Sorry about the interruption. Coco is still angry that I'm sharing all this with you. She's not an easy young woman to deal with. Personally I feel she is truly mourning that Gram was moved to the Nursing home, and angry that I did not let her come with me to help my mom. She and Gram were very close. I'm not sure she will ever forgive me. It will just take time...maybe an eternity, but hopefully less.
Back to Eponia....That's right....the wine. Oh, it was delicious. With that last sip, I knew it was time to face reality. We looked at each other, simultaneously remembering we had two doors to unlock. Yes. Two. First, the cellar door. We could deal with that. Surely all we would find would be canned goods and empty rooms, or maybe another wine room? And surely any tales of Brother Dudda or the Faceless One were just that, old folk tales to be told by the fire.
Before I tell you about the second door, I need to say that there were certain things in the house that terrified Gram. I can justify them with an overly active imagination, or the paranoia of living in such a secluded place with so many windows, or the history of the Blitz and the War. Some of the men of the nearby villages still had shrapnel lodged beyond the reach of the scalpel. I'll tell you more about that another time.
I always respected her, even in the midst of what could be paranoia or hallucinations. I never wanted to be one of those who dismiss the elderly who deserve our respect. I truly believe there is an innate intuition that comes only with the wisdom of navigating life with all the joy, loss, mistakes, and hard-lived experience that comes with many years. Those with silver hair and deep creases are made of tough stuff even if their bodies are beginning to weaken.
I realize now Gram knew more than we ever gave her credit. Too much experience. Too many secrets. Maybe she kept them from us to protect us. Maybe she didn’t want us to be like her, knowing some threats are real and can return.
I thought about this as Mom and I knew we had to face the one door we had totally ignored. A door neither of us could see, but we knew it was there. Gram had made sure no one could see it. Ever.
The second door. a trap door. A trap door covered long ago.
Perhaps Gram was triggered by an intuitive sense that danger was impending, much like an animal that feels the tremor of an earthquake, hours before humans, gathering their young and fleeing long before those of us of higher intelligence ever have a danger on our radar.
Perhaps that is why she had the trap door in Godiva’s original cottage hidden.
Eponia is built on a steep hill, made of sandstone. Eponia was built over caves, caverns, and tunnels All created by a monk called Brother Cenric. Gram had told me about this little cottage Godiva had built when she was young. She just never told me how it came together. It was my mother who filled me in. Frankly, with all Gram's fears, I wasn’t so sure I wanted to know anyhow. I had hard enough time getting up the nerve to go into the cellar and get a jar of canned tomatoes! Still, I must admit, I was curious. I love a good mystery.
So, Mom and I are in the kitchen, looking into the “cottage room” and the trap door we know is hidden from sight.
“Edy, you know this is your chance,” Mom, the original scaredy-cat was challenging me. “Remember how I told you about when we had to get the cottage renovated 40 years ago so it would hold up?”
I nodded and smiled. Mom had a glint in her eye, like a kid that is going to steal second base. My mom wanted to break Gram’s rules. Well, she already had. During that renovation, Gram had insisted on the original stone floor, and the trap door, be covered in heavy sub-flooring, then padding and carpet. Gram wanted a cozy cottage yet added elegant touches, with crystal and china. She loved to rest on the couch, have tea, and look out over the gardens.
“You were pretty sneaky Mom. Gram still doesn’t know, does she? Tell me again what you did.”
Note: The best thing a kid can ever do is ask their parents about their lives, and be willing to hear the same stories over and over again. It was like asking a child to tell Santa what she wanted for Christmas. She poured out her heart.
Photo Credit: Photo by Seven Song on Unsplash
Commenti