Read Online Wynn in the Willows by Robin Shope - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Robin Shope
Tags: Christian fiction
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but she’d look for twenty minutes.
Riddled with guilt for snooping, but driven by that lifelong desire to find the truth, Wynn reached for the doorknob. She went into the hallway. Each piece of furniture was in its place. An afghan had been folded over the back of the sofa. The wooden floors were freshly swept. Wynn became acutely aware of the ticking of the wall clock.
Where should she look? Where would Roxie keep information about the past?
There were bookshelves that lined one wall floor to ceiling. Family photo albums were on one shelf.
Wynn paged through, checking the clock every couple of minutes. There were pages and pages of Wynn, first as a baby, and then as a little girl. Most of them were of her in a crib or high chair; others were taken with her parents. The photographs were something Roxie would let her see.
Wynn had to find what Roxie didn’t want her to see.
The antique pencil desk caught her attention. Wynn opened the top drawer. Pens were lined up side-by-side. Envelopes were stacked on top of stationary. A checkbook lay parallel to the monthly budget along with house bills. Stamps, tape measure, paper clips.
Wynn went upstairs and pushed open Roxie’s bedroom door. She wiped clammy hands on her jeans, and stepped into the room of pink painted walls. The neatly made bed looked perfect; the table had a lamp and a Bible was centered on the shelf beneath it. The tidy dresser held a comb and brush set, and a silver framed picture of Roxie and Ruth as teens. The smell of furniture polish was strong.
Across the room there was a picture of Jesus holding a lamb. A heavy burden of guilt crept over Wynn, but if she knew the truth, then she could finally be close to her mother’s sister and perhaps even forgive her mother. Maybe then, there would be closure and she’d be able to find peace.
Wynn opened the closet door. It was like the rest of the house, fanatically in order. Roxie’s clothes were sorted by color. Wynn took down shoeboxes and old hat boxes from the shelves, but found nothing in them other than sensible shoes and silly hats.
She moved to the tallboy dresser. Perfectly centered on the top was a small cherry wooden music box. She lifted the hinged lid expecting to hear the delicate tinkling sounds of its song, but it was silent. Wynn began to wind it up when she heard a noise. She set the box down and went to investigate. A bird on the windowsill was flapping its wings against the windowpane.
She returned to the tallboy and pulled out the top drawer. It held socks and cotton underwear; the next two drawers were filled with cotton nightgowns. The next drawer contained jeans folded in half. It was the bottom drawer that yielded secrets. A metal box was at the very back. It was unlocked. Of course. The woman lived alone. There was no one to keep out of it until today.
Wynn sat cross-legged on the floor. Guilt flooded her heart. She looked at the picture of Jesus and cringed. But how else would she find what she sought? How else could she reconnect with her mother, if everyone kept secrets?
She opened the box and found old silver dollars. Next was a five by seven faded picture of her mother and dad sitting together on a couch, holding a baby. Roxie was in it too, looming over them all. Wynn flipped the picture over and read the names written in ink; Ruth, Steve, Roxie, Baby Wynn. It even had the date. Nothing in the box had her dad’s handwriting.
Roxie had changed. The color of her hair had deepened and her face was filled with laugh lines. Only her eyes remained the same. Wynn wondered how her mother looked today. Perhaps a bit like Roxie. Was her need to find the truth partially rooted in reconnecting with her mom through her aunt?
“There is a little piece of me that is lost. A bit of my spirit anchored itself to the past. I have to come to my own rescue and find out what happened,” she whispered.
The island was a keeper of secrets; it also kept hers. Wynn held onto a germ of hope
Riddled with guilt for snooping, but driven by that lifelong desire to find the truth, Wynn reached for the doorknob. She went into the hallway. Each piece of furniture was in its place. An afghan had been folded over the back of the sofa. The wooden floors were freshly swept. Wynn became acutely aware of the ticking of the wall clock.
Where should she look? Where would Roxie keep information about the past?
There were bookshelves that lined one wall floor to ceiling. Family photo albums were on one shelf.
Wynn paged through, checking the clock every couple of minutes. There were pages and pages of Wynn, first as a baby, and then as a little girl. Most of them were of her in a crib or high chair; others were taken with her parents. The photographs were something Roxie would let her see.
Wynn had to find what Roxie didn’t want her to see.
The antique pencil desk caught her attention. Wynn opened the top drawer. Pens were lined up side-by-side. Envelopes were stacked on top of stationary. A checkbook lay parallel to the monthly budget along with house bills. Stamps, tape measure, paper clips.
Wynn went upstairs and pushed open Roxie’s bedroom door. She wiped clammy hands on her jeans, and stepped into the room of pink painted walls. The neatly made bed looked perfect; the table had a lamp and a Bible was centered on the shelf beneath it. The tidy dresser held a comb and brush set, and a silver framed picture of Roxie and Ruth as teens. The smell of furniture polish was strong.
Across the room there was a picture of Jesus holding a lamb. A heavy burden of guilt crept over Wynn, but if she knew the truth, then she could finally be close to her mother’s sister and perhaps even forgive her mother. Maybe then, there would be closure and she’d be able to find peace.
Wynn opened the closet door. It was like the rest of the house, fanatically in order. Roxie’s clothes were sorted by color. Wynn took down shoeboxes and old hat boxes from the shelves, but found nothing in them other than sensible shoes and silly hats.
She moved to the tallboy dresser. Perfectly centered on the top was a small cherry wooden music box. She lifted the hinged lid expecting to hear the delicate tinkling sounds of its song, but it was silent. Wynn began to wind it up when she heard a noise. She set the box down and went to investigate. A bird on the windowsill was flapping its wings against the windowpane.
She returned to the tallboy and pulled out the top drawer. It held socks and cotton underwear; the next two drawers were filled with cotton nightgowns. The next drawer contained jeans folded in half. It was the bottom drawer that yielded secrets. A metal box was at the very back. It was unlocked. Of course. The woman lived alone. There was no one to keep out of it until today.
Wynn sat cross-legged on the floor. Guilt flooded her heart. She looked at the picture of Jesus and cringed. But how else would she find what she sought? How else could she reconnect with her mother, if everyone kept secrets?
She opened the box and found old silver dollars. Next was a five by seven faded picture of her mother and dad sitting together on a couch, holding a baby. Roxie was in it too, looming over them all. Wynn flipped the picture over and read the names written in ink; Ruth, Steve, Roxie, Baby Wynn. It even had the date. Nothing in the box had her dad’s handwriting.
Roxie had changed. The color of her hair had deepened and her face was filled with laugh lines. Only her eyes remained the same. Wynn wondered how her mother looked today. Perhaps a bit like Roxie. Was her need to find the truth partially rooted in reconnecting with her mom through her aunt?
“There is a little piece of me that is lost. A bit of my spirit anchored itself to the past. I have to come to my own rescue and find out what happened,” she whispered.
The island was a keeper of secrets; it also kept hers. Wynn held onto a germ of hope
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