The Puzzling Gift

Trent awoke before the sun, and spent a good hour studying before he needed to be up. He loved this time - the world was silent, his lamp the only light in the entire valley. It calmed him to know that nothing stirred or called for his attention: years living on the streets had taught him well the hair-trigger instinct of listening for anything out of place. And so for Trent this pre-dawn tranquility was a pocket of heaven. Besides, he had a lot to catch up on to be worthy of this gift of happiness.

“Maybe we need to start thinking about getting our cabin built,” said Izzy sleepily, as early autumn rays poured liquid gold through the high windows. “Come winter, this barn is going to be mighty cold!” The goose-down duvet was pulled right up under her chin.

Trent dropped the textbook he was buried in and snuggled close to her. She shrieked and giggled as he tickled her and then tucked up close to her. His studies were going well, work was going well, his new wife was an angel - and she was right. They needed to build their cabin so that they could use the barn to house livestock over winter.

Their wedding two months ago had been a dream. They had adapted to each other’s presence so naturally that it felt strange to consider life before being together, before their make-shift barn home.

Izzy brewed a fresh pot of coffee and fried eggs and toast, Trent swept the barn and tidied up. As they sat down for breakfast a truck pulled up outside and honked two short beeps - code for, “Are you in and can we talk?”

Izzy was already at the door and Trent watched her quietly, bathed in light, as she beckoned to their early guest.

There was talking, a brief explanation, Izzy walked outside for a moment. The truck left and Izzy returned holding a package about the size of a shoebox, wrapped in butcher’s brown paper and tied with twine. But it was not the package Trent was looking at. He was concerned at the look on her face.

She was frowning in puzzlement. “That was Jed, he says hi. He says this arrived at the post office addressed to you with a request for urgent delivery. He thought he better get it up here quick.”

“That’s good of him. Well - let’s open it.”

“Coffee cheers,” said Izzy, picking up her mug and clinking his. “Here’s to a pleasant surprise! Maybe it’s a late wedding gift.”

“Addressed only to me? I know nobody except homeless people and inmates…” humoured Trent.

Izzy laughed and handed him a knife to cut the string. Trent felt the package gently - it was solid, and quite heavy: well wrapped with care.

Trent cut the string and the paper, and lifted the lid of a box that was about to change his life.

Izzy leaned over his shoulder and they saw…. lots of papers, cocooned in musty air - not an unpleasant scent, more nostalgic, like cigar smoke and books. Trent would have left it there to look through later after his work day at the mill, but Jed had mentioned urgent.

It wouldn't harm to check through them quickly, he thought.

“My love, I am going to look through these now, in case anything really is urgent. You carry on, you need to leave for the village soon.”

“Leave without you?”

“Yeah. I will drop in at school on my way. For a kiss. You know…”

She slapped his arm playfully. “Don’t I know! It’s going to be weird going without you. What if I meet a lion on the road?”

“Hm. How many lions have you met on the road BEFORE you married me again?”

They laughed and she bent to kiss him, never ever having enough of him…

He waved as she pedalled away to teach ‘her kids’, the air’s sweetness freshening her cheeks and heavy dew bowing the heads of ripe seeding meadow grass all around him. Trent breathed deeply, and turned back to his task. He lifted a large sheaf of papers from the box and laid them on the kitchen table.

At the bottom of the box lay a few pieces of jewellery - a mans’ silver pendant, a medal and a frame with a picture of a family of four.

The papers were a letter, addressed to him. “Dearest, dearest Trent. I trust that one day, this finds you…”

The story was long, both heart-breaking and hopeful. Words told him a tale of how very loved he was as a child, his parents and grandparents spending much time with him, with a wealth of richness surrounding his existence.

Then his dad went to war, and returned a changed man. Cruel and hard.

His mother turned to whisky to hide her fear, and soon she was lost to them. She died of a broken heart, the letter told, not heeding either of her children, and leaving them both to the care of Trent’s grandparents.

Wait. Trent stopped. Either of her children? This must all be mistaken - he had no family. But he read on, disbelieving, unsure what to think…

“Your father, Trent, went back to war after your mother died, and never returned. Some time after he was killed in action, the War Office sent us this medal. But you were already lost to us, too.”

He sat bolt upright. A memory long-forgotten flashed through his mind - a very young child being carried away by a stranger, reaching out for an elderly gentleman who was reaching for him too. Tears poured down the old man’s cheeks and the child was screaming…. Was that ME? Trent went cold, and read on.

He was taken into child welfare and placed in an orphanage. The letter documented the battle for custody for him, his grandparents too old to be considered as guardians. Trent skimmed through sheets of paper that documented his own young life in detail, pages upon pages of record kept meticulously of him, until he was nine years old...

“This is where I leave you, my dear boy. Know that you are loved more than you will ever comprehend. But it is time for me to be with your father and grandmother. I am leaving this document with my trusted executor who has instructions to give it to you when you are of age. I do this so that no foster parent can take what is yours.

Your sister Abby has been adopted, and I enclose the details of her new family herewith. They are good people.

With my eternal love, your Grandfather,

Ashton C. Miller

* * * * *

Shock left Trent in a timeless suspension. The silence in the barn seemed to empathise, until a songbird chirped and jolted him back to the present. He stood up, not sure what to do next. Aware that he needed to get to work…. Confused…. Disoriented. Memories he thought were dreams, a girl’s face giving him flowers in a meadow, laughing, laughing, laughing…. Could they be real?

He replaced the papers inside the box - there would be time later to fill the gaps, to study them, to think - he closed the lid and out slid an envelope addressed to him: Mr Trent Ashton Miller.

This letter was from the executor of his grandfather’s will. They had lost track of him when he ran away from an orphanage at age eleven, and found him again from his wedding notice in the paper. Could he contact them at his earliest convenience to prove his identity so that they could allocate his inheritance? With thanks…

Trent bundled himself out of the barn and onto his bicycle, stopping in to see Izzy as promised. To her questioning glance he replied:

“I had a family who loved me. I have a sister, and an inheritance. But right now - I need to get to work.”

Right now, there was nothing else to say.

Sometimes, the heart must simply explode with joy in silence.