The Bottom Draw Leni Korhonen The Bottom Draw Some days, I feel like I’m drowning in my own mind. Leni Korhonen An Ovi eBooks Publication 2024 Ovi eBookPublications - All material is copyright of the Ovi eBooks Publications & the writer C Ovi ebooks are available in Ovi/Ovi eBookshelves pages and they are for free. If somebody tries to sell you an Ovi book please contact us immediately. For details, contact: ovimagazine@yahoo.com No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise), without the prior permission of the writer or the above publisher of this book The Bottom Draw The Bottom Draw Leni Korhonen Leni Korhonen An Ovi eBooks Publication 2024 Ovi eBookPublications - All material is copyright of the Ovi eBooks Publications & the writer C The Bottom Draw Prologue: The Key to the Past Mae stood in the dimly lit attic, the scent of dust and aged wood filling her lungs with each breath. Shad- ows pooled in the corners, stretching and twisting around the stacks of boxes and faded furniture, relics of a life that felt almost as ancient as the house itself. Outside, the sky was a dull, gray overcast, casting a muted glow through the single attic window, giving the room a dreamlike haze. Mae’s fingers traced the edge of a framed photo on an old trunk, her grand- mother’s familiar, smiling face looking back at her, as if from another world. Her grandmother had been the warmth and strength of her life, the keeper of stories and laughter. But now that she was gone, Mae felt an unsettling hollowness in the house. Everything was still, waiting. There was a strange reverence to this attic, as though the very air held memories, caught and frozen in time. Leni Korhonen Among the quiet relics stood a dresser, an old walnut piece with intricate carvings along the edg- es, worn and smooth with age. Mae’s eyes fell on it, and a whisper of curiosity stirred. The dresser had always been there, a silent fixture that, in her child- hood, seemed almost mystical. Mae remembered her grandmother’s soft yet stern voice warning her away from it: “Not for little fingers, Mae. Some things are better left untouched.” Her grandmother’s words were gentle, but absolute. Mae had never dared to open it. Her younger self had imagined it holding mysteri- ous things, secrets of some long-forgotten magic or perhaps a treasure chest full of silver and gold. But in truth, she never thought much about it as she grew up, until now, standing in the silence of her grand- mother’s attic, the dresser calling to her once more. Her gaze settled on the bottom drawer. She could almost see herself as a child, crouching near it, her fingers itching to tug at the brass handle, to find out what secrets lay within. Her grandmother had called it the drawer of “forgotten things.” The words had sounded enchanting back then, like a doorway to something hidden and magical. Now, they lingered like a riddle, as if urging her to uncover what had been left behind. The Bottom Draw Mae leaned forward, tracing the brass handle with her thumb, the surface cool and unyielding. She pulled but found it locked tight. Her heart gave a strange flutter, like a tiny spark of excitement tinged with apprehension. She straightened and looked around, unsure of what exactly she was searching for. Her eyes fell on an old wooden picture frame lying face down on the dresser’s surface. As she picked it up, a faint glimmer caught her eye, a small, tarnished key tucked carefully behind the frame. Mae’s breath caught as she held it up to the light, realizing it fit the lock on the drawer. The key was heavier than she expected, cold and brassy, with a slight curve that suggested it had been used often. She hesitated, a pang of doubt brushing against her excitement. Was she ready to open this drawer? A part of her feared disturbing whatever memories lay inside. But another part, a deeper part, yearned for a connection to her grandmother, to un- derstand the life she’d held so closely. Taking a deep breath, Mae lowered the key to the lock, her hand trembling as it slid into place. The lock clicked open with a quiet but solid sound. Mae’s heart raced as she pulled the drawer, feeling the slight resistance of wood against wood. A faint scent Leni Korhonen of cedar and old paper rose as the drawer opened, releasing a wave of memories as thick as the dust that floated in the air. Inside, she saw the edges of folded linens, crumbling papers, and odd trinkets she barely recognized. Each item seemed carefully placed, like pieces in a story arranged only for her to discover. In the dim light, her fingers brushed over a fray- ing fabric scrap that looked like part of an old baby dress, its once-vibrant pattern now faded. She lift- ed it, remembering the faint memory of her grand- mother sewing late into the night, the gentle hum of the sewing machine blending with her lullabies. Be- neath the dress, Mae found a small bundle of letters tied with a ribbon, their edges browned with age. Her heart skipped as she ran her fingers over them. The handwriting on the envelopes was unmistakably her grandmother’s, elegant, steady, the strokes familiar and comforting. The letters bore no addresses, only a single name: Anna. Mae stared at the name, puzzled. Her grandmother had never mentioned anyone named Anna, nor had Mae ever heard of her. The thought of an un- known friend, perhaps even a sister, filled Mae with a strange unease. She set the letters aside carefully, feeling that each one held more than words, perhaps The Bottom Draw a life of untold struggles, heartaches, or moments of joy her grandmother had shared with someone else. Her heart thudded as she reached further back into the drawer. Her fingers brushed something cold and metallic, a locket. As she held it up, its chain dangled from her fingers, a tiny heart-shaped pendant swinging gently in the dim light. She opened it to find a photo inside: her grandmother, smiling beside a young girl who looked almost like a reflection of herself, yet with slight differences. This girl had her grandmother’s eyes, her kind smile, and Mae’s heart sank as she re- alized the girl was a mirror of her own childhood face. Her fingers trembled, the weight of discovery settling heavily on her. She didn’t know who this girl was—whether she was a cousin, a relative, or some- one more. Mae sank to her knees, the locket in one hand, the key in the other, as if these small, simple items held the power to unlock years of hidden emotions, of buried pain. She thought of her grandmother, who had seemed so warm, so unbreakable, yet had silent- ly carried this drawer full of memories, never sharing them, keeping them close. In her hands, Mae held not only objects but glimpses of a life she had never Leni Korhonen known, a world her grandmother had perhaps cho- sen to keep to herself. The quiet in the attic deepened as Mae sat there, tears blurring her vision. She wasn’t sure if she was ready to read the letters or discover the stories they held. But as she clutched the locket, she felt a sense of duty, a connection, a thread that reached back to her grandmother and forward into her own life. She knew, in that moment, that she was about to step into a hidden world, to uncover the mysteries of the bottom drawer and, perhaps, to find pieces of herself along the way. The Bottom Draw Chapter 1: Treasures in the Dust The bottom drawer creaked as Mae pulled it open, the familiar sound of wood scraping against wood filling the silent attic. She hadn’t been up here in years, perhaps not since she was a child. The attic, once a mysterious place of forbidden curiosity, was now just another room filled with the detritus of a life long past. As the drawer opened fully, Mae felt the weight of the moment pressing on her chest, a mix of anticipation and trepidation. This was it, the place where her grandmother had hidden away so much of the past. She reached inside, her fingers brushing against the cool surface of something wrapped in faded cloth. The objects inside had been untouched for years, perhaps longer, and the air seemed thick with the scent of dust and nostalgia. With care, Mae lifted the first bundle, its fabric soft but worn, its edges frayed Leni Korhonen with time. She unwrapped it slowly, revealing a scrap of cloth, faded and delicate, with a pattern she vague- ly recognized, a floral print, its once-vibrant colors now muted with age. For a moment, Mae stared at the cloth, the pattern reminding her of the quilts her grandmother had made when she was little. Those quilts had always been a source of comfort, each one painstakingly crafted, each patch sewn with care. Her grandmother had spent hours on them, humming softly as she worked, her needle moving rhythmically through the fabric, stitching together memories and dreams. Mae had often sat at her feet, watching, fascinated by the way the fabric seemed to come alive in her grandmother’s hands. But this piece, this scrap of cloth, was different. It wasn’t from one of the quilts Mae remembered. It was a piece of something else, something older. The weight of the memory caught her off guard, and she felt a flicker of recognition. Her grand- mother had spoken of her youth, of the times before Mae had been born, but she had never shared the full story. She had always kept certain parts of her past shrouded in mystery, as though there were secrets she was protecting, secrets Mae had never thought to The Bottom Draw question. Now, as she held the cloth in her hands, she wondered if this was one of those secrets. She set the cloth aside and dug deeper into the drawer. There was something else there, something small and heavy. Her fingers closed around it, pull- ing it into the light. It was a tarnished locket, its gold surface dull with age, the chain long since gone. The locket had always hung from her grandmother’s neck, she remembered, catching the light in a way that made it seem almost magical. It had been a fix- ture in her grandmother’s life, something that Mae had always assumed was just another piece of jewel- ry, another personal trinket. But as Mae held it now, it felt different. Heavier. More important. She turned it over in her hands, her breath catching when she saw the intricate engraving on the front, a delicate swirl of patterns, faint but still discernible. It looked almost like something from another time, something Mae couldn’t quite place. Her fingers trembled as she opened the locket, the hinges creaking slightly. Inside, there was a photo- graph, a young woman with dark hair, laughing into the camera. She was dressed in what Mae could only describe as a style from another era, a bygone time. But it wasn’t the woman who startled her. It was the Leni Korhonen child beside her. A little girl, perhaps five or six years old, with dark eyes that seemed to look right through Mae, a face so familiar it made her heart stop. Mae stared at the photo, confusion swirling in her mind. The woman was undeniably her grandmother, but the child, who was she? She knew the answer, or at least, she thought she did. It should have been her mother, but it didn’t look like her. Mae’s mother had never mentioned having a sister, and there had never been any other children in their family, as far as Mae knew. A chill ran down her spine as she wondered if this was a side of her grandmother’s past she had nev- er been told about. Was this someone else entirely? The more Mae stared at the photograph, the more the question burned in her mind. Who was the child in the locket, and why had her grandmother never spoken of her? Her hands shook slightly as she set the locket aside, her thoughts racing. She couldn’t linger on it for too long. There was more to uncover, more pieces of the past to sift through. She dug deeper into the drawer, her heart pounding with each new discovery. There was a pressed flower next, its edges brittle and The Bottom Draw fragile. It was a daisy, Mae realized, a simple flower, but it seemed to hold a deeper meaning as she held it carefully between her fingers. She had seen this flow- er before, on the windowsill in her grandmother’s kitchen, pressed between the pages of a book. It had always seemed like just another sentimental token, another one of those little things her grandmother had cherished. But now, holding it in her hands, Mae felt a deep sense of connection to a time she had nev- er known, a time before her grandmother had be- come the woman Mae remembered. The flower brought with it another rush of memo- ries, sitting at the kitchen table, watching her grand- mother hum as she baked bread, the smell of the fresh loaves filling the air. The warmth of the sun through the window, the soft clinking of dishes, the quiet hum of the house as it settled into its familiar rhythm. Mae could almost hear her grandmother’s voice in her mind, but it felt distant now, as if the past were slipping further and further away. But this flower, this delicate, faded daisy, had been part of that world, part of a life Mae had taken for granted. And yet, it wasn’t just a simple flower. It was a fragment of something else, something deeper. As Mae held it, she realized that it was connected to the Leni Korhonen locket, to the fabric, to everything that had been hid- den in this drawer. The more Mae uncovered, the more she felt like she was unraveling the threads of her grandmother’s life, threads that had been buried for so long. She didn’t know what to make of it, this sudden exposure to a past she had never been told about, a history that was now slowly coming to light. The drawer had always been a place of mystery, but now it felt like a place of reckoning, as though these forgotten things were demanding to be remembered, to be understood. At the very bottom of the drawer, buried under layers of forgotten keepsakes, Mae found the last object—an old letter, its paper yellowed with age, its edges curling and brittle. The handwriting was ele- gant, flowing, and familiar. It was her grandmother’s. Mae’s heart skipped a beat as she recognized the name on the envelope: Anna. The letter was addressed to someone, but the rest of the name was smudged, as though the ink had bled in the years since it was written. With trembling hands, Mae untied the ribbon and unfolded the pa- per, her eyes scanning the elegant script. The first few lines were simple enough, greetings, The Bottom Draw pleasantries, but as she read further, the tone shifted. There was something in the words that Mae couldn’t quite understand, something about longing, some- thing about loss. Her grandmother had always spo- ken with affection about her past, but this letter held a different tone, one Mae hadn’t expected. It spoke of regret, of dreams unfulfilled, of a life left behind. Her breath caught as she reached the end of the letter, where a single line seemed to leap off the page: “I have kept you hidden long enough. It’s time you knew the truth.” Mae felt the ground shift beneath her feet. This let- ter, the locket, the flower, they were all part of some- thing more, something her grandmother had hidden away. The drawer, once a simple container of forgot- ten trinkets, now felt like a Pandora’s box, one that had been waiting for Mae to open it. There was a secret here, one that her grandmother had kept locked away for decades. And now, Mae was beginning to realize that it was a secret she was meant to uncover. Her fingers lingered on the letter, and for the first time, she felt the weight of the past pressing down on her, the pieces of her family’s history beginning to Leni Korhonen fall into place. The memories of her grandmother, so carefully guarded, so well-worn, were now interwo- ven with something darker, something deeper. And Mae was ready to find out what it all meant. She closed the drawer slowly, the weight of discov- ery settling on her shoulders like a cloak. The past had been waiting for her, and now it was impossible to ignore. The Bottom Draw Chapter 2: Letters Never Sent The attic was still, save for the faint rustle of Mae’s movements as she continued to sift through the rem- nants of her grandmother’s life. The drawer now stood open, revealing its hidden treasures, forgotten keepsakes and family secrets wrapped in yellowed cloth, faded photographs, and tarnished jewelry. Each object seemed to carry a piece of a past that Mae had never known, a past that her grandmother had carefully concealed beneath layers of time. As Mae pulled out the last of the items—an old bundle of letters tied with a ribbon, her fingers trem- bled. The letters were neatly stacked, their edges worn and the paper thin with age. The ribbon was fraying, its once-vibrant color dulled by time, but it still held everything together, just as it had all those years ago. Mae’s breath caught in her throat. She recognized the handwriting instantly. It was her grandmother’s. Leni Korhonen Her grandmother had always been a woman of few words, especially about her past. Mae had grown up in her warm embrace, feeling the quiet comfort of her grandmother’s presence, her gentle voice, her steady hands that had taught Mae to bake, to sew, to love life’s small pleasures. But behind the smile, behind the ever-present kindness, there had always been something elusive about her. Something Mae couldn’t place. And now, here, in these letters, there was the hint of a life that had been hidden—perhaps deliberately, perhaps out of necessity. Mae untied the ribbon slowly, her fingers brushing against the worn paper. The act felt almost sacred, as though she were about to uncover a truth that had been buried for decades. She hesitated for a moment before lifting the first letter from the stack. She in- haled deeply, feeling the weight of the moment settle over her as she unfolded it. The letter was dated nearly thirty years ago, and as Mae read the first few lines, a sense of unease gripped her. Her grandmother’s neat, flowing script was familiar, but the words, the emotions they con- veyed, were not. The letter was addressed to someone named “Anna,” a name Mae had never heard before.