Leaves of Chestnut Ridge

The cabin had been cleared of all outsiders and the floor swept clean. What was left of the foodstuff had been taken to the cellar.  Many of the younger children had been bedded down on pallets on the attic floor overhead, while the older ones had been sent down the hill to their Uncle John Lee’s house to listen to some of the cousins tell pirate stories. 

Rachel hung the last pot back on the wall and looked around at the old cabin that now seemed more drafty, more dark, more empty than she ever remembered it to be, even with the house full of siblings standing around. The table in front of the fireplace where the family had sat through the years, listening to the stories seasoned with laughter or tears, now looked too small and scratched to have held the satisfying foods of their mother’s makings. The rug their mother had hooked, that once offered up joy just to find your own worn out dress or shirt woven somewhere within, now looked dirty and worn.

The old rocker, carefully carved by their father, now sat empty.  Not one person, even the children, made an attempt to sit in it, at least not tonight. Next to the chair stood the table with their father’s whittling tools. No longer would the sound of his knife be heard trimming a small limb in preparation for a grandchild’s whistle. 

Rachel’s hand reached for the wall to steady her balance. The day...the week...had left her tired to the bone and drained of life. But life must go on, she reasoned from somewhere in her soul. Their father had trusted her to do the right thing, and now her heart cried out as to what that might be.

As the afternoon light gave way to darkness, Rachel busied herself lighting more candles. She paused at the window that looked down over the hillside. The frosty panes concealed most of the view, but she knew just below the ridge road the graves were hidden among the trees.   

As much as it broke Rachel’s heart to do so, the hour had come when she must read her father’s final message to the family. She went to the back of the room and reached for an oblong bark-covered box sitting on the shelf above her father’s bed. Sometime after he had moved to this place, he had painstakingly stripped the bark from the old chestnut tree that stood at the edge of the ridge near the cabin and covered this business box where he kept his important papers. 

The room fell silent.  Every eye watched Rachel pull the lid from the old box and unfold the long yellowed paper. This was the time in each descendant’s life where upon the deceased spoke for the last time by giving, or withholding. Each of James Lee’s children began to position themselves against the walls or on the cold floor of the old cabin.        

Rachel looked up to face the crowded room and made a mental roll call of the family.    

It seemed only natural that James, the oldest, had taken his place at the front, next to the fireplace. His wife, Annie, came to sit on the trunk next to him and pulled the blanket up over her small son, Amos, who had finally gone to sleep in her arms.   

Robert leaned up against the front wall next to his wife, Elizabeth. Rachel watched as Libby pulled her shawl tighter around her shoulders to guard against the cold.         

Sarah and her husband, Alexander, found a place next to her sister Mary Wofford. John Wofford had spotted a three-legged stool and placed it in the center of the room so Elizabeth could bring Richard to sit close enough to hear. But as they began lowering him into a sitting position, he cried out in pain so loudly they were forced to help carry him back to the bed.           

John Hughes began to work his way to the front of the room for better hearing of the will.  Impatience took hold of him, and he kicked the unused stool to the side of the room, hitting Anne on the leg as she came to stand next to her husband. She grimaced, but said nothing as she reached down to rub the pain.  Her submissiveness looked unnatural. Were they seeing a secret side of Anne Hughes? John paid her no mind, and took a step forward. He was stiff backed, and his demeanor gave the impression he would not hesitate to pick a fight if someone was given more than he and Anne. He had always been an angry man about any and all things, but this was probably the most intense he had been while at a family gathering.

Thomas and Martha Thrasher were standing against the back wall, as far away from the reading as possible so Martha could nurse baby Keziah into sleep. But the effort was not working, and she resorted to swaying back and forth with the baby. Even Thomas, in an unaccustomed attempt, could not quiet the baby as her tiny legs pulled to her chest in obvious pain.    

John Seager and his new wife, Judith...at least that is how everyone still thought of her, although Margaret had been dead several years...had come to stand next to the Thrashers at the back of the room, and watched the struggle with the crying baby. It did not matter to them if they were close enough to hear. No one had made much conversation with them all day. Margaret’s memory was too fresh on her family’s minds on this day, and Judith could not help but feel like the outsider she was perceived to be.        

Martha’s back ached as she walked the baby. Finally she turned to Thomas saying, “There is nothing to do but go outside with her until the reading is over. I so wanted to hear Father’s will, but no one can hear over this crying. I should never have insisted Mary and Ruth go to John’s house. They could have taken the baby out for me.” As Martha started for the door, Judith Seager stepped forward, almost apologetically. “Could I bounce the baby for you while you listen?” Everyone in the room seemed to take note of the gesture. For the first time their faces showed some small degree of acceptance as Judith pulled her cloak from the hook and covered the baby in a large quilt and went out into the cold night. 

William Littlefield had brought an empty cider barrel from the yard and placed it against the wall for Rebeckah to sit on during the reading. The tired look on her face made him wonder if they should hav