Raney's Day

My grandfather had left me his final masterpiece; the most otherworldy rolltop desk you'd ever seen. Secrets upon secrets lay imbued into the dark oak and stained pine with its drawers, cubbies, and nooks galore. And magic. He had recognized almost immediately after I was born that we were old souls of like fashion; kindred spirits born to create functional art. He had planted the seed early in my life to not just decorate space with things, but to build things to occupy that space, and to learn to build things in such a way that a part of your soul was left in the grain of the wood. That is the magic I was taught. I felt him still as I sat down and began exploring his handiwork.

The desk arrived on a cloudy weekend, and once the movers had it situated where I directed, I poured myself a glass of Belvedere and sat down, rolling back the top, still as smooth as the day it had been built. With a whimsical smile, I began exploring each drawer and compartment, wondering what memories were still hiding and breathing in the knots and smoothed edges. One particular burl caught my eye as slightly out of place I'd never noticed before, almost as if it was slightly raised. It begged to be pressed. As I pressed it in, I heard a small click, and a hidden compartment revealed itself.

Inside was my grandfather's design journal. A small black notebook, permanently decorated on the outside with remnants of stain, paint, sawdust, and the swirls and waves of his fingerprints. Again, more magic. More of his soul. I thumbed through the pages delicately, recognizing several pieces from my childhood that were scattered throught the homes of my parents and other family, not realizing how much of him was all around me my entire life, radiating that magic he had found a way to transfer into all his work.

The final page had a poem. It seemed to be a poem at first, but after I had finished my second glass of vodka, I began to suspect it was some sort of riddle -

"'Twixt oak and pine, where I spent most time,

There is a hidden door.

Between old lines, what once was mine,

I've no need of anymore."

I breathed in the smell of pipe tobacco and scotch stains haunting the pages, remembering all the hours he had spent at this same desk, laughing and explaining the finer points and grand designs that he had buried inside this journal to me. I had few memories of him that weren't at this desk, or in his workshop bringing his visions to life. It seemed I had found the hidden door mentioned in the riddle, so I went back to combing the pages, halfheartedly looking for some kind of clue that the riddle wasn't just nonsense or scribbles of a man entering the end of his days. One last treasure hunt, like so many he had led me on as a child, always ending in some new trinket or toy he had hand-carved for me, every single one of which, I still had.

It was the coffin design that finally held the next clue. Near the end I remember him telling me, in confidence, that he had begun to build his own coffin. He told me it felt a graceful way to accept his end, and he was glad he would be meeting it in a form of his own design. Since he couldn't choose the time, he could at least choose his resting place, he said with a stubborn and mischevious sparkle in his eye. He knew the cancer had won, but he still had a few tricks up his sleeve. I was a grown man now, and had spent years and years building furniture at this point too, and I saw the romance in the idea, despite the knot that rose in my throat caused by his casual observation he would be leaving us soon.

Under the sketch of the coffin was a single, simple design that almost looked like an accidental ink spot. The glass stopped in my hand halfway to my lips. I knew that symbol. It was underneath the desk. I had spent hours under his feet as a child reading books and memorizing the personality of the wood grain. It felt like my secret hideout, and I told myself that I was the only visitor the lazy lines in the wood underneath ever had. It was a tighter fit as an adult, getting on my back and scooting myself up under the desk with a flashlight... and there it was. The symbol also looked slightly raised, as if it needed to be touched to settle back in with its surroundings. I did, and I heard another click. A drawer opened on the back of the desk, bumping into the wall. I quickly got to my feet and started trying to move the desk that had taken four men to get into my study, to get a better look at what was inside the hidden drawer.

After much longer than I'd like to admit, the desk was shifted enough for me to peruse the contents of the drawer. I marveled at how seamlessly the edges of the blended into the rest of the desk. Not even with a magnifying glass and a treasure hunter's heart, would the edges have been distinguishable. And rightly so, because it was treasure assuredly that was there. I finished counting the last bundle of bills, and realized there was $20,000 hidden away, along with a note -

"I knew you'd find it, Ash. I knew that you'd explore every inch of that desk looking for what part of me I'd left in it, and that the journal would get the wheels in your brain turning, regardless of the fact that I'm sure you went sailing into those memories with Captain Belvedere by your side! We all hope to leave part of ourselves behind to be held, tightly or loosely, and I was a very fortunate man to have been able to leave so many pieces of myself behind for my family. However, of all the things I built in my life, my family is the thing of which I am the most proud. After your grandmother passed, I knew I had to build that coffin, and that it would be my last creation. I didn't fear it... in fact, the certainty was reassuring. There was peace in knowing that the same muses that had called to me as a child had also found you though, and that you would continue to build, and leave a piece of yourself in everything, just like I showed you. Always remember to build with your soul, not just your hands, and that the strength of your will should always find a way into the strength of your build. Thank you for being the wind in my sails, especially towards the end. I hope this treasure helps.

Peace and purpose in all things.

Sanderson Raney."

I set down the empty glass with tears in my eyes. What an honor it was, to be held in such esteem by a man I had idolized with every waking breath, and to be considered and provided for from beyond the grave. More than ever, I felt overwhelmed by the fact that I would soon be a father, and that the weight of the example I had to carry and show my son was terrifying and yet, comforting. I had come from seeds I had cherished, and more were planted in the soil of my intent. I only hoped that I could continue the delicate responsible of helping grow another builder, and not a destroyer.

I slowly put the money back into the drawer and left a note of my own for my son to find one day. I clicked it back into place and shook my head at the sheer invisibility of the design. My grandfather was a wizard. A pirate. A genius. A comic. A sanctuary. A lighthouse. All the good things in all the worlds, combined into raw materials that he himself had carved, chiseled, and shaped into his own timeless masterpiece. I would move the desk back later, when I had help.

I wandered into my workshop and ran my hands over the old tools Sanderson had left me, knowing now with quiet certainty that the crib I had been building my son wasn't quite as closed to finished as I had thought. When it was finished the following weekend, it also had a hidden compartment, perfectly formed to fit the journal. I knew one day my son would find the journal, and the money, and with it, the quiet strength of the great men who had come before him and cleared the way for him.

I finished carving my son's name into the crib, and took a step back, overcome with the empty space next to me where my grandfather would normally be, but knowing how proud he would be of me, and remembering him telling me that hardest part of building anything is knowing when it was done... knowing when it's built, and that it's ready. Of all the things I will build, I hope I continue the legacy of family being my greatest work of art. And I could not wait for Raney Justice Jones to get here so I could tell him about his great grandfather, a creator and curator of worlds.