The Acorn Legacy

By Paul Lima and Historium Press

A Historical Novel Spanning 17 Centuries!

Corey Alden knows his full family tree--a linage that stretches back 17 centuries--and he has the documents to prove it. Through DNA testing, however, he discovers a connection with someone he did not know existed--an entirely new br

• Language: English
• Publisher: Historium Press
• Release date: Aug 8, 2023
• ISBN: 9798988381754

Book preview

Prologue: Saxony: 300 AD

Jörð, goddess of Earth, is standing on her cumulus cloud, long satin robe spilling down to soft wisps curling around her feet. When on her cloud, Jörð is ethereal, as if she were part of the cloud.

Jörð peers over the edge of her cloud and observes the dense forest below. This shall do, she thinks, shaking toasted caramel hair that cascades over her shoulders. She claps three times. Three red squirrels--rust-coloured with pure white bellies, deep black stripes on each side, and tails that are reddish on top and yellow-grey on the underside--materialize beside her.

Looking down at her squirrels and smiling as they chatter up at her, Jörð nods. You are wondering what your duty is, she says.

The squirrels chatter in reply and Jörð enlightens them.

You are each to find an acorn in the Oak trees below, but not just any acorn. You must each find an acorn that has heated up, as their warmth is calling to you. When you find them, and there are only three in the forest, you are not to eat them.

The red squirrels look at each other, then up at Jörð, and nod.

You are to carry the acorns north-east. Follow the river, past the big bend, to the broad basin where you shall find a treeless field. In that field is a large, reddish mudstone rock, a fine-grained boulder, pushed up from the deep earth. Near the rock, a short scamper away… Jörð continues as the red squirrels listen attentively.

When she has finished talking, Jörð claps her hands again. The red squirrels materialize on the ground below, in the Black Forest of Saxony. They gaze up inquisitively through a vast grove of trees and then begin to explore the forest, scrambling up and down Oak trees in search of heat emanating from three acorns.

Once they find the acorns that have heated up, which takes most of the day, they store them in their cheek pouches and head north-east to the river. They scurry around the great bend, past the broad basin, and find a treeless field with a large, reddish boulder partially embedded in the soil.

A short scamper from the mudstone rock they excavate a deep hole, as Jörð instructed them to do, three times deeper than any squirrel burying a solitary acorn would dig. They take turns depositing their acorns, each bowing over the hole as if in prayer. Then they scoop fertile soil back in. When the hole is filled to the brim, the squirrels use their nimble paws to pat earth firmly over the acorns.

As the squirrels sit by their meticulously covered hole, the magic begins.

Deep in the hole, the acorns spin, twirl, and merge into one oversized kernel. The kernel germinates a taproot that pushes deep down into the soil. As the taproot descends, the newly formed acorn sends a thin shoot toward the surface.

What would normally take six weeks takes only hours, as the shoot of the germinating acorn breaks through packed earth into daylight.

The red squirrels sit back on their haunches, wave their tails, and chatter joyfully as the shoot pushes into the air, quickly becoming a slender sapling with three shades of brown bark twisted like a braid.

The sapling continued her growth over the following days and nights and soon produces three branches that reached toward the sun and sprout emerald leaves that rapidly unfurl.

A few weeks later, when the growing Oak is strong enough to bear their weight, the red squirrels climb her braided trunk, sit on her branches, look over the field, and chat joyfully. Pleased that they have accomplished what Jörð has asked of them, they scamper down to the base of the Oak and race around the tree.

The Oak tree continues to mature as the red squirrels watch over her, climb her, scramble across her branches, and chatter as squirrels do during courtship. However, there is no courting. There is only a celebration of the swift growth of Jörð's Oak tree.

*     *     *

Why have you planted an Oak tree in this desolate field? Odin, god of war and poets, asks Jörð, his occasional lover. She has not been with him for some time and this perturbs Odin, especially because Jörð looks so radiant, reclining in a silk-covered lounge on her cloud.

Odin is standing by Jörð's side in full warrior's regalia, wearing his bronze breastplate and conical helmet. His double-edged flat-blade sword with an elaborately decorated pommel is sheathed in its scabbard and he is holding up his wooden planked shield covered in a protective layer of leather. The cloud swirling around Odin's feet makes him a part of its delicate substance and magically holds him afloat.

Ignoring Odin, Jörð yawns disinterestedly.

Well? Odin asks as he looks down at the Oak tree.

It is a family tree, grown from three enchanted acorns, chosen by my three minions, Jörð replies, a degree of indifference in her voice, as she slowly rises to her feet. Mother Oak shall soon have her own family.

I see no family! says Odin as he scratches at his lion's main of a beard.

For a god, you have very little imagination, says Jörð, her demeanor remaining cool and distant. She knows Odin has been with other goddesses and is coming back to her, as he always does, now that his casual flings have ended. She can barely conceal her disdain for his behaviour, about which she knows she can do nothing.

I need not imagine, says Odin. I am a busy god with wars to start, poets to inspire, goddesses to seduce... He lowers his shield and clutches at his sword, but does not unsheathe it.

As you seduce me, and then move on to others.

Have no worries, for I have returned, Odin smiles and removes his helmet.

But was I waiting for your return?

Goddesses are at all times waiting for Odin. It is in their nature, Odin says, tucking his helmet under one arm.

It is in the nature of my tree to wait for her family, says Jörð. As for my nature… She turns her back on Odin.

Odin steps toward Jörð who, sensing him move closer, folds her arms across her chest. As for your nature? he asks.

How can you seduce me if I am no longer willing to be seduced by you, even if you beg me?

Ha! I beg not, shouts Odin.

We shall see, says Jörð, hiding a diminutive smile before she turns to face Odin.

Odin bristles and blusters. Be with your family tree, your tree with no family. Nothing but squirrels in its branches. Not even acorns for them to eat. He places his helmet back on his head.

Mother Oak shall soon have family and her aura shall bond with them, says Jörð. As for me, I have time to sit in the luxurious shade of my Oak tree and blissfully ignore you.

Bah, says Odin. With that and a dismissive flick of a wrist, he disappears to start wars and to inspire poets to write about the battles he instigates.

Without acknowledging Odin's departure, Jörð flutters down beside her Oak tree. She looks up into her branches. One last thing, she says as she holds up her arms, spreads her fingers, and places her hands on the trunk of the tree.

It is subtle, but the red squirrels can feel it: the beating of Mother Oak's heart.

As her Oak tree's heart beats, Jörð sits in its shade and folds her satin robe over her long legs. The three red squirrels scramble down its braided trunk and climb into the lap of their goddess, where they sleep contentedly.

*     *     *

One hundred years later, the tree is a mighty Oak, the only tree in the open field in Saxony, a stone's throw from the Elbe River, a short distance from the reddish mudstone rock embedded in the soil.

Unlike other Oak trees that only produce acorns in the fall, Jörð's Oak tree has three acorns hanging from its top branch year-round. Come the fall, it produces a full crop of acorns, but the same three acorns hang from the one branch winter, spring, summer, and fall. Three red squirrels climb the tree's thick, braided trunk and along her solid branches and admire, but do not pick, the three acorns that Mother Oak nurtures.

Chapter 1: Saxony: 400 AD

Arlyss and his wife, Sigeburg, came to a spot in an open field, beyond the great bend in the Elbe River. Stony, a young horse who bonded with Arlyss and treated Sigeburg with indifference, hauled their cart into the field and stopped in the shade of a mighty Oak tree.

Arlyss and Sigeburg surveyed the land, which was covered in scrub brush. Other than the mudstone rock, the land was flat and without large boulders. There were no trees on the land but for the grand Oak, with three red squirrels in its branches looking down intently as they chattered and shook their tails.

Sigeburg looked up at the Oak and felt it looking down upon her. This is the place, she said. This is where we shall make our dwelling and farm the land, with the blessing of Thor, god of thunder and farming, and son of Jörð, goddess of Earth.

Arlyss continued to survey the land and nodded. As good as many fields we have seen. Better than most. He leaned down, picked up a clump of earth, and brought it to his nose. He inhaled deeply then clenched the soil in a tight fist. The soil is rich, he said. If we farm this land, we shall have excellent crops. Wheat and rye for bread. Barley for brewing. Oats to feed the animals we shall acquire.

And for morning porridge that I shall cook, said Sigeburg. As well as carrots, parsnips, cabbages, peas, beans, and onions that I shall use to make stews and soups.

Standing a head taller than his wife, Arlyss had long, unruly black hair that cascaded down to his shoulders and a scraggly, dark beard. He walked with a slight but noticeable limp, left over from a wound received in Britain while fighting for the Romans to defend Hadrian's Wall against attacking Barbarians. When the battles ended with the retreat of the Barbarians, Arlyss was given the option of accepting land in Britain or taking Roman coin. He chose coin, as he desired to return to Saxony to be with his wife whom he loved deeply.

For a small woman, Sigeburg carried herself tall, with a straight back and head held high. Her long reddish-blonde hair was pulled back in a loose ponytail. She had a perpetual smile and deep, sea-green eyes that twinkled as they took in her surroundings.

Sigeburg looked at the Oak tree and noticed that it had three shades of brown woven into its rough bark. A truly magnificent Oak.

We can chop it down and use its wood to build our dwelling, Arlyss said.

The branches of the Oak tree recoiled at his words and the squirrels chattered in a loud, irritated manner.

This is a sturdy Oak. Sigeburg paused and listened to the squirrels prattle on as if they were delivering a message from the tree. She nodded her head in response and then looked up at her husband. It is a blessed tree, planted at the behest of Jörð.

Arlyss looked at his wife questioningly.

Look, she said, pointing up toward the top of the tree. It is not yet the warm season and yet the Oak has three acorns in its top branches.

Arlyss follows his wife's finger and saw the acorns to which she was referring. Unusual, I admit.

If we build our dwelling close to the tree, it shall provide us with shade on hot days and shield us from strong winds during storms created by Thunor, god of weather, Sigeburg continued as she pointed at the mudstone rock. We can embed that flat bolder into one of the walls of our hut, making it the back of our hearth.

Ja, said Arlyss. That would work for the hearth. He scratched his beard. But if we spare the Oak, I shall have to travel with Stony and the cart to find smaller trees. Building our dwelling shall take much more time.

So then, said Sigeburg with a broad smile, what are you waiting for? I shall gather our goods and the vegetables and iron pot from our cart before you go chop other trees. I shall collect brush, make a fire, and prepare soup for when you return with wood to use in the building of our home.

The branches of the Oak rustled noticeably, even though there was no breeze. The red squirrels went quiet.

Arlyss shook his head as Sigeburg pulled a sack of carrots and cabbages, a large iron cooking pot, and other belongings from the cart. He knew that the Oak tree would continue to stand as his wife had dictated.

I am taking the axe, Arlyss said. You can pull brush for the fire by hand.

Arlyss left to find trees in a nearby forest that he could chop as Sigeburg started to gather scrub brush for her fire.

After some time, Arlyss returned with three small tree trunks and a load of branches. He glanced up at the Oak tree with disdain. This should be you, he muttered. Instead of chopping many smaller trees, I could chop you down and use you to build much of our dwelling!

Arlyss started to unload branches from the cart and pile them near the mudstone rock. He looked over at his wife who had hung the iron cauldron full of water on a metal rod over the fire she had started. Sigeburg had placed chopped onions, carrots, and cabbage in the boiling water and was stirring the soup. A whiff of steam emanated from the pot and a hungry Arlyss inhaled the hearty aroma.

By the time Arlyss finished unloading and piling branches and the tree trunks, the evening had fallen. I shall chop other trees tomorrow, he said to Sigeburg. Soon we shall have wood enough for walls. I can weave in small branches and smear mud and horse dung to seal the walls from wind and rain. For a roof, we shall have no straw to thatch until our first harvest. Branches with leaves shall have to do until then, and we can only hope that there are no great storms. He paused, stretched his arms, and yawned. I shall put up our tent for tonight.

Sigeburg left the soup and strolled over to her husband. Forget about the tent, she said, stroking his arm. You shall be pleased that you did not chop down the Oak.

Arlyss furrowed his brow, trying to understand the meaning of what Sigeburg was saying.

We can have soup for breakfast as the aura of the Oak tree told me that there is something we should do under the stars tonight, Sigeburg said.

Arlyss smiled bashfully as he began to understand the meaning of his wife's enticing words.

The three red squirrels in the tree chattered and danced joyously as the Oak tree shimmered in the evening moonlight.

Chapter 2: San Francisco & Toronto: 2015

It was Tuesday, the day after Labour Day. Corey Alden would soon be heading into work, as the new Director of Information Technology for Ancestry Discovery, a rapidly growing DNA testing company in San Francisco. Corey, his wife Indira, and their daughter Ashley had moved from Toronto to San Francisco where they had been living for just over three weeks.

Corey had gone into the office for several meetings, but today was his first official day on the job. Indira, an experienced registered nurse, was starting as a volunteer in the maternity ward of the UCSF Betty Irene Moore Women's Hospital. Ashley's classes in the science and languages programs at the University of California-San Francisco began today.

At forty-two, Corey is a tall, fit-looking man. He sports a full head of dark hair, with just a hint of grey at his temples, combed back in curly waves. Corey inherited his dark complexion and wavy hair from his mother. According to her, he inherited his dark green eyes and his small ears from his father. His slightly crooked nose, though, was all his own.

Corey walked across the diminutive square of a front lawn toward the car park adjacent to the house. Before he reached his ocean-blue Ford Focus, he paused at his Oak tree, planted in the centre of the lawn.

His Oak tree had had a rough start when first planted in Toronto, where the family lived with his mother, Martha, before she passed away. They continued to live in the house inherited from her until they moved to San Francisco. Since being replanted in San Francisco, Corey's Oak tree had grown rapidly, as if making up for lost time, and emitted an occasional cloudy white aura that only Corey could see.

Corey did not notice squirrels hanging out when the Aldens arrived at the new house. Once he planted his Oak tree, there they were: three squirrels. Rust-colored with pure white bellies, deep black stripes on each side, and tails reddish on top and yellow-grey on the underside. Chattering at his tree, they were waiting for its roots to clutch firmly into the soil so that it would be sturdy enough for them to climb.

Corey puzzled over their appearance but concluded that there must be red squirrels in California, just as there were in Toronto. It mystified him that, as in Toronto, the bellies of these particular squirrels were pure white and the stripes on their sides were an intense black, unlike the mottled white and blotchy black of other red squirrels.

The red squirrels in Toronto had climbed both his grandfather's and his mother's Oak trees in the front and back yards of the house on Sunnyside Avenue. They had ignored Corey's barely a sapling of an Oak tree in the backyard, as it was too weak to support the weight of their tiny bodies.

While the poor growth of Corey's Oak tree disappointed him, Corey came to believe that it was his fault the tree was not doing well. He had planted the tree before his acorns, inherited from his mother's tree, had warmed up and requested to be planted. Every time he looked at his tree in Toronto, he felt that he had let down his family line.

Now that Corey's family and his Oak tree were in San Francisco, the problem, based on how perky his newly planted tree was, seemed to have resolved itself.

San Francisco. This is where you belong, Corey said to his Oak tree and patted its rough bark, twisted like a braid in three shades of brown. I didn't know that when I first planted you.

His Oak tree shimmered briefly. The three red squirrels, sitting on their haunches at the base of the tree, chattered playfully. Corey felt reassured by what he called his Oak tree's good vibrations. Good, good, good vibrations, he sang in his low baritone voice. Now that we are living in California, that's your theme song, he chuckled.

As if in reply, his Oak tree's small branches swayed to the tune even though there was no breeze.

Originally, Corey was going to plant his Oak tree in the backyard of the new house. Once it was fully grown, though, it would be the only thing that would fit in the tiny yard. Corey knew that Indira wanted space to grow herbs, beans, onions, tomatoes, and other vegetables. With Indira's needs in mind, and those of his stomach--Indira had taken night school cooking classes and learned how to create marvelous Indian meals--he planted the Oak in the front yard. As a bonus, once he set up his home office on the second floor, complete with computer desk, ergonomic office chair, a second chair, and a low chest of drawers in which he kept various papers and the thick binder containing his family history, he realized he could see his tree from the room's window.

What a happy accident, Corey thought when he looked out the window and saw his Oak tree looking up at him.

Indira, a slender east-Asian woman with long flowing jet-black hair and dark almond-shaped eyes, stood a head shorter than Corey. She appreciated the fact that Corey had left her the backyard for her garden so she could grow and then cook food that tied her emotionally to a past of which she had no first-hand knowledge. She also understood Corey's obsession with his Oak tree. She knew it was important to him. Having been adopted by white missionaries as a child in India, she was a tiny bit jealous about why it was so significant.

I envy your relationship with the tree, but in a good way, she told Corey when he talked about Oak trees and his family line.

Corey had inherited three acorns from his mother's Oak, as his mother had inherited three acorns from her father's Oak. Corey could trace the inheritance of acorns from Oak trees along his family line for over sixteen centuries, to about 400 AD in Saxony, now the city of Dresden in Germany.

Corey had not heard of any other family, Saxon or otherwise, that had passed on acorns or as rich a family history as his family had. Indira was envious because Corey's Oak tree represented a family line she was unable to fathom, not having any knowledge of her biological parents. She and Corey discussed this shortly after Ashley was born.

My history doesn't change who I am, Corey said. Just as your lack of history doesn't change who you are.

But you like knowing where you come from, Indira replied. It is important to you.

But it doesn't change me.

It doesn't change you, but it makes you more than just Corey. And you shall pass on acorns and your family history to our daughter.

Does that bother you?

I am proud that she, unlike me, will have a family history.

Corey smiled and hugged his wife.

Before accepting the job with Ancestry Discovery, Corey did some research that revealed genealogy was the second most popular hobby in the US, after gardening, and that genealogy websites were the second most popular websites, after porn sites. He knew that people were fascinated by Who Do You Think You Are, Finding Your Roots, and similar television shows. Audiences liked to watch celebrities find out where they came from and what impact their roots had on them. In addition, viewers liked to imagine and even fantasize about their ancestors, without whom they would not exist.

People are shelling out a small fortune, almost two billion dollars per year, for genealogy services. They want to build family trees and discover their roots. That is why Ancestry Discovery offered me big bucks, Corey told Indira. I'm fortunate in that I spend nothing, and know so much more about my family line, on my mother's side, than those who spend hundreds and thousands of dollars to learn about their family lines.

Indira nodded understandingly. And then there are people like me, adopted, who know nothing about their roots, she said.

I know, Corey said sympathetically. But we all become who we are no matter what we know or don't know. He paused for a second. For instance, we lived for a number of years with my mother, Martha, but I don't remember very much about my dad, Hayden, other than the winter he rolled into the backyard on his wheelchair, got out the hose, and flooded the yard to create a skating rink for me and my friends. I remember skating around and around my mother's Oak tree on the ice rink that he created.

Didn't he, like your mother, have Multiple Sclerosis? asked Indira.

His was primary progressive, an aggressive form of MS. He died when I was seven years old. Most of my memories of him have faded. I remember the skating rink and sitting on his lap when he took me for wheelchair rides. I have fond feelings for the man about whom my mother often talked affectionately. She told me more than once that he was a brave man to have a child with her, knowing how they were both dealing with MS.

Indira put a hand on Corey's shoulder.

My mother had what was called relapsing-remitting MS, he continued. She struggled with it for over three decades before she died.

At least the last few years, with us living in her house, she got to hold Ashley, Indira said.

So true, said Corey. "And I am not saying it is better to have parents and lose them than to not have them. Corey wiped his eyes.

You're saying it's different for all of us, said Indira, to which Corey nodded.

Corey's mother had told him that he was supposed to plant the acorns she had given him from her Oak tree when they heated up, which was their way of asking to be planted. 

They should heat up after you are married, but before you have a child, she said. It may sound peculiar, but as your tree grows, pay attention to it. Don’t be afraid to talk to it. To ask it questions. Through its aura, it will communicate with you, give you messages, and even help you connect with your ancestors.

When Corey and Indira married, his acorns did not heat up even though they had decided to try to have a child.

Takes a while, sometimes, for them to heat up, his mother said with a smile, implying that it might take a while for Indira to become pregnant.

But Indira became pregnant soon after they married and Corey was surprised his acorns still did not warm up.

Give them time, his mother said. Perhaps they need to catch up to you!

After his mother passed away, Corey didn't know what to do with acorns that remained cool to touch.

When Ashley turned five, an impatient and frustrated Corey planted his acorns. He thought it was the only way he could grow his Oak tree and pass on acorns to his daughter. Ashley was now a lanky eighteen-year-old with wild shoulder-length dark hair and skin a lighter shade than her father's skin but a darker shade than her mother's skin. She had a symmetrical face with full cheekbones and a square jaw line. Her nose was wider than her mother's but narrower than her father's. Her bright eyes perpetually sparkled and her full lips had a pouty look, even when she smiled. She loved to wear loose pull-over tops, faded jeans with ripped knees, and scuffed off-brand running shoes.

When she was younger, Ashley often climbed the trees planted by Corey's grandfather and mother. She barely noticed her father's runt of a tree. By the time she entered high school, Corey's stunted Oak had only produced a couple of thin, gnarled branches, a few leaves, and not one acorn. 

Corey sensed the auras of the trees that his mother and grandfather had planted, but he could not see them. It was as if the two trees refused to communicate with him. His mother had told him that his tree, once planted, would use its aura to communicate with him, but his spindly Oak had no aura at all.

Corey had given up on his Oak tree as he continued to study. He eventually received his PhD in information technology at the University of Waterloo. He first landed a job in IT at the TD Bank in Toronto, where his father had worked decades previously. Corey sometimes wondered if he picked the job at the TD, out of the many he was offered, in order to feel closer to his father.

As the Internet and World Wide Web developed, Corey moved into teaching IT at the University of Toronto, where he became the co-ordinator of Web-based and e-commerce programs. He did something most academics in his position did not do. He sat in on the courses that he had hired instructors to teach and he greatly augmented his IT knowledge.

In 2009, he left the university and became the Director of IT, responsible for website design, database development, and e-commerce for RBC Direct Investing, the brokerage division of the Royal Bank of Canada. That was the same year that Barack Obama became president of the United States. Obama was a black man from mixed-race parents, just as Corey was.

If my ancestors had not left America, I could be president, Corey told Indira with a chuckle. Not that I'd want to be president, and not that there was any black in the family when my ancestors fled America as United Empire Loyalists.

Indira laughed. What do you call an Asian woman adopted by white missionaries?

Corey cocked his head. Do you have a punch line?

Not a funny one, Indira said. "I was thinking fortunate. I could have spent my young life in the adoption agency in India and been turned out to beg on the streets of Deli."

Corey nodded and hugged his wife, as he was inclined to do when their discussions became deeply personal.

As he moved up the IT ranks, Corey met Franklin Hess, the Ancestry Discovery IT director, at several technology conferences and appeared on a panel with him at a conference in San Francisco. Franklin told him that he was taking early retirement and