Lara slipped her schoolbag from her aching shoulder, flung it at the foot of the tree, and revolved her shoulder blades to release the tension.
She sat down heavily beside her book-bag, crossed her legs, and felt the radiant warmth of the sun upon her skin as it seeped through the trees’ thick canopy of foliage. A moment later, it retreated behind a mass of clouds lined with pastel pink. An October chill lingered about the shade. Lara slipped both of her slim arms in through the sleeves of her cream cardigan, shivered, and unzipped her rucksack. She plunged her hand into its belly, fished around, and then pulled out her sleek, glossy black Mp3. As she slipped in her earphones, the sweet rhythm of the music began to pound into her skull, her limbs loosening with every beat.
Lara had writers block. Her entire class had been assigned to individually compose an exposition of creative writing, and for Lara, an exceptionally unimaginative girl, composing such a piece was a clear challenge. Lara was dyslexic, and had never been interested in such “tedious” things as reading and writing. Her indifference had most likely blossomed forth from the frustrations she felt when it came to the jumbled, nonsensical letters on the printed page.
With a long, deep sigh, Lara yanked her lined, A4 notepad and pen – which had been attached to the metal spirals holding the leaves of paper together – from her book-bag. Flipping it open to a blank page, Lara poised her pen. Nothing came. As the music continued to beat, her concentration slipped away. Lara began to doodle, creating pretty swirls with red ink.
Suddenly, her neck snapped up. Out of the corner of her eye, something had glinted: the sun reflecting off metal, she presumed. Her sky blue eyes had flickered left, and were focusing upon the trunk of a large oak. Lara squinted as a harsh ray of sunlight gleamed in her direction. The beam had clearly ricocheted off of something in the vicinity of the tree.
Inquisitiveness crept up on Lara.
At first, she strained her neck, trying to catch a glimpse of whatever was catching the light, and then, unsatisfied, she got to her feet, and began to tread softly toward the oak, twenty-or-so yards. The reflector seemed to be located in the actual body of the tree. Lara frowned, bemused by this concept.
The sun abruptly disappeared from view; hid its dazzling amber face behind a mass of clouds. The beam had vanished. Lara cursed.
When she reached the foot of the oak, she began, hesitantly at first, exploring the thick tree-trunk with her fingers, ignoring the coarseness of the bark against her supple skin. Unexpectedly, Lara’s fingers took a shooting dive through a slim cavity. Immediately, they reviled. She shot a brief glace at her hand just to assure herself that all her fingers were intact. They were perfectly fine. Lara squatted, and peered intently into the slick, fairly miniscule chasm. Something glinted within, winked at her. With an eager knot of anticipation tightening in her stomach, Lara tentatively slipped her fingers in through the discreet void. Almost instantaneously they fell upon a cool metal chain. Unable to squeeze her thumb beside her fingers, Lara awkwardly hooked the delicate metal around her fore and middle digits.
She carefully removed her fingers from the cavity. Lara laid her eyes upon the most incredibly beautiful pendant she had ever seen: it was pure, glossy gold; the links of the chain delicately, intricately bound together. A tiny, glistening Emerald, set in a smooth, gold, diamond-shaped cast, hung prettily from the necklace. It was literally breathtaking. Myriads of questions fluttered around Lara’s brain: who did the necklace belong to? Why had it been hidden in the tree? What should be done with it? Lara gently flipped the gold cast firmly securing the precious Emerald onto its back. Elegant, miniscule letters had been engraved upon the smooth surface. They spelled out a name and a date: Clemencia Valentine Corlett – 20th July 1936.
How enigmatic, Lara thought, grinning with surreal disbelief at how immensely unique a discovery she had made.
Lara removed a clean tissue from her pocket, spread it flat upon the grass, and gently she placed the pendant upon it, folding it over into a neat square. She rose, gripping the bandage of tissue within her protectively clenched hand. She turned to leave, but stopped lightly in her tracks. Just in case, she thought, just in case there’s anything else...Lara twisted on her heal, crouched, and slipped her fingers into the crevice once again. To Lara’s surprise, there was something else. She explored it: it was smooth and rectangular, paper, she concluded. Lara pulled it from the hollow, taking care not to rip or damage it. “It” was a dainty, ivory, parchment envelope. Inscribed upon it was a beautifully handwritten name: it was addressed to a “Vinnie”.
She flipped it over. The seal of the envelope had partially come apart, but Lara concluded it was merely because of age: it carried a musty aroma. Sucking desperate air into her lungs, she fully peeled the seal away and gently tugged out the contents of the envelope. With great care, she unfolded the square of crisp paper contained within, for she realised that it was clearly very old and therefore delicate. Lara could tell that the hand that had addressed the envelope had also elegantly penned the relatively short letter before her. The ink had faded, of course, with time, but the beautifully formed, miniscule words were very much readable. Lara braced herself; her dyslexia, and frankly, her laziness, wasn’t going to stop her this time. Intrigue and sheer excitement had her heart racing. She began to read, at first slowly and with difficultly, but then with a quicker pace.
May 2nd 1952
My dearest Vinnie,
I do hope this letter finds you well, my love. I believe I have some genuinely awful news: My father found the photograph, the one enclosed.
Lara stopped reading, tipped the envelope, and out skimmed an old, frail photograph. It portrayed a young man, perhaps in his late teens, skin as glossy black as a precious stone, grinning, naked except for a pair of clinging wet striped trunks. He was sat, Lara realised, under the very tree she was kneeling beneath at that moment. He was clutching the waist of a clearly elated young woman who was flashing a wide set of pearly teeth. She confidently wore an extremely fifties’ vintage flowery swimsuit, which hugged her curvaceous figure perfectly. Her damp, glossy hair had been piled in a svelte bun and swept away from her face with a headscarf. From her lengthy, porcelain neck hung the intricate chain, the sparkling stone gleaming against the sun.
Lara twisted her torso, gazed beyond the trunk of the tree, and set her eyes upon the dazzling waters of the small lake where a thick growth of algae was spreading and two richly coloured ducks were gently gliding upon the surface. No one had swum in the serene lake for many years. Lara smiled, feeling oddly a little homesick for the time she obviously never knew.
Lara returned her attention to the letter, the unravelling mystery gripping her with its claws.
I believe he has suspected of our love affair for some time. He practically tore my room apart looking for proof. He is disgusted, ashamed, and appalled at the fact that I have been stripped of my virginity by a ‘nigger’ (Excuse his language). My wretched father is beyond all reason. My mother is of no use in coming to my defence. She cowered ignorantly in the corner of the kitchen when father confronted me yesterday: my mother knows what my father is capable of if she were to question his judgement. I suppose I can hardly blame her.
My father has decided to take radical action. It is his plan to move our family across the border in order to separate us, into Maryland, where my aunt owns a large estate. I objected, of course. I received several slaps across the face for doing so. We move at the beginning of next week.
I love you, Vinnie, with all my heart. Please believe me when I tell you that this is not the end. I will write to you, discreetly, and send telegrams every week. On the 3rd of January – the dawn of my eighteenth birthday - I’ll jump on the first train to Washington, and we’ll hurry to the registry office and be married. I don’t care if my father disowns me. I have no interest in his money.
I have enclosed my birth pendant. It is very precious and valuable. It will buy us a little city apartment easily. I want you to scout about nearer the time and find us a little place to live. Use the chain as payment. If any money be left over please erect a small headstone for our baby. Our little entity lived for only two weeks after her creation, but our baby deserves a memorial, even if we have no carcass to bury.
These next few months of our separation will indeed be truly awful. I look forward to the time when I am once again in your arms, subject to your caress, your sweet love.
My heart is forever yours,
All my love,
Valentina
Lara attempted to swallow the lump sitting at the back of her throat. She was surprised to find soft, silent tears dripping from her moist eyes. She felt as though she had been drained of all her mental energy. Lara inhaled deeply as she attempted to take it all in. She hugged her knees to her chest in a comforting, child-like manner.
Lara felt deeply heart-broken for the lovers, yet at the same time oddly satisfied, as if some enigmatic need had been filled within her.
She was pained to her heart at the thought of the clearly besotted couple being cruelly torn apart by a father full of disgusting hatred and prejudice.
With a sudden, stupefied realisation, an awful reality dawned on Lara: Vinnie had never found it. He’d clearly never found the letter and the necklace, hidden, concealed, inside his and Valentina’s special tree near six decades ago.
Millions of question fluttered about Lara’s brain like butterflies released from their cocoons.
Lara fingered the bandage of tissue, unfolded it, and stared at the necklace. It lay, gleaming, its sheer beauty mesmerising. After a lethargically everlasting moment, Lara readied the pendant upon her palm, took a deep breath, and pushed it gently back in through the crevice. It felt right, laying it to rest, as it were, where it belonged. Lara carefully folded the letter into a neat square, slipped it, along with the photograph – which Lara took a final, prolonged look at - into the envelope, and then returned it to the hollow.
Lara felt that if she were to take the pendant and keep the letter, she would be betraying Vinnie and Valentina, kicking up dust not yet ready to be disturbed.
No, I’ll never expose their so brilliantly kept secret, she thought. But their story will live on: after all, I’ve got an idea for a great piece of ‘fiction’ already...
