Short story - The Orchard Keeper
The Orchard Keeper by: Aleta Gay Grimball O'Brien When people asked Eleanor how many trees she owned, she always answered incorrectly. “Thirty-two,” she would say. The truth was that she owned none of them. The orchard belonged to memories. The oldest apple tree belonged to her father, who had planted it with her when she was ten years old and insisted they sing to it while covering the roots. The pear tree near the fence belonged to her mother, who could never resist picking fruit before it was ripe. A row of peach trees belonged to the summers when her son was small enough to sit on her shoulders. Every tree held a story. Every story held a person. That was why Eleanor spent most evenings walking among them. Not to inspect the fruit. To visit. The townspeople thought she was lonely. Perhaps she was. Her husband had been gone five years now. Sometimes she still turned toward the porch expecting to see him sitting in his old chair. Sometimes she still ...