Fireside Dreams

“And then what happened, Grandpapa?” Violet Goodhill asked.

The young child sat at his feet, resting on a pillow, with her legs crossed, leaning forward. Her eyes fixated on the older gentleman rocking back and forth in the wooden chair. He stroked his white beard. Bushy, but not too long. Aged with experience. Small strands of black held out in the losing battle.

His fingers wrapped and tapped on the arm of the chair. The hardwood floorboards creaked and moaned with each motion of the curved legs. The fire crackled in the hearth, providing background noise. Not a rip-roaring fire. Only one log. Its flames danced across the tan-colored walls of the darkened cottage.

Violet’s grandfather withheld the information. His brown eyes locked on her hazel eyes. A smile crept across his face as he released his beard from his soothing grip. Violet’s grandpapa gripped both arms of the chair and leaned forward. The rocking stopped, held in anticipation of falling backward.

Violet held her breath. She wiggled and squirmed on her pillow, waiting for the answer to her question. A comfy pillow filled with feathers, keeping her safe and warm from the frigid floorboards on the cold winter’s night.

She leaned forward, raising up from the pillow. He leaned down. Their faces were inches from each other.

“So, there I was,” Grandpapa said. “Faced with three tree monsters.”

“Tree monsters,” Violet repeated in a hushed tone.

His feet slid beyond the curved rockers. Grandpapa released his grip, raising them into the air. Fingers splayed out and curled, mimicking vicious claws.

“They closed in. I was surrounded,” he said. “Armed only with my trusty walking staff. I needed to hold them off. Buy everyone time to escape.”

Violet’s smile morphed into gaping surprise, her jaw hanging by a thread. Eyebrows arched. She blinked twice, still waiting for the answer to her question.

“These were not normal trees,” Grandpapa said. “They were men transformed into wooden abominations by the dark woods. They towered over me. Faces carved in wood. Their arms transformed into branches. Their feet were roots. Decaying leaves blossomed from small twigs that sprang forth out of their twisted, gnarled bark bodies.”

Violet gulped. She hung on his every word. The images coursed through her mind. Horrible abominations that ruminated in her mind. Fearful that they might haunt her dreams that evening.

“Don’t scare her,” Violet’s mother said. “It’s not good for a six-year-old to hear these stories.”

Grandpapa leaned back, dropping his arms from their monstrous position. He turned to face his daughter across the room. “It’s not that scary,” he said. “I haven’t told the extra scary stuff.”

Violet’s mother sat on an elongated bench. Her brown hair cascaded in curls to her shoulders. Soft facial features. Violet was a near reflection of her mother’s appearance.

Pillows were used for comfort from the unforgiving dark hardwood bench. A quilted blanket strewn over her lap. She tugged at it, drawing it closer. The light of the flames danced across her stern face as she hid in the shadows.

“But, Mom . . .” Violet said. “I want to hear what happened.”

“See,” Grandpapa said, motioning to the young child. “She wants to know more.”

“I don’t think it’s right filling her head with these stories before bed,” Violet’s mother said.

“She’s fine,” Violet’s father responded. He sat next to her. Legs outstretched and feet crossed. Face weathered and cracked from working all day in the sun. A small beard groomed to a point below his neck. “Besides, she loves hearing these stories. I love hearing these stories.”

“Mom, please talk some sense into Dad,” Violet’s mother said.

Violet’s Grandmama sat in a rocking chair on the other side of the room. Her once vibrant blonde hair had faded and darkened with age. Small streaks of silver gray. A woven blanket of green and white plaid lay over her lap. Hands folded together. Heels lifted off the ground, rocking her back and forth.

“Oh, she’s heard these stories before,” Grandmama said. “Let her go.”

Violet’s mother shook her head. “Fine, but she can sleep with you if she wakes up with terrible nightmares.”

“I won’t,” Violet said. “I’m not scared. Adventurer’s promise.” She crossed her heart with her finger.

“That’s my good adventurer,” Grandpapa said. He tousled her brown hair. “Where were we? Ah, yes, tree monsters.”

He resumed his terrifying position of curled fingers. He bared his teeth with stretched-out lips. “They had me surrounded,” he said. “I knew I wasn’t going to make it with my walking staff. I had to use the best weapon I had.”

“What was that?” Violet asked.

He pointed to his head. “My brains, wee lass. My brains. Sometimes the way out of a situation isn’t always at the end of a stick or a sword.”

“What did you do?” Violet asked.

“A tree’s number one enemy is fire.” Grandpapa pointed to the log burning in the fireplace. “If I could cause a fire, I could distract them and get away.”

He paused, raising a finger. He bounced it a few times. Violet’s eyes were mesmerized by its bouncing motion.

“But I didn’t have time,” he said. “Never take time for granted. It’s quick. It’s slow. It’s over before you know. I couldn’t use my flint to start a fire with kindling. It was too slow.”

Her mind raced with the possibilities of how he escaped the situation. Perhaps rescued by the flames of a dragon swooping in through the trees. No. That couldn’t be. There had not been a dragon sighting in many years. Maybe another band of adventurers rushed in for the save. Or a sorceress appeared, using her magical powers to fight back. Her mind reveled in trying to piece the puzzle together. Alive and blazing with possibilities.

“I reached for my belt. I had a vial of oil tied to my waist. I plucked it and brought it up to my mouth.”

He mimicked plucking a glass vial from his waist. He held his closed fist to his mouth. With snapping teeth, he popped out the imaginary stopper. He doused the unseen liquid over his other hand. His fingers wrapped around an invisible staff.

“I doused my walking staff with the oil,” he said.

His knuckles slid across his open palm. “I struck steel against the flint.”

He swung the invisible staff above Violet’s head. “I turned my staff into a blazing torch. I hurled it around in a circle. The tree monsters backed away in fear.”

He popped to his feet, spinning around. He struck at tree monsters. “Yarrr!” he yelled. “The fire blazed brightly that night, my young adventurer.”

Grandpapa stopped, locking eyes with his granddaughter. “Recoiling in fear, they slunk away into the woods. Hidden in shadows that the blaze of my staff could not pierce.”

His chest rose and fell as he breathed deeply from his exuberance. Reaching behind him, he gripped the arms of the rocking chair and plopped down. He rocked back and forth. The symphony of creaking floorboards struck up their chords again.

“I had my opportunity to escape. To join my party members in the retreat from the dark woods,” he said, stroking his beard again. “And we lived to tell the tale.”

Violet clutched the sides of her pillow. A surge of adrenaline coursed through her. Excitement and adventure. Everything she craved. In her mind, she recreated the scene. Fighting the tree monsters. Exploring the dark shadows of the realm. Rescuing those in need of help.

Visions of being an adventurer.

She knew her purpose. The cause she would strive to serve when she was older. When the time came, she would be an adventurer. She wanted to help people. No matter how big or small.

“I think that’s enough story time for one night,” her mother said. She stood, folding the blanket into squares, its resting place where she once sat. She ventured across the square room, arm held out.

“But, Mom,” Violet said. “I want to hear more of Grandpapa’s stories.”

“Violet Goodhill, that’s enough for tonight,” her mother said. “There’s plenty of time to hear stories later.”

“Listen to your mother,” Grandmama said. “There’ll be time for stories later.”

“One more story,” Violet pleaded.

“You better get off to bed, wee lass,” Grandpapa said. “An adventurer needs their rest as much as they need to explore.”

“Okay,” Violet said in a dejected voice.

She took her mother’s hand. With assistance, she hopped up to her feet, bouncing off toward her bedroom. Violet paused, tugging on her mother’s arm as she turned back toward her Grandpapa.

“Grandpapa,” Violet said.

“Yes, my little adventurer?” he responded.

“When I’m older, I want to be an adventurer like you,” Violet said.

He chuckled. “I’m sure you will be,” Grandpapa said. “Now, go get your sleep. Have grand adventures in your dreams.”

Violet smiled. She turned and followed her mother into the darkness of her bedroom. Adventure waited for her in her dreams.