The Willow

Prologue

Spring had finally kissed the land which had been so parched by the frozen winter. The snow had melted, the birds were returning, and fresh patches of bright green grass could be seen almost anywhere one had gone. Sprays of flowers littered random parts of the fields.

Spring seemed to have reached everywhere, except for where the Sallows lived. It had been decades since Lillian Sallow had been able to coax anything to grow in their tiny brick-walled garden. The small cottage used to seem to be full of faerie magic, but it had long since disappeared.

Once in a blue moon, her and Harold's great-nephew, Timothy, would plant a single flower seed and it would grow. But Timothy's flowers always grew crooked and shriveled long before they were supposed to.

Timothy came to visit Lillian and Harold Sallow that spring. The elderly couple had no children, and they would always come to argue bitterly amongst themselves when they became too lonely.

The moment he came to the brick doorstep he heard the two yelling. Timothy pushed the door open, and the two fell silent, glaring icily at each other.

"Hello, Timothy, dear. How are you?" Lillian asked as she turned from her husband so she could see her great nephew. Her hair was thin and white, her skin drooped with wrinkles, but her brown eyes were just as lovely as ever.

"I'm fine," Timothy answered. He felt the usual pang in his heart from seeing his great aunt and uncle argue. Though he had been raised by them, he never grew used to it. Despite their bickering, the couple had stayed together all of these years.

"It's nice to see you again," Harold said gruffly. The old man, like Lillian, now had skin that hung from his bones because of wrinkles, but he had gone completely bald, dark spots were splattered over his face and neck, and he was missing an arm.

"Why don't we do something enjoyable?" Timothy suggested, "There must be a way for you to stop arguing."

Harold brought his single arm over his chest and slouched in his seat. Because his grey eyebrows were knitted together, Timothy could tell that his great uncle was in deep contemplation. Lillian, however, scoffed.

"We haven't had a single enjoyable moment since--" When she realized what she was about to say, her voice cracked and her face fell.

"Since when?" Timothy came closer to her and held her soft hand.

Lillian sighed and rubbed her other hand over the folds of her cheeks. Harold nearly scowled as he looked away from his wife.

"It's gone," Harold said, his lips folding down into a frown.

"What's gone?" Timothy asked as his brown eyes went wide with innocent curiosity.

Harold looked out the window, his usually bright blue gaze turned into a darker, faraway looking one. His Adam's apple bobbed up once and fell back down before he turned back to his great-nephew.

"The willow tree," he whispered.

Lillian jerked her head up quickly at Harold's utterance of those three words which she had not heard in so long...

"The willow tree..." Timothy murmured in an almost poetic way. "What happened to it?"

Harrumphing, Harold pushed himself off of his armchair and started to head for the front door. "Follow me, and you'll find out, my boy. Grab a shovel from the shed."

Timothy eagerly followed, but then stopped at the doorway. He was only three inches shorter than it. He turned to his great aunt. "Aren't you coming, Lillian?"

Lillian's eyes grew wide. "I haven't been there in forty years," she breathed, "But I will come." She stood up slowly and started towards the front door.

***

Timothy's heart dropped when he saw the place his great-uncle had taken him. His mouth opened into a perfect circle and he let the shovel fall from his grasp. Clouds went over the setting sun, making things seem darker than they would be.

"See? I had told you that it was gone," Harold said with a slow shake of his head.

Lillian crossed her arms and stared at the empty spot on the river bank, her gaze almost hollow.

Timothy's shoulders drooped as he stared at the empty patch. He turned to Harold. "Why? What did you have me bring the shovel for?"

"We," Harold glanced over at Lillian, who was staring emptily into space, "had buried something here before I had left for the War. I want you to dig it up." He sighed once. "It's about time we did."

Nodding, Timothy reached down and fingered for the shovel. With one glance back at Lillian and Harold, he stabbed the soil with the shovel and began to dig.

***

It had taken several minutes for Timothy to dig, but his hard work was rewarded when the tip of the shovel hit a wooden jewelry box.

Lillian put her hands over her mouth as he pulled it up and brushed the dirt off of it. Harold released an audible gasp.

"Thank you, now, let's bring it back to the cottage," Harold said after a long moment of trembling.

When they returned to the tiny cottage, Timothy sat the box down in the middle of the round kitchen table. Lillian turned on the light, and he could see that there was a lock on the box. Harold rummaged through a drawer for only a moment and pulled out a small key.

"Now," Lillian said, her hand nearly shaking, "Let's open this box."