative and accused her senseless delusions of the window poisoning her mind. He called her a liar and demanded that she never speak of it again. She tried to defend herself, but her pleas fell on deaf ears. Ellie ran from the table, her father’s rant trailing behind her. Her sneakers slapped the worn wooden boards as she raced up the stairs. She ran over to the window and fell to her knees, yelling at the unreachable beautiful garden. She screamed and banged on the glass, furious and desperate to escape. But the panes didn’t shatter, the wood frame never splintered, there was only the peaceful garden. She could hear her mother scolding her father for his behaviour. The verbal storm raged below her, its waves vibrated the floor beneath her feet. From that night on, she obsessed over the garden in silence.

Ellie remained in the house throughout adulthood, unable to tear herself away from her secret window. After her parents had died, she inherited the house. She never married, never bore children. As time passed, she aged into an old woman. Her envy and desire for the garden had faded, maturing into a simple enjoyment of the scenery. 

A lovely new family moved into the house next door. She greeted them on one of the rare occasions she left the attic. Their daughter, no older than eleven, reminded Ellie of herself: clever and headstrong with a caring heart. She would visit Ellie often, bringing homemade meals and welcomed company. They would stare out of the window together in silence, Ellie yearning for the sunlit garden and the young girl watching the busy street below.

On her eightieth birthday Ellie suffered a severe stroke, rendering her mute and unresponsive. The doctor firmly suggested that she should be hospitalized and monitored, but her neighbors insisted that she remained in her home. Ellie’s friendship with the young girl endured the hardship, and soon the girl had blossomed into a beautiful woman. Even after she married and moved into a small apartment downtown, she would still visit Ellie and gaze out of the window with her. She would remark on the changes in the neighborhood, discuss her family, and reminisce on her childhood, even though Ellie would not respond.

On Christmas Eve she felt the end nearing; this would be her last sunset. She expected a cold chill or ache, but her mind and body felt warm, as if she were wrapped in a soft blanket. Before she released her final breath, she heard the creak of rusty hinges. With the last of her will Ellie looked up at the window. It had finally opened. She felt the sunlight on her face, smelled the sweet pine trees, and heard the gentle wind through the long grass. At last, the long desired garden was embracing her into its loving arms. A slight smile tugged at the corners of her lips as she felt her strength return, just enough to leave her chair and crawl across the floor. Her bony hands gripped the edge of the window pane and she pulled herself up, her smile growing. She felt no pain nor numbness, the feebleness had finally passed. For the first time in years she could stand as tall and strong as her former self. She stepped through the window and felt her feet land on a bed of bright violets. Songbirds announced her arrival in a melodic tune, rustling clovers called her name. She fully entered the window and breathed in the sweet air, felt the gentle wind caress her frail body, and basked in the glow of her eden. Tears of joy and absolution brimmed her green eyes as she welcomed the elusive garden with open arms, and uttered a soft whisper of humbled gratitude.

The window swung closed with a quiet groan, and waited.