THE TUNNEL

Great-Grams, tell me again why this is your favorite spot.”

“Emma, I’ve told you the story a hundred times.”

“But we’ve never been here before, when you told me.”

My great-grandmother smiled and sighed as she took my almost eight-year-old hand in hers.

“Look up. The trees are bare in the winter, and you can see the brilliant blue sky above their dark skeleton of branches. But, in the summer, there’s a soft, spongy carpet of moss beneath your feet, and the leaves on the trees are as big as dinner plates. The trees line up on both sides of the path, like soldiers. They make a living tunnel, and all you can see is green. No matter how hot the sun is, it’s always cool and damp in here. It’s magical.”

“Tell me about the salamanders,” I insisted as I gently tugged the old lady’s arm through the natural tunnel towards the rocky hill.

“You see where this path ends. It’s the side of the mountain. And there’s a spring. It starts way up there,” Grams pointed to the top of the rock face, “and it runs underground all the way to the lake.”

“But the water comes out of the rocks.”

“Yes, some,” Grams chuckled, “And in the summer you can find pretty little red and brown salamanders who live here.”

“But they’re sleeping now.”

Great-Grams nodded. She brushed the dusting of snow off a fallen log and sat. I cuddled up next to her, and she wrapped her arm around my tiny shoulder.

“Are you cold, child?”

“Not when I’m with you, Grams,” I smiled, looking into the old woman’s bright blue eyes. At ninety-nine, her movements were slow, but her mind was sharp, and her eyes sparkled. “Tell me about the fairies.”

She chuckled again. “I never saw them, but I could feel their magic every time I came here. And I know they live here because in the spring, you can see their toadstools and fairy rings popping up out of the earth.”

“Are they asleep like the salamanders?”

“I don’t know, child. I don’t know.”

“Why did you leave the farm, Grams?”

“My parents bought the property as a country home, but they both worked in the city. When I was your age, they decided they no longer wanted to spend so much time taking care of the land and a house, only to spend summers here. So they sold it.”

“And you cried?”

“Buckets.”

Great-Grams gazed into the distance, caught in a memory. “It was the ugliest quilt on god’s earth.”

I looked into my great-grandmother’s now watery eyes. I’d never heard this part of the story before.

“It had big patches of red, and purple, and orange, and white. Why my mother picked those hideous colors for a quilt, I’ll never know. It covered the daybed on the sleeping porch. That’s where I sat, picking at its treads, when they told me we weren’t coming back here.”

“But you did come back! You lived here and raised Grandma and Great Uncle Laurence.”

“Yes. As soon as I got old enough and had a little money, I bought the place back from the people my parents sold it to.”

“And Great Uncle Laurence rode his horses here.”

“He raised them here, and he rode them all over the world.’

“I never got to meet him. He died riding his horse,” I said with the innocence of a child.

“That he did. Cross-country is the most dangerous aspect of three-day eventing.” Great-Grams added in a whisper, “But I’ll be seeing him again, soon.”

“Emma! Grams! What are you doing out here?” my mother shouted, tromping across the frozen field. “We’re ready to leave!”

“Mama!” I ran to my mother, bundled in her down coat and matching hat and gloves, and threw my arms around her waist. “I want to raise horses here and ride them all over the world like Great Uncle Laurence!”

“Emma, you’re eight.”

“I know. But I know what I want to do. I want to live in Great-gram’s house, and have a dozen dogs, cats, and horses. And I’ll take all of them with me in a big trailer and ride my horses, and win money, and I’ll protect the fairies so they never lose their home.”

I’ll never forget the look of horror on my mother’s face as she listened to my life plan.

“I see your great-grandmother is filling your head with stories again.”

“There’s nothing wrong with dreaming, especially when you’re an almost eight-year-old,” Grams said, stepping up behind me.

“Dillion’s already in the car. We need to leave now if we’re going to make it back home by dinner.”

I remember little about that car ride home. It felt long, but time is different for a child. I do remember my mother and grandmother discussing Great-Gram's farm.

“If we put thirty to forty thousand into upgrades, we could ask more for it,” my mother said.

“Jessica, that will take time. If we sell it as is, we won’t get top dollar for it, but we’ll at least get market value. Then we can stop paying taxes on the damn place,” my grandmother Victoria countered..

“You don’t pay the taxes on it. I do.” Great-Grams had been silent for most of the discussion, but she wasn’t afraid to speak up and correct her daughter.

“Mom, your money could be better spent …” my grandmother began, but Great-Grams interrupted her.

“Don’t tell me how to spend my money. As long as I’m alive, I’ll spend it as I choose. You’re just afraid it’ll run out of it before I die, and you’ll be stuck caring for me if I can’t pay that ridiculous assisted-living facility you forced me into last year.”

“Mom, how many times must we discuss this? You’re too old to live in that dilapidated old house, in the middle of nowhere, alone.”

“You’re too old!” Great-Grams echoed like a stubborn teenager.

I giggled and said, “I love Great-gram’s house! I want to live there and raise horses! And, I want to have my birthday party there.”

“Emma,” my mother chided, “This is a discussion for grown-ups. Put on your headphones and watch your movie.”

Normally, I didn’t mind watching a movie in the back of our van, but when Great-Grams was with me, I didn’t want to waste a second that I could be listening to her stories. The look my mother gave me told me this was no time to argue, so I did as I was told.

Two weeks later, I entered a hotel’s Grand Ballroom in downtown Pittsburgh with my Great-Grams by my side. It was no place for an eight-year-old’s birthday party, but Great-Grams was turning one hundred, and since we shared not only a name but also a birthday, I’d insisted we share a party.

Great-Grams let me pick the food and decorations for our party. I chose purple and white balloons for myself and white calla lilies for her because they were her favorite. It was such a big place, I got to invite my entire class. Mom and Dad, and Grandmother invited a bunch of boring grown-ups. But there was a DJ, and me and my friends had a blast dancing.

As everybody was going home, Great-Grams took me and my dad into a smaller room next to the ballroom. It looked just like the big room where we’d had our party, but there were no decorations. The table tops were bare wood, with chairs turned up on them. A stillness hung in the cool air.

Great-Grams sat on the chair Dad had taken off a table for her, and she pulled a large envelope out of her handbag.

“Both of you, sit down,” Grams said. “I want to give Emma her birthday gift. I know she is now eight, but she’ll need your help with it for a little while, Dillion. I’m trusting you to do right by me and by your daughter.”

I remember my eyes feeling like they were about to pop out of my head. I couldn’t fathom what my Great-Grams was talking about. Maybe she was gifting me a pony? Oh, how I wanted a pony of my very own. I’d been taking riding lessons at the stable near our house for the last two years. I wanted nothing more than my own pony. It couldn’t live at our house. We had a big yard, but not big enough for a pony. But maybe it could live at the stables. And now that I was eight, maybe Mom would let me ride my bike there every day after school so I could ride it.

Grams handed a stack of papers from the envelope to Dad.

“First of all, there’s a trust. I’ve put it in Emma’s name. She’ll have full access to it once she turns twenty-one. It’s a diverse portfolio. There should be enough money to cover taxes and maintenance until she’s ready to take over full ownership.”

I really had no idea what Great-Grams was talking about.

She continued. “Grant, the caretaker, he’s still young enough. Only forty. He’s agreed to stay on, take care of the property, at least until Emma’s twenty-one. He’ll live in the guest house and receive a small stipend. He’s quite handy and can fix almost anything. Again, the trust will cover his expenses.”

“Grams, what are you talking about?” my dad asked.

“The farm. I’m giving Emma the farm.”

Silence filled the already quiet room. I looked at my dad, his mouth hanging open, his eyes wide. I was so overjoyed, I was stunned into stillness, frozen in my chair.

“You … you can’t give an eight-year-old a hundred-acre farm,” Dad stuttered.

“I can, and I have,” Grams said. “Now, I don’t trust my Victoria or your Jessica not to sell the land out from under the child, so I’m naming you guardian until Emma is eighteen.” Grams looked at me. “You can’t sell the property until you’re thirty, it’s in the deed. I know that seems like a long time from now, but time passes quickly, Emma. By the time you’re a grown-up, you may not want a big piece of land and an old rambling house, but I want you to have the time to decide for yourself.”

I nodded, understanding the farm would be mine, but not understanding all the ramifications.

“Promise me you’ll take her there, Dillion. Promise me you’ll take her there every summer, even if it’s only for the weekends. Let her climb trees and run through the fields. Let her bike to the lake to go swimming. Teach her how to catch frogs and …”

“Salamanders!” I jumped out of my seat, shouting. “I want to catch salamanders and search for the fairies. And I want you to teach me, Great-Grams!”

Grams wiped a tear from her cheek before hugging me tight. “I’m an old lady, Emma. I don’t think I can run through the fields anymore. But know that I’ll be with you always, especially when you’re at the farm.”

Spring was turning into summer. The air was hot and humid when Dad picked me up after the last of the school year..
“Where we goin’, Dad?”

“Grams wants to visit your farm. We’re picking her up.”

I studied the woman I loved as she sat in the front seat of our van on the two-hour ride to the farm. I realized for the first time that she was old. She’d had white hair and wrinkles as long as I’d known her, but today she looked tired. Her smile didn’t reach her eyes. The glow that usually surrounded her had faded.

We bypassed the house when we arrived and walked straight through the field to the tunnel.

“Help me find a salamander, Great-Grams!” I yelled as I dashed down the row of trees to the rocky face of the hill.

“You go on. I’ll catch up,” Grams said. My dad walked beside her, holding her arm in his.

Looking under rocks in the cold spring water, I shouted, “I found one!” I scooped it up in my hands and ran to Grams and Dad.

Great-Grams sat on the log we’d shared the past winter. “Yes, you did,” she said and smiled. “They’re amphibians. They don’t like people touching their skin, so be extra gentle with them, and don’t hold them for too long.”

“K, Grams.” I kissed the old lady’s cheek. “I’ll put him back. Then I’m gonna search for fairies.”

“You do that.”

I replaced the salamander and happily trotted off into the woods in search of fairies. I heard my dad and Great-Grams talking, but I was too intent on my hunt to pay attention to their words. Years later, my dad told me what they had said.

“Before you go home tonight, stop at the guest house and tell Grant I’m here.”

“Maybe we should stay with you,” my dad offered.

“No. Emma’s with you. She’s too young. I don’t want her to someday live in the house and only remember finding my dead body. You apologize to Grant for having to take on that burden.”

“Maybe you should come home with us then.”

Dad said that Great-Grams laughed at him. “I am home. This is the only place I’ve ever belonged. Ever felt at peace. I’ve said my goodbyes to Victoria and Jessica. I want to lie in my bed, in my home, remembering all the wonderful times in my life, and peacefully drift off into the next world. Dry your eyes, Dillion. I’m an old woman, and it’s my time to go. I’m only sad that I won’t be here to see Emma grow, or your new baby born.”

Dad said he almost fell over in shock.

“New … but … how do you know? We only found out last night.”

I remember hearing Grams laughing and the stupefied look on Dad’s face as I drew near.

“The fairies told me,” Grams said.

“Grams!” I shouted as I ran toward Dad and Grams.“A dragonfly led me to a fairy ring, but I think I was too noisy and scared the fairies off.”

“Then you’ll have to learn stealth and patience, child.”

“Do you think the fairies will like it when I move here and have horses?” I asked Gram.

“I think they would love that.”A dreamy look crossed Gram’s face. “Ah, hoofbeats. Sounds like Laurence is out doing gallop sets in the fields.”

“Mama, look! A dragonfwy! Fairies ride on dragonfwies, wike we ride the horses.”

My beautiful little daughter was five and still had a slight lisp.

“That’s right, darling.”

“I’m gonna teach Uncle Waurence how to ride Sonny.”

“Uncle Laurence doesn’t like riding horses.” My brother had fallen off too many times when he was a kid.

“He’ll wike Sonny. Sonny is a good boy. He won’t let him fall. I’m gonna go look for fairies.”

And she was off.

I didn’t sell the farm when I turned thirty. Actually, I was in Germany on my thirtieth birthday. For two years, I’d trained with a world-class event rider. I had just decided to go home to my farm and start my own program when my fiancé and I found out I was pregnant. Now, six years later, I was married, had a beautiful daughter, and a string of horses I was bringing up through the levels.

The tunnel remained my favorite place in the world. Matt, my husband, built a bench for me and placed it near the stone wall. We’d also placed a Celtic cross and a horseshoe on one of the wall’s large flat rocks for my Great-Grams. She’d told me stories of how fairies, or the fae as she called them, had immigrated from Ireland. Although Grams didn’t have a drop of Irish blood in her, it felt like a proper tribute to the woman who protected salamanders and hunted for fairies. A woman who loved the land and loved me and gave me the greatest gift she had when I’d turned eight.

Originally from Southwestern Pennsylvania, Paula Feather has lived and traveled from Maine to California and has worked many jobs, from actress to zookeeper. Although friends encouraged her to write her funny stories, she never intended to be a writer. After completing her first manuscript, writing became her norm. In 2021, her first novel in the TALL WILLOWS series appeared. She has continued writing and will release the second book in the series, DEEP PINES, later this year under the pen name PC Feather. She continues to work as an actress, keeps a toe in the world of dressage and horse training, and is always looking for ways to spend more time with family and friends. THE TUNNEL is Paula’s first venture into the world of writing short stories, but it won’t be her last.