The Legacy

Chris Allen roared up the mountain highway in his red motorcycle with new found gumption as a little country road came into sight. He was on his summer vacation from medical school at Harvard University. He couldn’t wait to get to his summer house up in the mountains of Montana. He longed to see the rolling meadows bursting with wildflowers, and the rippling creek he often caught his dinner in. But most of all, there was the old man. The old painter who lived in the broken down barn in the field behind his cabin. Chris had found him there when he had first bought the place, and he had truly come to love Fred Peters as a grandfather and best friend. Chris had been shocked at Fred’s paintings, they seemed so alive. In some of them it almost seemed as if you touched them they would burst into life.
Fred had taught him how to paint that first summer. He’d said Chris had a talent for it, and Chris had to admit, he was pretty good if he did say so himself. He was nowhere near as good as Fred, but he hoped that someday he could be. So, since that first summer five years ago they had painted the days away, painting almost anything that came into sight. And Chris couldn’t wait for this year, he thought he had some great ideas for paintings.  
Rolling into the driveway of the small, homey cabin he removed his helmet and brushed his shaggy brown hair across his forehead. Then he grabbed the leather bag off his motorcycle that had all his painting supplies in it. Running into the cabin he grabbed a glass of water and shot out the back door into the overgrown pasture to the barn. The barn sitting in the tall grass as it was already looked like a real life painting. Coming to the gigantic brick red doors he quietly slid them open just large enough for him to slip inside. There in front of him, in the middle of the barn, surrounded by paintings, was Fred. Brush in hand, he was working on a scene of winter mountains covered with thick snow.
Fred slowly creeped up to the old man and stood beside him. “Nice painting you got there sir.” He said with a mischievous smile on his face that made his blue eyes sparkle.
Fred nearly jumped out of his chair, and almost dropped his brush. He turned his head up to face Chris, and the look of horror on his face suddenly broadened into a wrinkled smile.

“ Ahh Chris my boy! You are here! You nearly scared me to death! Not that that would be such a horrible thing considering I’m almost there.” He stated, matter of factly.

“ Oh come on Fred,” Chris smiled, “ You have plenty of years ahead of you!”
“No no my boy, I fear this will be my last summer...” Fred sighed and looked off into the shadows of the barn.
“ Fred, I want you to stop talking like that. You know it’s not true.” Chris looked at Fred a little bewildered.
“I believe it is son, I can feel it...” Fred whispered still looking into the shadows, his eyes holding a certain emptiness.

“Well anyways, that’s not important right now, “ Chris said, trying to change the subject, “ I brought my paints and brushes. Why don’t we paint together a while?”

“Alright that sounds good to me.” Fred answered, turning back to his painting.

The rest of the afternoon passed quickly as they painted deer, birds, and the wildflowers. They talked about Chris’ schooling and what Fred had been painting since last summer. Before they knew it, it was sundown and Chris invited Fred in the cabin to have dinner. When they had finished eating Chris said goodnight to Fred and watched him head back to the barn where he slept on a small cot, barely big enough for him. Chris worried about Fred, something had changed since last summer. And there was a nagging in the back of his mind that perhaps, this was Fred’s last summer.

The next few weeks flew by faster than Chris realized, June had turned to July, and now it was almost the last week of August. Chris would have to leave in 3 weeks. The day before he was to leave Chris and Fred walked out to the middle of the meadow to paint the sunset. The hues of pink, orange, and red captivated them as they painted in silence. They listened to the crickets and robins singing their night songs as the first stars started to blink. After they had finished, they moved up onto the covered porch of the cabin and sat, staring at the horizon.

“Have you ever thought of how people will remember you, Chris?” Fred broke the silence.

Chris turned to face the grizzled man beside him. “No, not really. I do suppose I’ll be remembered as a doctor, eventually, and hopefully a good friend. Why do you ask?”

“Have you ever wanted to leave your mark on the world? To be remembered? To leave a legacy?” Fred said in hushed tones.

“Well, I suppose in a way I have...” Chris answered.

“I’ve wanted to. That’s one of the reasons I started painting. I just want to be remembered. I wanted to sell my paintings, but I never had the nerve to do it. I was always to scared that I would get rejected.”Fred whispered,tears glistening in his eyes, “ See son, you will have a legacy, you are going to be a doctor. I never had the chance to go to a fancy college like you. I was never even married. Yes, I’ve had a good life, but to have the thought that no one even knew you existed is a frightening thought.”

Chris never knew about Fred’s past, but now that he did, he felt sorry for him. “Well I will remember you Fred you don’t have to worry at all about that!” Chris smiled.

“Thank you son, thank you. I think it’s time I turned in.” Slowly rising from his chair he walked back to the barn. Chris hated to see him walk out there alone, the man deserved more than a cot and a broken down barn. Watching him disappear into the moonlight, Chris went into the cabin.  

The next morning Chris headed out to the barn to see why Fred hadn’t joined him for breakfast. The barn was silent in the morning breeze, too silent, Chris knew something was wrong. He slid the barn door open furiously, his heart jumped in his chest. When the sunlight finally filled the dusty barn Chris couldn’t see Fred anywhere. He frantically rushed to the back of the barn where Fred’s cot was. Suddenly, there in front of him, was Fred, lying on his cot. Chris kneeled beside the cot, felt for a pulse, but no, he was gone. Chris’ brain seemed to scream as tears filled his eyes. Through the tears he noticed a folded piece of paper in Fred’s hand. Slipping it out gently he opened it, all it said was “Remember my boy, please, remember the legacy.” Wiping the tears from his eyes, he rose to his feet, he knew what he had to do.

An hour later Chris erected a wooden cross behind the old barn. On it read “Fred Peters: The world’s best painter”. After planting a small purple lupin by his grave Chris gathered as many paintings in the barn as he could fit on his motorcycle to sell in town. He wouldn’t forget Fred, or the legacy he had wanted to leave. Fred would be remembered by the world, Chris would see to that. Taking one last look at the barn as he fastened his helmet Chris sighed, “Goodbye old friend, sleep well. I’ll always remember you.”