Emeline Barrett used to sit beneath the shade of the dogwood tree just outside the picture window of her home. As a little girl, she'd invite her dolls and bears to a tea party in the glowing sun of a summer morning. Her first kiss had surprised her underneath the tree a couple of years later just beyond the fading moonlight. Henry proposed to her on one knee beneath the tree one cool autumn day. She held her daughter there for the first time on a spring morning, and she received the news of Henry's death there only weeks later. The tree had been there all her life and it shared the memories of a lifetime with her.
But Emeline's memories were not the only ones shared with the tree. When Henry died, she was left to raise her daughter on her own, a lofty task for a woman with no income. After pleading her case to the local bank, Emeline opened her house to strangers. Holsten was a pleasant town with a growing population. Many travelers stopped in the town on their way to bigger and better things. It was because of the travelers that Emeline's hotel succeeded. She made a living renting out rooms to strangers and cooking their meals. She was not used to the arduous labor, but she soon grew accustomed to it. Her daughter learned from experience. Addison began to work in the hotel as soon as she could walk. The stronger she became, the more she would do.
By the time Addison was a young woman, she did half of the work around the hotel. While her schoolyard friends began to marry, she stayed with her mother. Emeline had never had the desire to remarry. Her heart remained with Henry even in death. The two women leaned on one another for strength as they welcomed their guests with cheerful demeanors. But life in the hotel was far from boring. With each new visitor came secrets. Secrets that eventually found their way out into daylight. Those secrets were entrusted to mother and daughter. They were sealed in the crooks and crannies of the house. They could be found underneath floorboards and hidden in closets. Every creak of a step, every murmur of wind that snuck through a window, and every groan of the house was a secret waiting to get out.
The dogwood tree sat silently in front of the old house. The wind and the sun, the moon and the stars, the rain and the snow all asked for the secrets from within the humble abode, but the dogwood told them nothing. It never mentioned the torrid affairs, the convicts in hiding, or the vengeful lovers. Its branches protected the house and all who dwelled inside. It never judged or lectured; it only offered comfort to those in need, just as the two women who had grown up beneath it.
