The Yellow Door

The little bookstore with the big yellow door sat snug and low. It had wiggled and pushed itself into the small hill a little more than two hundred years ago. It watched the years roll by, a sentinel to the comings and goings of people and events.

*****

Sadness pushed Beatrix forward, a gravitational force moving her feet even though she had no interest in going anywhere. Her mind kept running the same narrative, over and over.

I have lost everything. Who am I now?

I have lost everything. Who am I now?

Her aunt and uncle became her guardians when her parents died in the flood. She hadn't known that her dad had a sister but her brief joy over discovering this new family connection quickly plummeted when she met them.

Her aunt could not have been more different then her father. Her father was a warm crackling fire; her aunt was a fire long gone cold.

She had done everything that they expected of her, terrified that if she refused they would change their minds. There was no one else.

It was a lonely life, and Beatrix tried to fill the emptiness with books. The small library at school became her best friend, and she borrowed its books the way friends share stories with one another.

So when, on her twenty-first birthday, her aunt and uncle gave her a birthday present for the very first time, Beatrix should not have been excited.

Fool! she mentally kicked herself for the hundredth time.

The temporary high from the gesture came crashing when she unwrapped the gift and saw it was a suitcase.

"It's time for you to be on your way," her aunt said.

Less than twenty-four hours later Beatrix was on the road, the new suitcase holding the few pieces of clothing and personal effects she had accumulated in the last nine years.

She walked into town and came across a family preparing to leave. For the first time in

her life she told a lie.

"I'm on my way to help my grandmother. She's sick.”

"Where does she live, child?" the man asked.

Beatrix's brain scrambled for a destination. "Elderhaven."

"We are going to the coast and passing through that village. You are welcome to ride with us."

"I have no money and can't pay you." The words hurt her soul.

"No payment needed. Bless you for helping your grandmother."

Beatrix's blinked back tears. "Thank you."

Beatrix handed her suitcase to the man and scrambled up onto the back of the wagon. Within minutes she and the family were out of the town. Between the wagon movement and the emotional angst of her situation, she was lulled to sleep.

Several hours later, the wagon drove into Elderhaven and stopped in front of the village's general store.

Beatrix hopped down and lifted her suitcase down. "Thank you for the ride."

The man studied her for a long moment. "Are you sure we can't drop you off at your grandmother's house?"

"No, no. My parents told me to wait here for my grandmother's neighbor to come and fetch me." Beatrix inwardly cringed at how easily the next lie spilled out of her mouth.

She put the suitcase on the ground and sat on top of it, the picture of an obedient granddaughter.

Once the man and his family became a dot in the distance. Beatrix stood up, gripping her suitcase in her hand.

She turned her head to the left, then to the right, trying to decide which way her future might lie.

Turning right, Beatrix began walking.

She had no plan.

No destination.

And no idea where she belonged.

*****

The bookstore with the yellow door stirred, windows opening, bringing in fresh air. The books on the shelves shook themselves off, dust motes ejected out the windows. It was about to have a customer.

The bell above the yellow door chimed once.

Then again.

A sudden breeze swept through the garden, setting the little iron bell into a frantic dance. Its chime grew louder, more insistent—almost angry.

But Beatrix kept walking, one foot in front of the other, her thoughts foggy and distant.

Then she stopped.

There, about ten feet to her left, was a house with two round windows and a bright yellow door. A tiny iron bell hung to one side of it. Despite her despair, Beatrix couldn't help noticing the garden. It was beautifully maintained, overflowing with flowers whose colors seemed to compliment the cheerful yellow door.

Beatrix.

She froze. She recognized the voice.

Beatrix.

She could have sworn she heard her father call her name.

She turned toward the sound, her heart suddenly pounding.

The yellow door opened a crack.

Beatrix was transfixed. She wanted so badly to go inside.

It's alright.

Her mother's voice.

She took one hesitant step toward the door.

Then another.

Her heart raced faster with every step.

She was so scared and missed her parents so very much she must be desperate, imagining them as some form of comfort.

When she reached the door, Beatrix slowly placed her hand against it.

Warmth flowed through her palm. It spread up her arm and settled somewhere deep inside her chest, stirring something she hadn't felt in years.

Hope.

She pushed the door open.

Beatrix stepped inside.

Her eyes immediately went to the shelves lining the back wall, every one of them filled with books. Her nose caught the comforting scent of something simmering nearby, and she turned to see a warm pot of stew sitting on the stove.

She stood there, confusion and wonder mingling in her head.

Then, as if pulled by a magnet, Beatrix walked toward the bookshelves. She tilted her head, reading the titles.

Books about family.

Love.

Adventure.

Courage.

Loss.

Hope.

And so much more.

Beatrix reached a finger out and gently touched the spine of one book.

For the first time in nine years, she felt like she might belong somewhere.

Then, coming from someplace inside the little bookstore, a soft whisper.

Welcome home.