Auntie sat in her rocking chair at the bay window off the living room of her great orchard house. Through the lead-lined glass panes she could view the rambling back yard and the ancient oak with the thick limbs that supported Walter's tree house. How sturdy was that whimsical structure. Looking at its carefully shingled roof, its Tudor-styled trim, and its covered porch with a trap door for the rope ladder that hung almost to the ground, she could feel Walter's presence after all these years. She could almost forget about the unspeakable allegations her niece had leveled at the poor man. His heart had broken from the stress, figuratively and literally both.

Before his death, Walter'd had nothing but praise for his niece. He loved that little girl, even after she'd turned against him. It was for her he'd built the marvelous tree house in the first place; he'd intended it to be a special place for the two of them to spend time together. Auntie had never spoken to the ungrateful girl again.

She imagined herself stepping off the rear patio and leaving behind the evenly placed flagstones to trod on the thick Bermuda grass. She imagined walking over to the rope ladder and grasping a wooden rung, feeling the sway and creak of the tree vibrating through the ropes. But of course she needed the walker to get around anymore. So she passed each day awaiting the arrival of the children.

Her niece and the young woman's ill-tempered husband had perished some months earlier in an accident not two miles north of Auntie's home in Tucker, central Ohio. They had gone out drinking and left the children at home with a sitter. Auntie had let the authorities know that she would take the little ones in. She felt that the time had finally come to set things aright, and she was certain this could not have happened as long as her niece lived.

Her caretaker, Bess, a fine middle-aged woman from downtown who stayed most everyday but went home nights, met the car that brought the children. She walked them into the foyer to meet their great aunt for the first time.

First was Phillip, the eldest; a serious boy of some eight years, he had trouble tearing his eyes away from his portable Gameboy. After him, Annette -- six years old and prone to tittering, she curtsied for Auntie, holding up the corners of her bright yellow dress. The youngest, Edward, was too shy to look directly at Auntie, as would be most any four year old. In fact, her appearance frightened him. He'd never seen a person with so much loose flesh on her cheeks.

"My dear children," said Auntie. "The three of you shall have the run of my house, provided you behave yourselves and go to bed when you are told to do so."

Phillip and Annette nodded agreeably, but Edward looked away, as if distracted. Bess stood behind the children, their luggage piled at her feet. She bent to whisper in little Edward's ear, and he looked back at his Auntie with heroic effort.

"There is one rule that I must insist upon," said Auntie. And that is that you must stay away from the tree house. It is closed up, and there is nothing of interest for you there, anyway."

The three children nodded. They didn't doubt that they would find plenty of other things to do besides trespassing upon Auntie's forbidden territory. In youth resides a firm faith that the future will surely deliver control over one's impulses.

As it was Spring, the children spent a good portion of each day outdoors. One day, while they sat and picked at the grass in the back yard, Phillip pointed at the tree house. "The ladder hangs so low," he said. "Even Edward could climb it."

"We're not to play there," said Annette. "You know what Auntie told us." "I know," said Phillip. "But last night, from my bedroom window, I saw fireflies blinking on and off all around the tree house. Sometimes one would fly in, but none ever flew back out."

"Do you think it's a place where they go to die?" asked Annette. "Maybe not," said Phillip. "Maybe it's a place that's so nice, you don't want to leave -- a place where mothers and fathers don't go away and never come back."

Bess called for them from the back porch. "Come children," she said. "It's time for your lunch."

She served them grilled cheese sandwiches and tomato soup at the breakfast table. "I hope you three weren't talking about that tree house," she said. "Your auntie has made it clear that you are to keep away from it."

"I wasn't talking about it," Edward said around a bite of his sandwich. "In fact none of us spoke of it," said Phillip, with a reproachful glance at Edward.

"Well now, that's very good," said Bess. She wiped at the kitchen counter with a dish rag. "All the same, I'll be keeping a watch over the three of you."

It wasn't until Bess took a vacation that Phillip finally tired of playing his hand held game and running uselessly around on the lawn. He'd been everywhere in the house, too. He had explored every place from the musty attic to the cool concrete basement. There remained nothing new for him to do, so he wandered out back with his thoughts in a fog of boredom and cabin fever.

The rope ladder hung from the great oak tree, its long hemp twines knotted at the bottom like fishing lines. Phillip looked around before approaching it. There didn't seem to be anyone watching.

The climb was more difficult than he'd expected; as he stepped up to each new rung, the ladder tended to kick out away from him. Once he'd got the hang of it, though, he clambered up quickly. He pulled himself up on to the porch and stood before the tree house's front door. It opened easily, and he slipped into the darkness inside.

Annette was chasing a monarch butterfly when she came to the hanging ladder. It was still swaying from her brother's climb. "Is anyone up there?" she called. When she grabbed a wooden rung, she could feel the creaking and groaning of the oak giant. It sounded to her like the rumble of an old man snoring, and she felt no fear. She pulled herself up to the little house and entered it without hesitation.

The climb was much harder for Edward. Because he was shorter than the other two, he had to hook his arm over each rung and inch his way up the unstable ladder. Eventually he followed his brother and sister into the forbidden place.

From her rocking chair Auntie watched the tree house for two days. It was remarkable how fresh the old structure seemed. You'd think, to look at it, that it had received an infusion of new blood. Walter would be pleased.