"The lord... say... Humphrey, that's his name, jumped off his horse and threw the reins to his bowing valet impatiently. He was having an awful day. His younger brother had killed the fox before him, yet again, and now he was expected to attend a boring ball, smile at his parents' guests, and dance with dozens of oh-so-proper ladies, all his potential future brides, while his little, spoilt sibling enjoyed himself drinking and playing cards with his friends..." Alice said, closing her eyes for a few moments to summon the images only she could see, then continued, "Hmm... he walked into his chamber and stood in front of a large mirror, watching his own reflection, as he doffed his riding gloves, then stilled perfectly, arms stretched to the sides, in wait of a maid to take his cloak off..."
"No, silly! Humphrey was a prince." Anne interrupted her three years older cousin. "A fairy tale prince who..."
"Oh hush, Anne. There's not even one prince among our ancestors. Leave Lord Humphrey alone and tell me about her," Alice scoffed, pointing to another miniature face painted on a different branch of their family tree, covering the whole wall of the room, directly opposite of their two beds.
"She... loved walking along the high chalk cliffs towering above the sea, as white as her long dress, the one she's wearing in that picture. Elisa Jane was her name, and she always wore white... and... she wasn't happy. She looks rather sad in that picture, doesn't she?"
Anne looked to her older cousin for confirmation and when Alice nodded, she continued, "The place was beautiful, but she was bored and lonely. As always, her old, grumpy husband sent her in the country as soon as the weather was good enough..."
"There, my lady, stop right there!" Alice cried out, sitting up in her bed and bringing one of her hands to her chest dramatically, then added when she saw Anne's puzzled look. "That's what the painter called to her, setting his easel in the tall grass growing on top of the cliffs. It was a perfect spot, the blue sea roaring in the depths, the strong wind sweeping through the green grass, making it sigh and whisper, and the seagulls screeching high above in the summer sky... Stand still and smile, he told her...
"But she didn't stop," Anne said, "she ran to the painter and kissed him..." she finished in a half-whisper, then giggled.
"Anne, you're thirteen! What do you know about kissing?!" Alice laughed, throwing a pillow at her cousin and nearly toppling over the night lamp, which bathed the large room of their grandmother's ancient house in a light so soft that they could hardly see the pictures. But the two girls knew them so well that they did not need any light to weave their stories around the branches of their family tree. "How about the girl in black, then?"
"She rushed down a cobbled street, followed by a maid carrying a wide wicker basket on her arm. She couldn't wait to reach the market, or better the stall selling... ribbons and buttons. Not for the ribbons of course, but because of the young man selling them. They only met once a week... but they were in love..."
"Then she eloped with him and their families, who would never approve of their marriage, never found them, right?" Alice finished Anne's story, shaking her head.
"Of course. So, as you don't like my love stories, tell me about that guy. The very serious one wearing a uniform." Anne said, pointing to one of the lower branches, on the opposite side of the tree.
"Hmm... he was a soldier, and lived... during World War II. He, James, was on his way home. As he reached his house he stopped, and looked up towards the overcast sky, startled. James could hear them again. The enemy airplanes roaring above his head, approaching the town fast, one, two, too many to count... Soon the sirens would start blaring and everyone would have to run into the cellars and shelters. He opened the door of his house and ran in, leaning against the hard, cool wood, which shook with the vibrations caused by the planes, catching his breath before calling to his family to run..."
"No, you're wrong! He called that the war was over, they were free!" Anne called from beneath the blanket she had pulled over her head.
"Fine, fine, as you like. Come on, you do the next one." Alice said gently, coaxing her little cousin out of her shelter.
"Him." Anne said, sitting up and pointing to one of the most recent additions of the painted tree. "He got out of his car, outside his house, happy to be at home after the long day at work. As soon as he opened the door and walked into the kitchen, Alan was welcomed by the aroma of freshly cooked dinner, and the sound of cartoons running on the tv in the adjoining sitting room. His wife looked up at him from the cooker where she was stirring something in a pot and smiled brilliantly as she ran in his arms..."
"And of course he kissed her." Alice laughed.
"Sure thing. And not only once..." Anne agreed.
"...and their dinner burned." Alice concluded.
The two cousins looked at each other, then burst out laughing.
This was their favourite thing to do when they were staying at their grandmother's during weekends or holidays-- staring at the family tree painted on the wall of what had become their bedroom at grandma's, inventing lives for all those still, quiet faces connected by its branches.
There were always more stories than faces and they were all different each time. Except for the last one.
"No one burned the dinner." Their grandmother spoke from the door suddenly. "I know that very well because..."
"...you were Alan's wife." The cousins replied in unison, then Alice switched off the light.
"Good night, girls..."
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This story was written for Imagine this... writing workshop.
Prompt: Imagine that one tree connects multiple lives and weave your story around it.
