Pink Mystery Box
Stories similar to this that you might like too.
Kamman, the blacksmith in charge of maintenance at St. Jarl’s Cathedral, was standing on his own porch one late spring morning when he saw a small figure walking up to the church steps with an armful of flowers.
He recognized them as the same type of wildflowers that grew all around town; it had been years since he’d seen a bouquet, but they were popular with some ladies and girls for their beauty, even if they weren’t very fragrant or colorful.
When she reached the door of St. Jarl’s and opened her arms wide to let the flowers cascade onto the steps, Kammen was stunned. His first thought was that someone had sent her flowers to celebrate her new baby; there hadn’t been another birth announcement yet in the paper this morning—and then he realized what else might have brought those flowers to her doorstep.
But no, he thought; surely not! She wouldn’t think that anyone would send her flowers like this so soon after the death of her husband, especially now that she had a child to care for. She didn’t have time to worry about anything else right now.
But she seemed to be crying. The tears were rolling down her cheeks freely. What must this woman be thinking? It wasn’t long ago that I was mourning the loss of my husband too, Kammen recalled with a pang of guilt. And here she was already grieving again.
Maybe he should do something…but how could he? How would she react if he just walked up to her and hugged her? Even if she did welcome the comfort, people would talk. And he couldn’t bear to see anyone gossiping about this poor widow and mother.
She wiped her eyes with the hem of her dress and then stepped into the church. Kammen stood watching helplessly. She looked around and spotted him. He quickly ducked back inside his own shop, hoping to give the impression that he hadn’t seen her at all.
As he closed the door, he caught a glimpse of her through the window and froze. Was it possible? No, Kammen told himself. Of course not. He knew her better than that. Still…he wondered what had prompted her visit today, and why she would bring those flowers.
Perhaps they weren’t for her. Maybe she had heard of his kindness in the past and wanted to thank him. He would take any excuse he could get to help out this poor woman.
***
He hurried back outside and went directly to the back of the church. A small door was propped open. He peeked inside and saw the woman sitting on one side of the altar. Her hair was piled up atop her head like always, but this time a single flower was placed next to each bun. There was only one person who could have done such a thing. It had to be the Widow Harrow.
“Hello,” he whispered. “I’m glad you came.”
The woman turned toward him. “It’s a surprise. Did you see these flowers?”
He nodded. “They’re beautiful. Who put them here, though? Why didn’t they go straight to her home?”
The widow smiled sadly. “That was me. My father said I was too old to keep secrets from now on.”
“Oh,” he exclaimed. “Did you come to thank me?”
Her lips pursed, and she shook her head. “No, Father ordered me to come here. That’s what he says every year. But…” She paused.
Kammen swallowed hard, fearing the worst. “What do you mean? What does he say?”
“Well, he tells me not to mourn him anymore and to get married again. To move on with my life. But I won’t, I can’t!”
He gasped. “Then why are you still coming to pray for him?”
“Because he’ll hear my prayers, no matter where he is. And I’ve learned over the years that God hears us wherever we are.” Her voice broke, and she choked back a sob. “Sometimes, it feels like he isn’t listening to my prayers at all, but I know that doesn’t make sense.”
“Why don’t you leave the flowers on your husband’s grave until tomorrow morning? Then go home and sleep tonight without worrying about what will happen after dark.”
The widow sighed deeply, nodding. “Yes, you’re right. Thank you.”
***
The following day, Kammen was in the garden tending his roses when he noticed that he wasn’t alone.
A short distance away, the Widow Harrow sat by herself beneath a tree. She was wearing her usual plain brown dress; she looked tired and worn out, but there was hope on her face. She was smiling faintly as if she’d just received good news from somewhere far away. The sight brought a smile to Kammen’s face, despite how much the woman had hurt him yesterday.
She turned toward him as he approached. “Hello, Kammen,” she said softly. “Are you gardening or working out some problems?”
His heart skipped a beat. Had she really forgiven him? Or was she just humoring him because he was the only one willing to listen? Either way, it made him happy to have her attention again.
“Both,” he replied quietly. “You?”
She grinned and pointed to his rose bushes. “My husband planted these roses years ago before he went off on one of his crusades. They remind me of him. And the smell…well, let’s just say it’s intoxicating.”
He chuckled. “Your husband sounds wonderful.”
“Oh, yes, he was.”
Kammen cleared his throat and looked into her eyes. “I want you to know that I never meant to offend you yesterday.”
“No, I’m sorry too,” the widow replied, her eyes glistening. “I didn’t mean to yell at you like that. I’m not used to people speaking their minds so bluntly.”
“It’s no problem,” he insisted, feeling guilty for having upset her in the first place.
They continued talking for a while longer. He asked her questions about her past and what it was like living with her husband and children for many years. When the conversation started to wane, she thanked him for his time and promised to come back tomorrow night. She walked away as quickly as possible. He watched her go.
The Widow Harrow seemed to be doing better since she last visited the chapel. Kammen felt encouraged by this, even though he couldn’t help but feel nervous about the upcoming evening.
***
Kammen was sitting in front of his desk with a glass of wine and a plate of biscuits when the Widow Harrow came strolling up the path to his house. It took him a moment to process what he was seeing: a familiar pair of white slippers on a familiar pair of feet. His jaw dropped.
She smiled gently as she drew nearer. “Sorry to scare you.”
“You shouldn’t apologize,” he said, standing up to greet her. “I’m honored that you came.”
“Thank you,” she replied warmly. “Father told me I could trust you, so I did.”
“He also said that I should be very careful of you. You may be sweet, but you’re also deadly.”
“Really?” she replied, laughing merrily.
He nodded, then gestured for her to take a seat on the sofa across from him. She settled down slowly, placing her handbag on the table beside her.
Kammen poured them both another glass of wine, then sat on the armrest next to her and waited for her to speak. She sipped her drink, taking slow and deliberate breaths in between gulps. Kammen thought he might have offended her with the remark about her being sweet and deadly. Was he wrong to assume that?
The Widow Harrow leaned forward slightly and set down her half-finished glass of wine. “I want to thank you, Kammen.” Her voice was soft and gentle, like a summer breeze blowing through a forest.
Kammen blinked rapidly. He hadn’t expected her to start a conversation like this, and she was clearly trying to put him at ease, yet the words were making him uncomfortable nonetheless. “For what?”
“I know you didn’t mean any harm. I think it would be wise if you stop thinking of me as an enemy.” She laughed at his expression and continued, “Don’t worry, I don’t intend to kill you tonight.”
He chuckled nervously at her joke and tried to keep his tone light. “What can I do for you, then, Widow Harrow? What kind of information are you looking for?”
She looked into his eyes and took a deep breath. “I’m looking for someone.”
***
The Widow Harrow stood before the open doorway of the Chapel, watching as a young man dressed in black robes began walking along the stone path toward her.
She stepped inside and closed the door behind her.
“Hello, Harrow,” the priest greeted, bowing his head. “I hope all is well today.”
The Widow shook her head. “I haven’t been able to find my daughter,” she whispered quietly. “I’ve looked every day since her disappearance. I’ve done everything in my power, but it hasn’t helped.” Tears streamed down her face as she spoke. “And now Father has sent me here, asking if I need his help. But I can’t bring myself to tell him what happened.”
“Of course, I understand. If there’s anything we can do—”
“Please,” she interrupted. “This is something that I must do myself.” She paused for a moment, gathering her thoughts, then continued more quietly. “Can you do a reading for me? I’d like to see what’s ahead, if there’s anything good that may happen for us, or if this is the end. I don’t know who else to turn to right now.”
“I’d be happy to,” the priest replied. “We’ll go sit in the sanctuary and pray together for guidance. Then I can begin your reading. Will that work?”
The Widow nodded. “Yes, please.” She followed him to one of the pews near the front of the church and they knelt down.
As they prayed and held hands, she kept her eyes closed throughout most of the time and focused on breathing slowly in and out. The priest led them through many prayers and chanted hymns that had meaning to him. They finished their prayer in silence and the Widow opened her eyes to look at him. “Is it true what they say?”
“About what?”
“That spirits can come back as angels, guiding souls to salvation and forgiveness?”
“Yes,” he answered, blinking at her. “That’s how it works.”
“Then I have something important to ask you. Is there a reason why you’re not wearing your robes anymore?”
His eyes widened in surprise. “Why—oh! Yes. My father and brothers have been killed by demons.” He took a deep breath. “Do you have some sort of special powers that will help us?”
A smile spread across her face. “Perhaps there is a way. We can try.”
They went back outside and he led them to the side of the building where there was an enclosed courtyard. A wooden bench sat on one wall, and they sat down upon it. She watched as he pulled out two candles and lit them from the flame of a lantern hanging in the corner. “There are many things we can do, including sending messages to those on the other side.”
“So it’s really possible?”
“It certainly isn’t unheard of,” he replied with a shrug. “You just need to have faith and believe in God.”
“I do.”
“Well then,” he said, “let’s pray again. This time, instead of focusing on yourself and the loss of your family, think about all the people you could save. You could help them cross over to heaven and reunite with their loved ones again.” He bowed his head and whispered something under his breath, and when he raised his head she saw tears in his eyes.
The Widow stared at him in astonishment and he smiled. “I’ve never seen anyone so determined to help others before. It makes me feel better already.”
She nodded. “Yes. Thank you.”
“All right, then,” he said. “Let’s get started.” He took the first candle in his hand and blew on it until the flames grew large enough. When he was satisfied with the size, he moved closer to the edge of the stone fountain and placed the flame inside the water.
“I’m going to need your help for this,” he told her, “but not directly, just to focus your thoughts and give them direction.”
“Of course,” she agreed.
He turned to gaze at her in amazement. “You’re glowing.”
She blushed slightly as she realized what was happening, but didn’t mind at all. Instead, she focused on the image of a beautiful woman in front of her. As she did, she imagined that the light pouring from her flowed out to reach everyone, making them feel comforted and safe.
When the priest was ready, he took the second candle and lit it from the flame of the first, then held it high above his head. The golden glow that poured from his body shone brightly in the courtyard as he shouted, “O Lord, God of Abraham!”
Flames burst forth from his hands and shot into the air around him, forming an arch over the courtyard. In its wake rose another flame that arched higher still and flew up into the night sky. Soon it reached the moonlight above and vanished away into darkness.
As the sound of the flames faded, the widow felt herself floating upward, surrounded by a warm sensation that seemed to wash over her like waves on a shore. Her eyes drifted shut as she floated higher and higher into the heavens, where the stars twinkled like jewels in the night sky.
She looked behind her and saw that she had risen above the courtyard of the church; now she was floating over the city itself.
She heard someone calling her name, but couldn’t see who it was or hear clearly through the noise. “Where am I?” she asked aloud, and the voice spoke to her once more.
“Welcome to paradise,” he said. She felt a sense of peace that washed over her once again.
The End