During my childhood the chest moved with us as we moved throughout northern Ontario in the 1950s and 60s. When Daddy died Mom disposed of most of her furniture but this treasure of hers came with her to Ottawa in the late 1970s.
Five years later Mom died. In her little black book of who was to get what she had written, “The cedar chest and its contents – to Mimi.” I had never requested the cedar chest or shown particular interest in its contents; after all, it was forbidden. Purposefully, I took great care to sidestep conversations when she asked what I wanted as she endured the last bout of the cancer that took her life. And really, I had no preference.
The chest that became mine in the mid 1980s has a lid faded by sun and lightly gouged from articles being dragged across it. Splatters of beige and pink paint remind me of Mom’s approach to painting. She always hoped the paint would land on the walls so was never careful about covering things. The sides and front of the chest still have the original dark finish of swirled paint covered with varnish. Overall, the cedar chest looks worn with its uneven finish and damaged lid. I believe this somewhat “lived-with” look on old furniture is now called “distressed” and that’s how I felt about what I was meant to do when I inherited the letters contained in this family relic.
Opening the Forbidden
During my growing up years I had many occasions to see the outside of the chest and many fewer to see it opened. “What now?” I thought. What was Mom’s intention when she left me the cedar chest? What was so special about the “contents” and what was I to do with them?
“Start with the key” I thought. It would, after all, unlock those secret love letters. Pewter in colour, the key is rather classic looking. A three leafed clover, a hole in each leaf, tops the two and half inch tubular stem that ends with two small slotted wings protruding on either side. Later I learned that those wings are called ‘bits’ and the cuts into them ‘wards’. ‘Ward’, quite the fitting term I thought; the chest had become my ward and I its guardian.
The bright yellow leather happy-face key fob attached by Mom seemed out of character with the key’s rustic style. The sunny countenance of the smiley offered me no reassurance as I took a deep breath and stepped forward to insert the key into its lock.
The key to the cedar chest
The familiar sounds of scraping and clicking brought me back to the times I’d seen Mom open the chest to get out the soft cream coloured wool blankets stored there. As the smell of old cedar mixed with mothballs rose to greet me, I was taken back in time to images of Mom burrowing into the blankets. She was clear about what she wanted to protect. And now I would discover what was so very important to her.
