My late grandfather, the man who told me stories of buried treasure and promised me the world, had left me with the greatest of disappointments: an old, dusty apiary. Who leaves their grandson a bunch of insects? It was a slap in the face until the day I looked into the hives.
It was a normal morning. Aunt Daphne looked over her glasses at the mess on my bed. “Robyn, are you ready yet?”
“I’m sending a message to Chloe,“ I explained, hiding the phone.
“It’s almost time for the bus! Get ready!” said Aunt Daphne, putting books in my backpack.
I saw the time. 7:58 a.m. “Ugh, okay,” I sighed, getting out of bed.
She handed me a shirt, ironed and ready. “This isn’t what your grandfather expected for you, you know? He thought you’d be strong, independent. And those beehives he left? They’re not going to take care of themselves.”
I thought back to the times with Grandpa, the honey, the bees. But now, my mind was on the next school dance and my crush, Scott.
“I’ll check them, maybe tomorrow,“ I said, fixing my hair.
“Tomorrow never comes for you. Grandpa believed in you, Robyn. He wanted you to take care of the apiary,” she insisted.
“Look, Aunt Daphne,” I said sharply. ‘I have better things to do than look after Grandpa’s bees!’
I saw Aunt Daphne’s face drop and her eyes fill with tears. But the school bus honked just then and I ran out, ignoring her sad expression.
On the bus, my thoughts were on Scott, not the apiary I had inherited from Grandpa Archie. “Who wants an apiary?” I thought, annoyed by the responsibility.
But the next day, Aunt Daphne brought up the subject again. She scolded me for neglecting my homework and spending too much time on the phone.
“You’re grounded, young lady!“ she declared suddenly, and it was then that I finally looked up from the phone.
“Grounded? Why?” I protested.
“For shirking responsibility,“ she replied, mentioning the neglected apiary.
“The apiary? That useless bee farm?” I scoffed.
“It’s about responsibility, Robyn. It’s what Grandpa wanted from you,“ said Aunt Daphne, her voice tense with emotion.
“Aunt Daphne,” I protested, “I’m scared of getting stung!”
“You’ll wear protective gear,” she replied. ”A little fear is normal, but you can’t let it stop you.”
Reluctantly, I headed for the apiary. As I approached the hive, I felt both fear and curiosity. I put on some thick gloves, opened the hive and began to collect the honey, my heart pounding.
Suddenly, a bee stung my glove. I was about to give up, but a wave of determination washed over me. I had to finish this. I had to prove to Aunt Daphne that I wasn’t the reckless, irresponsible 14-year-old she thought I was.
As I collected the honey, I discovered a weathered plastic bag inside the hive containing a faded map with strange markings. It looked like a treasure map left by Grandpa Archie.
Excited, I put the map in my pocket and cycled home. I left the half-full jar of honey on the kitchen counter, slipped out and followed the map to the forest.
Navigating through the familiar woods, I recalled Grandpa’s stories and laughed at his encounters.
When I entered a clearing that looked like something out of Grandpa’s stories, I couldn’t help but feel a chill. This was the exact spot where he talked about the legendary White Walker of the forest, firing my imagination as a child.
And there it was, just like in his stories: the old ranger’s house, which seemed forgotten by time with its peeling paint and sunken porch. “Grandpa used to come here to eat sandwiches and cake after collecting honey, and he would weave his incredible stories,” I thought, feeling a bittersweet nostalgia.
Touching the ancient dwarf tree near the porch, I could almost hear Grandpa’s playful warning: “Careful, little girl. Let’s not bother the grumpy dwarves,” as if we were back to those carefree afternoons.
I found the old hidden key and opened the cabin, entering a world that time had forgotten. The air had a musty smell and specks of dust glistened in the sunlight.
There, catching my attention, was a beautifully carved metal box on a dusty table. Inside was a note from Grandpa, just for me:
“For my dear Robyn, inside this box is a special treasure for you, but it must not be opened until the true end of your journey. You will know when the time comes. All my love, Grandpa.”
I couldn’t wait to see what was inside, but Grandpa’s last instruction echoed in my head: “Only at the end of your journey.”
I couldn’t ignore his last wish.
I continued my journey through the forest, but after a while I felt that I had lost my way.
“This map is useless,” I realized, not being able to see a way out of the forest. I didn’t know when I started crying.
But then I remembered something important. ‘Grandpa always told me to stay calm,’ I told myself. ”I can’t give up.”
Then I heard a noise like a small branch breaking in the distance, and it made me think of scary stories from when I was little. “Maybe Aunt Daphne was right to warn me,” I thought, looking around at the huge forest. But thinking about Grandpa’s advice gave me enough courage to keep going, guiding me through the enveloping wasteland.
I took a deep breath and nervously tried to think clearly. Returning seemed like a good idea, but it would be difficult to see clearly in the forest when it got dark. There was a bridge that Grandpa always talked about… that could help, I thought.
Wiping away a tear, I straightened my backpack. “Okay, Robyn,” I whispered to myself. “Let’s find that bridge.”
But that confidence didn’t last long. The sun was setting and the forest was looking menacing. Exhausted, I collapsed under a tree, longing for Aunt Daphne’s cozy kitchen.
My backpack offered me no comfort, just reminders of my lack of preparation. Searching desperately for food, I found nothing but stale cookie crumbs. “Concentrate, Robyn. Find the bridge. Find water,” I urged myself, ignoring the hunger.
Then, remembering Grandfather’s advice again, I used healing leaves for my wounds and pressed on, driven by the sound of running water. But the river was not the gentle stream I remembered, but a dangerous, fast-flowing torrent.
Ignoring the treacherous path, I descended the rocky bank, driven by desperate thirst. When I reached the water’s edge, I knelt down and joined my hands to collect the cold liquid. It tasted slightly metallic, but at that moment it was life-giving nectar.
When I got up, the precarious ground betrayed me. I slipped and fell into the icy current; I screamed for help. My backpack dragged me down. “Grandpa,” I whispered helplessly. As I thought of him, a glimmer of clarity pierced the panic. He wouldn’t have wanted me to give up. He had taught me to fight, to be brave.
I decided to get rid of the rucksack, but kept Grandad’s metal box. Fighting against the current, I struggled towards the shore, refusing to give up.
My fingers brushed against a solid log, a lifeline in the churning chaos. I clung to it with all my might, while the current tossed me around like a rag doll. Then, with one last push, it deposited me, sizzling and bruised, on the muddy shore.
I took off my soaking wet clothes and hung them up in a tree to dry. My eyes then fell on a metal box that could help me find my way back.
Grandpa had told me to wait until the end of my trip to open it, but I couldn’t wait any longer. Inside I found no treasure, just a jar of honey and a photo of us together. Then I realized that this trip and the real treasure had to do with the value of hard work, as Grandpa always said.
Tears came to my eyes as I thought about how I had ignored all the wisdom that Grandpa had shared with me. I had been chasing adventures, forgetting the important things he had tried to teach me.
Wiping away my tears, I told myself it was time to get going, to make my grandfather proud. I started to build a shelter with branches and leaves under a large oak tree. It was rough, but enough to get me through the night.
The next morning, the bright sun woke me up. I made my way through the forest, clinging to that metal box like a lifeline, thinking of Grandpa.
Remembering the times we went fishing together warmed me a little. “Slow and steady,” I could almost hear him say. I even started humming one of his favorite tunes, feeling like he was there with me.
When I saw a bridge in the distance, hope bubbled up inside me. With Grandpa’s lessons in my heart, I wasn’t alone. But then the forest turned into a confusing maze and I started to panic. Just when I thought I couldn’t go on, I stumbled into a clearing and collapsed, totally exhausted.
It was then that a dog found me and I heard a chorus of muffled voices: “There she is!”
Waking up in a hospital bed, I saw Aunt Daphne by my side. ‘I’m sorry,’ I managed to say, overwhelmed with regret. ”I’m so sorry, Aunt Daphne.”
“Hush, dear. You’re safe now,“ she said softly.
“I’ve ruined it,” I cried. “Grandpa was right about everything!”
Aunt Daphne took my hand and smiled. “He always loved you, darling. Even when you were angry with him, even when you didn’t understand why. Do you remember how upset you were that you hadn’t gotten that smart watch a few weeks before he passed away?”
“I never appreciated him or anything he did for me. He was always there for me. Grandpa was as much my mother as my father after he died. But I…”
“He knew you’d understand, sweetheart. He always believed in you, even when you didn’t believe in yourself.”
At that moment, she reached into a bag next to her chair and took out a brightly colored box. My breath caught as I recognized the familiar blue wrapping paper: the same one Grandpa always used for gifts.
“This is for you,“ Aunt Daphne said gently, placing the box in my lap. The Xbox I wanted.
“Grandpa wanted you to have this,” Aunt Daphne continued. “He said that when you learned the value of hard work and understood the importance of patience and perseverance, it would be yours.”
“I’ll be good, Aunt Daphne,” I promised. ”I don’t need this anymore. I’ve learned my lesson.”
Aunt Daphne’s smile, this time brighter and full of real joy, was all the comfort I needed. I reached over to the head of the bed and took out the little jar of honey.
“Would you like some honey, Aunt Daphne?” I asked, offering her the sticky jar.
She took the jar, put her finger in and tasted the honey. ‘It’s sweet,’ she said, in a soft voice. ”Just like you, Robyn. Like you.”
The years have flown by since then. Now, at 28, a million miles away from that grumpy teenager to a bee-keeper with two little ones of her own (who fortunately love honey!), I have learned a thing or two about responsibility.
Thank you, Grandad! Thank you for everything you taught me! I sigh every time I see the happiness on my children’s faces when they enjoy honey.