Short Story: Pear Tree

Short Story: Pear Tree

This piece has not been edited by the ShortbreadStories team.

The wind swayed the thin branches of the tall tree, bending its branches in an odd tribal rhythmic dance, stopping, swirling, twisting left and right .It showed off its delicate green foliage like a woman wearing her best dress despite the deluge that was flooding its very core. . Once, long ago it had started life as a saved seed, taken from a pear core.

"What's that Daddy” said the enquiring inquisitive question from his toddler son Paul.

"That, “said Jake holding the seed in the palm of his hand” could be a new tree if we put it in a pot and take good care of it."

They nurtured it in a yoghourt pot and watched it grow, small delicate leaves, unfurling, stretching towards the warmth that would make it strong.

"Look daddy, it’s got three leaves now." trilled Paul's delighted voice as he scrutinised the progress of nature.

"So it has but we will give it a little longer so it can be strong enough to be put into the soil."

Soon it looked hardy enough to be planted into the cold coagulated Scottish soil where surprisingly it grew into a healthy full grown tree.

Jake watched his son grow like the tree. He blossomed into a young healthy male, possessing the Midas touch, reaping success in whatever venture he undertook. Jake secretly hoped that Paul would go to university and become a doctor but Paul had other ideas. He had a restless spirit that yearned for adventure so it came as no surprise really when he burst through the door one day and announced he had been accepted into the army to train as an officer.

Jake hid his dismay and disappointment, clapping his son on the back and wishing him well. Preparations for his new life passed all too quickly and soon the day dawned when it was time for him to leave home.

“Will miss you son.” uttered Jake in a shaky voice.

“Aw, da, be back before you know it and I’ll probably bore you to tears with all I’ve been up too.”

“Aye, right enough.”

Jake missed his son terribly and eagerly awaited the letters that came not as frequently as he would have liked. However he kept himself from wearying by keeping busy at work and in his beloved garden. Sure he knew his wife Margaret missed their son too but she was very pre-occupied with the care of her ailing mother.

First alarm bell started after the six o clock news.

“Bomb blast whilst on patrol duty,” pronounced the crisp efficiency of the BBC newsreader. Then the phone call.

Jake picked up the receiver, listening numbly to the voice on the other end giving details of the “accident”. He stumbled, crushed and broken into the garden. The rain merged with his grief. Pausing at the pear tree he broke down.

He had nurtured two seeds but the one he had loved most was gone forever.