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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/1960040-Autumn-Harvest-The-Curtains
Rated: 13+ · Fiction · Contest Entry · #1960040
Russell Franklin keeper of the family history and honor, builds a memorial
Word Count  - 736
Fluff includes disclaimer - 756

Russell Franklin admired his handiwork from the living room window. Tea colored lace curtains were tied back neatly with lace ties. The tops of the curtains which drooped, showed designs that is rarely found.

The curtains had been crocheted by his great grandmother who had made and sold her hand-crafted artwork all over the world. The pattern that Great Grandmother Franklin-Adams had woven into the curtains was unique beyond measure.

The curtains resembled the bark and life of a giant oak, but at the bottom were hay bales, and pumpkins. A wagon wheel was central to the theme, and split down the middle with the opening of the curtains.

Whole corn stalks laying in the forefront in a neat stack. How his relative had formed these curtains without a pattern, and become a work of art that makes a viewer gasp the first time they see them.

The tread she had used was very thick, it was almost rope.

Abigail had been gone over a century, but the curtains still hung in there. .

Even though Russell and his predecessors took great care to preserve the longevity of the artwork; in the early years they had professionals tend to them. For a couple of years the family had temporarily donated the curtains to a museum in England.

The lovely curtains had begun to show their age, and Russell could no longer afford to have them cleaned and blocked each year. Before Russell would allow the curtains to fall off of the padded rods, he would take them down and store them forever in a dry safe.

Removing the curtains from the large picture window of the Family Home Place was going to cause a stir. There were younger family members who could not wait for Russell Franklin to go the way of their ancestors.

All of his life, Russell honored the past of his family. The family cemetery had been kept up and in as good of condition as possible.

There was not much he could do now about the earliest grave sites, as their stone markers were worn with the centuries, and no longer gave away many of the graves secrets.

Each Memorial Day, he had placed wreaths and flowers on all who ever got visitors.

He was always the caretaker of the property, and cared for family members who came to stay at the old home place. No matter how far the Franklins, or Adames roamed, if someone asked them about their origins, they would say “Adams West Virginia.” Each fall, they would come from all over the world, and stay a few nights during “Autumn Harvest”, check on their inheritance, play kissy face, and promise to be back for Christmas.

This year Russell decided to build a monument to his great grandmother’s  memory and to make sure that no one ever forgot their dynamic Matriarch. Russell had validated proof that his Great Grandmother Abigail Franklin-Adams had made curtains of like splendor for Queen Elizabeth The Queen Mother.

Sticking his thumbs into the pockets of his Brooks Brothers 52’s he smiled at how excited his family would be seeing the surprise he had for all of them when they arrived tomorrow. Russell had gathered all of the hay bales he had needed, and used quite a few to build a haystack. The pumpkins were easy. They had a perpetual supply of squash, gourds and pumpkins from a Hugelkultur patch their family had for over ninety years.

Russell had been overcome with joy when he located the original wagon wheel Abigail’s first husband John Samuel Adams had used to propose with. He had no ring, but he gave Abigail partnership as well as an offer of marriage. She took care of that wagon wheel like a wedding ring. No one in the family knew that is still existed.

The old apple crates had been filled with old mason jars that were possibly original John L Mason jars. Russell had carefully placed the old jars into cardboard boxes to see if any of the family members wanted them. It was an important part of their heritage, and so he had placed a few of the ancient crates into the masterpiece.

For some reason, he could not take his eyes off of the display.

The sky became blackness, there were no stars or a moon.

He closed the curtain - honoring Abigail Franklin-Adams memory for the last time.
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