The Old Chest at Wyther Grange

"The Old Chest at Wyther Grange" by Lucy Maud Montgomery is a charming short story that explores themes of nostalgia, memory, and the passage of time. Set in the picturesque setting of Wyther Grange, the tale revolves around a young girl who discovers an old chest filled with forgotten treasures. As she unravels the mysteries held within, she learns about the lives and dreams of those who came before her, prompting reflections on her own aspirations and the connections that bind generations. Montgomery's lyrical writing and rich characterizations evoke a sense of longing and wonder, making this story a delightful read for fans of her work.

• Short story

								
When I was a child I always thought a visit to Wyther Grange was a
great treat. It was a big, quiet, old-fashioned house where
Grandmother Laurance and Mrs. DeLisle, my Aunt Winnifred, lived. I was
a favourite with them, yet I could never overcome a certain awe of
them both. Grandmother was a tall, dignified old lady with keen black
eyes that seemed veritably to bore through one. She always wore
stiffly-rustling gowns of rich silk made in the fashion of her youth.
I suppose she must have changed her dress occasionally, but the
impression on my mind was always the same, as she went trailing about
the house with a big bunch of keys at her belt--keys that opened a
score of wonderful old chests and boxes and drawers. It was one of my
dearest delights to attend Grandmother in her peregrinations and watch
the unfolding and examining of all those old treasures and heirlooms
of bygone Laurances.

Of Aunt Winnifred I was less in awe, possibly because she dressed in a
modern way and so looked to my small eyes more human and natural. As
Winnifred Laurance she had been the beauty of the family and was a
handsome woman still, with brilliant dark eyes and cameo-like
features. She always looked very sad, spoke in a low sweet voice, and
was my childish ideal of all that was high-bred and graceful.

I had many beloved haunts at the Grange, but I liked the garret best.
It was a roomy old place, big enough to have comfortably housed a
family in itself, and was filled with cast-off furniture and old
trunks and boxes of discarded finery. I was never tired of playing
there, dressing up in the old-fashioned gowns and hats and practising
old-time dance steps before the high, cracked mirror that hung at one
end. That old garret was a veritable fairyland to me.

There was one old chest which I could not explore and, like all
forbidden things, it possessed a great attraction for me. It stood
away back in a dusty, cobwebbed corner, a strong, high wooden box,
painted blue. From some words which I had heard Grandmother let fall I
was sure it had a history; it was the one thing she never explored in
her periodical overhaulings. When I grew tired of playing I liked to
creep up on it and sit there, picturing out my own fancies concerning
it--of which my favourite one was that some day I should solve the
riddle and open the chest to find it full of gold and jewels with
which I might restore the fortune of the Laurances and all the
traditionary splendours of the old Grange.

I was sitting there one day when Aunt Winnifred and Grandmother
Laurance came up the narrow dark staircase, the latter jingling her
keys and peering into the dusty corners as she came along the room.
When they came to the old chest, Grandmother rapped the top smartly
with her keys.

"I wonder what is in this old chest," she said. "I believe it really
should be opened. The moths may have got into it through that crack in
the lid."

"Why don't you open it, Mother?" said Mrs. DeLisle. "I am sure that
key of Robert's would fit the lock."

"No," said Grandmother in the tone that nobody, not even Aunt
Winnifred, ever dreamed of disputing. "I will not open that chest
without Eliza's permission. She confided it to my care when she went
away, and I promised that it should never be opened until she came for
it."

"Poor Eliza," said Mrs. DeLisle thoughtfully. "I wonder what she is
like now. Very much changed, like all the rest of us, I suppose. It is
almost thirty years since she was here. How pretty she was!"

"I never approved of her," said Grandmother brusquely. "She was a
sentimental, fanciful creature. She might have married well but she
preferred to waste her life pining over the memory of a man who was
not worthy to untie the shoelace of a Laurance."

Mrs. DeLisle sighed softly and made no reply. People said that she had
had her own romance in her youth and that her mother had sternly
repressed it. I had heard that her marriage with Mr. DeLisle was
loveless on her part and proved very unhappy. But he had been dead
many years, and Aunt Winnifred never spoke of him.

"I have made up my mind what to do," said Grandmother decidedly. "I
will write to Eliza and ask her if I may open the chest to see if the
moths have got into it. If she refuses, well and good. I have no doubt
that she will refuse. She will cling to her old sentimental ideas as
long as the breath is in her body."

I rather avoided the old chest after this. It took on a new
significance in my eyes and seemed to me like the tomb of
something--possibly some dead and buried romance of the past.

Later on a letter came to Grandmother; she passed it over the table to
Mrs. DeLisle.

"That is from Eliza," she said. "I would know her writing
anywhere--none of your modern sprawly, untidy hands, but a fine
lady-like script, as regular as copperplate. Read the letter,
Winnifred; I haven't my glasses and I dare say Eliza's rhapsodies
would tire me very much. You need not read them aloud--I can imagine
them all. Let me know what she says about the chest."

Aunt Winnifred opened and read the letter and laid it down with a
brief sigh.

"This is all she says about the chest. 'If it were not for one thing
that is in it, I would ask you to open the chest and burn all its
contents. But I cannot bear that anyone but myself should see or touch
that one thing. So please leave the chest as it is, dear Aunt. It is
no matter if the moths do get in.' That is all," continued Mrs.
DeLisle, "and I must confess that I am disappointed. I have always had
an almost childish curiosity about that old chest, but I seem fated
not to have it gratified. That 'one thing' must be her wedding dress.
I have always thought that she locked it away there."

"Her answer is just what I expected of her," said Grandmother
impatiently. "Evidently the years have not made her more sensible.
Well, I wash my hands of her belongings, moths or no moths."

It was not until ten years afterwards that I heard anything more of
the old chest. Grandmother Laurance had died, but Aunt Winnifred still
lived at the Grange. She was very lonely, and the winter after
Grandmother's death she sent me an invitation to make her a long
visit.

When I revisited the garret and saw the old blue chest in the same
dusty corner, my childish curiosity revived and I begged Aunt
Winnifred to tell me its history.

"I am glad you have reminded me of it," said Mrs. DeLisle. "I have
intended to open the chest ever since Mother's death but I kept
putting it off. You know, Amy, poor Eliza Laurance died five years
ago, but even then Mother would not have the chest opened. There is no
reason why it should not be examined now. If you like, we will go and
open it at once and afterwards I will tell you the story."

We went eagerly up the garret stairs. Aunt knelt down before the old

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