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Previous Challenge Entry (Level 2 – Intermediate)
Topic: Luggage (08/15/05)
I made the long drive back to Grandma’s house the day of her funeral. As I entered the house, it seemed so dreary and empty. There was a drawing, pulling feeling to walk downstairs into the basement. The rickety, wooden door creaked loudly on its hinges as I pushed it open. I grasped for the light switch and found a pull string hanging down before my face. Pulling it, the light dimly lit the steps to the basement. It seemed like an eternity making the descent. The pulling feeling grew stronger as I placed my feet upon the cold concrete floor. I felt like an intruder as I poked around the basement looking for a reason to be there. I stumbled upon a worn leather steam trunk in the corner. A quilted blanket was draped over it as to conceal the treasure. The latches took some work to unfasten. As I opened the trunk, I could smell the fragrance of Red Velvet perfume, the kind Grammie always wore. Antique lace napkins were stored there. The old trunk had crossed the Atlantic Ocean in 1938 and it was showing its age. The tears welled up in my weary eyes.

Grammie had lived in this house since arriving in America at the age of eight-years-old. She had been sent ahead of her parents, to live with her Aunt Eliza. Grammie Hena was brought up in the Jewish traditions of her family and worshipped at the synagogue every Saturday. I pulled out the Menorah and the Star of David and held them closely to my heart. The trunk was filled with pictures of my great grandparents who never made it to America. They fell victim to Hitler in Germany shortly after Grammie came here. The only family treasures that remained were hidden in the trunk.

Grammie Hena lived with Aunt Eliza and her Uncle Abe until she met and married Grandpa Cohen in 1948. My Daddy, Jacob, was their eldest of four sons. Uncle Abe had a difficult time when Grammie and Granpa joined a group of Jewish Christians in their early 20’s. He disowned Grammie and Granpa for nearly ten years until 1960, when Uncle Cohen and Aunt Eliza joined the fellowship and became Christian believers. Thus began a rich family legacy.

I unfolded a soft fabric piece from within the trunk. There was the delicate dress that Grammie had worn on her wedding day celebration. There was a beautiful picture in black and white of Grammie and Grampa. I can hear the music and smell the aromas of rich food. What a day that must have been. I dug deeper into the trunk to find baby clothes that maybe my Dad had worn on the eighth day when he received his name. I was careful not to crumble any of the brittle, brown photographs. My plan was to take them to be restored so that my grandchildren could pull them from my hope chest one day long from now.

I will treasure this old luggage for the rest of my days and share its contents and the history therein. I am so thankful that Grammie made the long journey so many years ago. She took excellent care of her parents’ treasures so that its contents can continue to be passed down for generations in the old steam trunk.


This story is fiction. Word count 555.
The opinions expressed by authors may not necessarily reflect the opinion of FaithWriters.com.
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This article has been read 1672 times
Member Comments
Member
Date
Gloria Laroza T.
08/23/05
This was portrayed in a very realistic way, that I thought it was your own story, at first. I could almost picture you there kneeling in front of that old, worn-out luggage, with eyes wide open. It would be nice to add a delapitated Bible inside (Who knows, Grandma must be a Jeswish-Christian)?
That would be a great family treasure! Beautifully written, nice choice of words.God bless!
Rita Garcia
08/23/05
You are a master story teller! I was right there with you looking through the old trunk, I shared you vision of their wedding day! It is so important what we are leaving for future generations. Much love, Rita
Gloria Laroza T.
08/23/05
I re-read your beautiful story and the more I appreciate every detail, each name, dates, and past experiences all woven into a master craft that only a very creative story teller can weave. Ooops.. sorry if I missed reading at first that Grandma was a Jewish Christian. The more I thought that a worn-out, well-read Bible should have been in that treasure chest. I guess that will leave it to the readers' imagination.
Irvin Rozier
08/23/05
Mitzi, I believe you did a marvelous job on this..As I started to read, I became intrigued (thought I was reading some of your family history)...This is a great story about family, America, Christianity and memories...I thought you did a good job!Be blessed, Irvin
David&Dee Jobes
08/23/05
Oh Mitzi, This is such a a very moving Inspirational piece.Very well written. I thought at first you were sharing your family history and then I realized what you had shared was a fictional story created in your heart inspired by God.What a gift to bring the reader into the story and experience the emotions along with you.

With Jesus Love,
Dee
"Numbers 6:24,25,26"
Crista Darr
08/24/05
A treasure of a story! I would like to see the items in the trunk reveal more about the grandparents' lives.
Shari Brian
08/25/05
A treasure of a story. You could weave a much longer story/book from the items in the trunk. Well done!
Tisha Martin
08/26/05
Well-written with a neat yet sad story line.
Jan Ackerson
08/26/05
I, too, would like to read more on the individual stories of these characters. I don't think it's necessary to include the word count and that the story is fiction, at the end; it's jarring to your reader.
Jacque Sauter
04/13/06
Hello! I just found you and your story here. You write just wonderfully, and at the end when you said it was fiction...it was fine with me; I thought it was your own diary while I read. But you know, as I read...I was reading both your story and my own story with my parents and what they left "in their boxes and trunks and drawers" and it was similiar and nostalgic. This story touches the hearts of all of us who have lifted up the items and memories of our loved ones, and treasured them in the Lord. My mother came from England when she was 3 months old. I love the memoribilia, and have saved and put stories and poems and pictures into family albums.
Be blessed and keep writing! Jacque