By: John Gardiner Painting: The Open Window By: Pierre Bonnard

She was a withered old crone of a woman. Gone were the days of fresh beauty, and, indeed, even the days of stately elegance. She was approaching her ninetieth year, yet even at that ripe old age, she continued to tend her to own house, and was, by all accounts, a most independent person. But thoughts of her impending doom, for surely it must be impending, were with her constantly -- not that she feared it, but just that she knew it was coming, almost as if she sensed it. She had heard her grandmother, in another faraway time, tell her mother that she hadn't much longer to spend upon this earth -- that she knew her time was coming -- and, indeed, it had been only a few short months later when they'd laid that old woman to rest. It was like she could sense it. The coming of death.

And she had been revered in her lifetime for her cooking and baking, and even during the Christmas season recently past, she'd baked more than her fair share of special cookies and cakes to dispense to others in her community. And she'd received more than her fair share of praise and compliments, not only for the fine results of her labours, but also just for carrying out such a task at her extreme age. But even while she'd been doing her Christmas baking, she'd been reminded that her days in the kitchen were coming to an end. Once she forgot to add sugar to a batch of cookies and once she forgot to turn off the oven before falling asleep on the Chesterfield in the middle of the afternoon -- and that could have been a dangerous turn of events, if only her daughter, Jane, hadn't dropped over a short time after she'd nodded off.

And even now, as she sat in an easy chair in the living room, thumbing through a lady's magazine, scanning the pages for a handy household hint or perhaps a soon-to-be-favourite recipe, she felt worry. She wondered what she could do with a lifetime of recipes as she neared the end of her days. That was what troubled her most -- that her beloved recipes would somehow not be passed along to someone who would know the loving and caring they possessed -- because those were the most important ingredients any of her recipes contained -- the loving and caring she poured into them.

And the reason she worried was because she couldn't see anyone in her immediate family who might qualify for such an important duty as was the shepherding of the family recipes. She presumed that Jane, her only daughter, should be the one to receive them. But she was a woman nearing seventy herself, and she seemed to have no interest in kitchenly things. Jane had never done much baking and cooking over the years, and now that her own child was long since grown, she and her husband, Ed, seemed to be eating out every second night. And last Christmas, she'd bought a Christmas cake. Can you imagine? the old woman thought -- buying a Christmas cake and not using Gram Dunlop's tried and true recipe. It was a serious indiscretion indeed. That's what the old woman had thought.

So it really was a problem. She had a granddaughter, Jane's girl, Alice, but there had been family difficulties. The girl, although she'd be over forty and hardly a girl anymore, had been living away for the past many years and the old woman wasn't surprised that Jane spoke little of her. There was a past the old woman knew of -- and she cringed to think those dark thoughts. It was a sorrowful past, indeed. So that even when word had reached them that Alice was married and had had a child, there was no rejoicing and not even a card sent. It had hurt the old woman to know she had a great grandchild, but to not know that same child. But she never argued with Jane -- that wasn't her way. So, her family was lost to her.

And her mind returned to the recipes. And it seemed the recipes she'd so long ago promised her own mother that she would protect and cherish now seemed to be in a most precarious position.

It was a knock on her door that brought her back to her senses. It took her a couple of minutes to struggle up and out of the chair, and by that time Jane was already into the house and bustling about the place.

"Really, mother, were you having a nap?" her female offspring asked, not actually expecting an answer.

"No," answered the old woman," just collecting my thoughts."

"Well, you seem to be doing a lot of that these days," Jane answered.

"I think I've earned the right," she answered back, perhaps a little more sharply than was necessary.

"No one's saying you haven't," Jane replied.

There was a moment of quiet as Jane bustled over to the kitchen counter and barged through the pile of mail that was sitting there. "I've got some news," she said, hardly turning back toward her mother as she spoke the words.

"Really, dear, good news?" the mother asked.

"Your great granddaughter is coming for a visit," Jane answered. "Alice's daughter. She's out on her own now and she wants to come for a visit -- to get to know us -- that's what she said on the phone."

The old woman was silent, wondering what her reaction should be, but not really sure, so giving none.

"She's sent you some cards, Mom," the daughter offered. "But she's never been here. She was born after Alice moved out west almost twenty-five years ago."

"Oh, I don't think I know her," the old woman said, a little unsure of herself, continuing to think of her granddaughter and how long it had been since she had seen her.

"No, Mom, you really don't know her," Jane answered. "Neither do I. But she's coming and expects to stay for a week. I guess she'll stay with us, but I could put her up here for a couple of nights because we're supposed to be going away. We just weren't expecting to have company." Her voice was chopped and sharp, betraying those same emotions.

"She might stay here?" the old woman asked, hoping she'd heard right.

"Well, for a couple of nights," Jane answered. "Is that okay, Mom?"

"Oh, that would be fine," the old woman answered, and she knew it would be -- it would be very fine to have some company in the house, even if it was someone she was a little unsure about.

And the very next day she set about cleaning out the extra room, the one that had belonged to Jane all those years ago when that sharp-tongued woman had been a tender child. She tumbled the sheets from the bed down the laundry shoot, then chased them down the two flights of stairs to the basement to wash them. And she dusted about and got out the little hand-held vacuum cleaner she used now that she couldn't handle the big upright anymore. Soon, she had the room all tidied up and ready to receive a guest.

Much to Jane's chagrin, the young woman arrived on a Sunday, two days earlier than had been expected. And she could hardly be asked to cook a meal for such a multitude as that one extra mouth constituted, especially when the arrival was so unannounced, so she persuaded Ed to take them out for Sunday dinner -- and wouldn't it be nice if they invited Mother along so she could meet her great granddaughter. So, they did.

The old woman was ready twenty minutes early, as was her custom to always be ready a little early, and was sitting in a chair by the door waiting for her son-in-law's big, blue car to pull up out in front of the house. When it did, she was quickly outside and down the walk.

A fresh-looking, attractive younger woman she didn't recognize bounded out of the car to meet her. "Great grandma!" the young woman exclaimed, gathering the old woman up in her arms for a big hug. The old woman said nothing, but was somewhat overwhelmed.

"Great grandma," the young woman repeated. "I'm Mary, your great granddaughter."

The old woman stepped back from her and gave a long look up and down, then smiled and leaned forward, giving her a light kiss on the cheek. "Welcome, child," she said.

And they climbed back into the car, paying attention to Ed's clearing of his throat as a sign of impatience, and were off to the restaurant. They rode mainly in quiet, but the young woman did ask after her great grandmother's health and offered her a warm, pleasing smile, which the old woman found that she returned.

It was a pleasant enough dinner, the food was good, and the company was okay, but Jane, the grandmother, peppered her granddaughter with a seemingly endless string of questions in an apparent attempt to discover everything about the young woman on this initial meeting.

After the meal had been consumed, and the tip had been paid, Ed had gone to get the car and Jane was in the washroom. The great grandmother and the young woman stood alone just inside the front door.

"Don't pay your grandmother no never mind," the old woman said, breaking the silence that stood on guard between them.

"I don't think she likes me," answered Mary, the great grandchild.

"She doesn't like anybody," the old woman commented. "She's been a bitter woman for a very long time. It's what drove your mother away."

"What made her like that?" the young woman asked.

"There's a reason to it," the great grandmother answered. "She wasn't always like this. She was a beautiful, kind child."

"What could have made her so miserable?" the young woman asked again. "I wish you could tell me. I want to try to understand why Mom hates her so."

Just then Jane appeared, heading in their direction.

"Come stay with me later in the week," the old woman advised quietly. "Your grandmother wants you to anyway."

"I will," answered the young woman, speaking in a hushed tone under her breath.

And Jane, that formidable battleaxe, rejoined them, and Ed arrived with the car.

It was just the next day when the great granddaughter first came calling.

"Grandma had to go to the church," she said. "I asked if she'd drop me here."

"Yes, she's a busy woman, that Jane," the old woman said, as she welcomed her great granddaughter into her house. "I was hoping you'd come and stay,"she added.

"Oh, I'm coming on Thursday and Friday," Mary answered. "If that's okay."

"That would be fine, dear," she answered. "But what will we do for two whole days together? There's not much around here for a young person like you."

"I thought we might bake something," suggested the great granddaughter, offering a sly smile. "If I could talk you into it. Grandma says you don't do much baking anymore."

"No, I don't," the old woman answered. "You can buy most everything you want these days -- no need for all that work -- that's what your Grandmother says."

"I know what Grandma says," Mary answered, "but Mother has talked to me about you and your cookies ever since I was a little girl. I told myself years ago that if I ever worked up the courage to come back here that I'd just have to have some of your cookies."

"You don't say -- your Mother still talks about me," the old woman reflected, remembering the young Alice when she'd been but a girl and before the seemingly lifelong rift between mother and daughter.

"Oh, yes, she's missed you," said the great granddaughter.

"Then, why didn't she call or write?" asked the old woman.

"She told me once that she had to cut herself right off from here," answered the great granddaughter. "That she couldn't have any contact -- that it was the only way."

"You know, it's caused me great heartache, what happened between your mother and grandmother," the old woman said. "I used to try to talk to your grandmother about it, but if I even brought it up, she'd just get quiet on me -- and Ed curses your mother, won't even discuss her. Alice was a rebellious youngster, but it really wasn't her fault -- and she probably doesn't even know the truth of the matter."

"I need to know," said the young woman. "What would cause a mother and daughter to fall so far apart? It's so very sad."

"What's sad is that you haven't had a chance to taste any of my cookies," the old woman replied, obviously attempting to break the somewhat sombre mood that had descended over the two. "And that I haven't invited you infor tea."

And it was true that the entire conversation had been conducted in the front hallway to the house, and they had fallen into it so quickly that the great grandmother hadn't even invited the other inside.

But before long, they were seated in a room that would have once been known as the parlour, and they were sipping on tea, and the old woman had dragged out her large wooden recipe box, the repository of the family recipes, and the young woman was sitting on the floor surrounded by so many of the tastes that had come down through the generations of her family. She seemed in her glory.

"Oh, these are so wonderful," she said. "I couldn't have imagined that there would be such a collection."

"My great grandmother was the first generation to come to this part of the world, and she brought a few recipes from her mother with her," said the old woman. "That was the beginning and it's carried on to me."

"What about grandmother?" Mary asked.

"She has no interest," answered the great grandmother. "She'd rather buy something than go to the trouble of baking it."

"That's a shame," said the young woman. "What will happen to the family tradition?"

"I don't know," answered the old woman, but she was already hoping.

They picked out a few recipes over the next hour or two, while the great granddaughter waited for her grandmother to reclaim her -- recipes they had resolved to try later in the week when the young woman came for her stay.

"Oh, I'm so looking forward to it," Mary said, as she prepared to disappear out the door to the waiting car.

The old woman smiled.

And it seemed as if Thursday might never come, and the old woman saw nothing of her great granddaughter over the next couple of days, and she hoped nothing had come up that might prevent the planned baking spree. She checked her stock of ingredients and took a cab to the grocery market in search of the supplies she thought she might need, arriving home with several bags of selected items.

And, finally, it was Thursday. The old woman was up early and was waiting with anticipation when the phone rang. It was the great granddaughter, calling to see what time she should come. Come as soon as you wish, answered the old woman, and it was true that she wanted the young woman to come extremely soon.

And she did come, about an hour later, carrying her tote bag, so there was no doubt that she was staying over. The great grandmother swept open the door and welcomed her in.

"I've been looking forward to this all week," said the great granddaughter. The old woman wanted to exclaim, 'Me, too', but managed instead to ask where Jane and Ed were off to.

"Oh, they've likely got a motel booked on the edge of town," replied the young woman. "Anything to get rid of me."

"I'm sure it's not as bad as all that," answered the old woman. "Your Grandmother's likely very glad to have you here for a visit. She's just not good at showing her emotions."

"She seems like a very mean woman," the great granddaughter said.

"Well, you should know the story before you judge her," the old woman said.

"Then, tell me," implored the young woman. "I should know."

"Yes, you should," answered the old woman. "Let's fix a cup of tea and we'll talk before we start the baking."

And with that settled, the two of them went into the kitchen and had soon fixed steaming hot cups of tea. Then, they retired to the parlour.

"I'm not even sure I should be doing this," said the great grandmother. "Perhaps if your grandmother wants you to know, she should tell you."

"Great Grandma, don't shut me out now," pleaded the young woman.

"It won't fix things," said the great grandmother.

"I don't care," said the young woman. "I just want to know what happened."

"Well, it goes back a long way," the great grandmother started; "to when your grandmother was a young woman -- during the war. She fell desperately in love with a young man from town here. He was quite a young man, too. A star athlete and high marks at school and could have had his pick of the girls -- but chose your grandmother above all the rest. Your great granddad and I couldn't have been happier." The old woman paused, and her gaze disappeared into a time past as she seemed to be remembering.

"But it was the war," she continued. "And every young man in town was signing up and going off to fight. I know young people today wouldn't understand, but it was the thing to do back then. There was a job to do and theyoung men went off to do it -- that's all there was to it."

"You're right," interjected the young woman; "people today wouldn't understand doing something like that."

"It was different back then," said the old woman. "Things seemed more cut and dried." Again, she paused.

"So, what happened, Great Grandma?" asked the great granddaughter.

"Well, it was just a matter of time before Jane's beau signed up to fight," said the old woman. "He joined the air corps. Jane was so proud of him when he came home on leave with his new uniform on. She paraded him all over town and made sure everybody had a good look at the two of them together. And they did make a handsome couple to be sure." There was another moment taken for more quiet reflection.

But the great granddaughter was impatient for the story to continue. "Was he killed?" she asked. "Killed overseas?"

"No, in some ways, that would have been the easier," the old woman answered.

"Then, what?" asked the young woman, sitting forward on the couch, anxious for more of the tale.

"He came home midway through the war," the great grandmother answered. "And he was already a big hero and he'd been on plenty of missions. The whole town came out to see him. Your grandmother was in her glory, and somebody suggested the two of them should get married -- I don't even really know where the idea came from -- but it came nonetheless, and the next thing you know it was arranged and they were married."

"God, I thought Grandpa Ed was Grandma's only husband," the young woman said, obviously surprised at this bit of news.

"Well, that's what your Grandmother would wish," continued the great grandmother. "You see, the happy couple spent a wedding night before he went back to the war." The old woman faltered.

"And what?" asked the great granddaughter. "What happened?"

"There was a seed planted on that one night," the old woman said.

"Grandma was pregnant?" asked the young woman.

"Yes, and she hadn't found out for a week and she got a letter from her young man," the old woman answered. "He apologized for marrying her. Said he got carried away when he was home and didn't really mean it. Said he knew she really didn't want to be tied down. Besides, he'd met a girl near where he was stationed, and he knew she was his true love -- and she'd gotten pregnant -- and he'd promised to marry her as soon as he could get a divorce." The old woman stopped, abruptly, breathless after the words poured out of her. Tears welled up in her eyes. "It's hard to remember," she said.

A silence hung in the air.

"So, grandma told him she was pregnant?" asked the great granddaughter. "She had to tell him."

"No, your grandmother didn't want him from the minute she read his letter," said the old woman. "She surely didn't want him back just because of the baby -- and that was what she thought would happen if she told him."

"You're kidding. She kept it to herself." The great granddaughter seemed to realize the enormity of that situation during that time.

"I knew," answered the old woman, "but not even your great granddad. It was a closely guarded secret until today."

"My mother doesn't know?" asked the great granddaughter.

"No, she thinks Ed is her father -- just as you've always thought," answered the old woman. "Your grandmother hooked onto Ed right away and he just played the part for all these years."

"But then why the bitterness between my mother and grandmother? And why does Ed hate my Mom?" came the questions.

"Remember, your grandmother loved her pilot," the great grandmother started. "It was like she was destroyed by that one lesson in love -- it changed her into a bitter, miserable person, who, it seemed, could love nothing else in life." She hesitated and stifled a gentle tear. "She was my baby, my little girl, all that we had, and she lost her heart and was ruined by that one lesson in love.

"She took it out on your mother," she continued. "Not so much in obvious ways, but you could tell she had a dislike for the child -- like it reminded her -- and when Ed found out your grandmother couldn't love him, he hated it because of that. Your mother had a most unhappy childhood. I tried to help but your grandmother shut me out." There were more tears.

The great granddaughter wept at what had made so much unhappiness. She came to her great grandmother and the two gathered each other up in solemn embrace.

"You're wonderful, great grandmother," said the young woman.

"Oh, child," answered the old woman. "That so much has passed, and I didn't do more."

And they wept all the harder and held each other, and felt sad and sorry for one another, and for the others who'd been part of the story. But, finally, the great grandmother composed herself and gently carressed the young woman who lay with her head upon the old woman's lap.

"Has your mother lived a happy life out where she lives?" asked the great grandmother, her voice soft and quiet.

"I think she has," answered the great granddaughter. "I think she and my Dad are pretty happy together." "I hope they are," answered the old woman. "I really hope they are, because your mom deserves that."

There was a moment of silence.

"We should work on them," said the young woman.

"What do you mean?" asked the great grandmother.

"We should get them together," said the young woman. "My mom and grandma."

"That may have to be your job," answered the old woman.

"Why's that?" asked the great granddaughter.

"I'm too old to get involved in any of this," answered the great grandmother.

"I need your help," said the great granddaughter. "I can't do it without you."

"I suppose I'll do what I can," answered the old woman, "with the time that's left to me."

"Oh, great grandma, you'll live forever," said the young woman, and this time there was a smile on her face and the tears were swept away. She got up from the couch and reached back and helped the old woman to her feet.

"I don't know about that," said the great grandmother, "but I guess I'll be around long enough to do a little baking, as long as we hurry up and get started." She returned the smile and the two headed for the kitchen.

And they spent the rest of the next two days up to their elbows in flour and other assorted sundry baking products and it was a most pleasant time. And they talked about all manner of things, including what steps might be taken to heal the family rift, but there was a lightness to the conversation and no more of the dark, desolation of that first little while. There was laughter and happiness and it was as if they had been best friends always, and not like they'd not set eyes on each other for less than a week. It was a most joyous time.

And it so happened that the great grandaughter left at the end of the week, having to return to her own life, but not before the two women had sworn a pact to try to lessen the hostility in the world by some two souls. It seemed a tall order, indeed.

But the old woman was good to her word, and soon after the younger one had departed, she took it upon herself to try to make a start in the conversion. She contrived a way to get Jane away from Ed for some length of time, and she spoke to her daughter of many serious things on the supposed pretense that her own life was drawing to a close, and that she must make some effort to save her soul by repenting for her many misgivings. She began with Alice.

And the young woman returned to her home, and had soon managed to arrange a girls' weekend out for she and her mother, so they could discuss some matters of concern to both of them. And because of where the girl had recently been, the mother suspected the nature of the concern.

And it's hard to say whether either of those discussions of serious concern did any good, except to say that a few months later, the old woman died. It came suddenly and only a week after she'd packaged up the family treasure of recipes, and presented it to Jane, saying it was for the great granddaughter, the next time she came. Her death took them all by surprise, excepting perhaps one.

And when they laid her to rest in the family plot, it was the first time the townsfolk, those who came to pay homage to the old woman, had seen the old woman's daughter and granddaughter together in quite some time. But they held and consoled each other while a great granddaughter stood to the side and shed her own tears.

The old woman had said she would do what she could to get the two together. And she had. And it was a sad and happy time.



Bio: John Gardiner

I am a 45-year-old Canadian short story writer who believes that the world can be changed through the creation of art that is pure and noble. I call my stories "emotional thoughtscapes" because of the strong emotional images they create in the reader's mind. I have had stories published in Richmond Review, Southern Ocean Review, Oyster Boy Review, Seeker Magazine, Galarie Zandstraat, Treeline and several other net publications. In addition, I have had several stories published in Canadian literary magazines and have self published four small chapbooks of my work.

Bio: Pierre Bonnard

Bonnard, Pierre (1867-1947), French painter and graphic artist of the later impressionist movement. Born at Fontenay-aux-Roses, Bonnard gained a reputation as a stage designer, lithographer, and book illustrator. He became a leader in a branch of impressionism known as Intimisme because its members painted intimate domestic scenes. A master of light and color, Bonnard favored self-portraits, nudes, still lifes, seascapes, and private interiors. Among his works are Girl in a Straw Hat (1903, Milwaukee Art Museum, Milwaukee, Wisconsin), and Checkered Tablecloth (1910-1911, Hahnloser Collection, Winterthur, Switzerland).

Bio from Encarta Concise Encyclopedia Online