Elizabeth Jane Gardner: Student Showcase

The Secret, by Elizabeth Jane Gardner (France, b. USA) 1880

Creative writing students at Arrowhead Union High School in Hartland, Wisconsin, recently engaged in a project centered on seven distinct works of art. Using these pieces as inspiration, students crafted original stories, bringing their unique visions to life. Each class participated in a rigorous peer-review process to read and critique 30 of the 86 student-authored submissions. Ultimately, the students took on the role of editors to select the most intriguing pieces for publication, celebrating the diverse literary talent within our writing community.

Terri Carnell, teacher

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Molded Love 

Since I was twelve, my job has been to make pottery for the whole town. And for the last nine years, I’ve done just that. But recently, the deep passion I’ve felt has started to fade.

Every day I wake up tired and burnt out. Every pot feels the same, all full of small mistakes that I purposefully ignore. Whereas in the past, I would’ve spent hours perfecting every small, minute detail ensuring its perfection. 

This burn out continued until a new family of four moved into town: Miles, Margaret, Shane, and Lily.
Miles was the dad and a hard-working blacksmith, who intended to take over the old mom-and-pop blacksmith shop that had existed for decades. Margaret was the stay-at-home mom who looked after the little brother, Shane. But most importantly, there was Lily. Lily was a 19-year-old girl passionate about one thing only: pottery. Her dream was to one day own her very successful pottery store. So, of course, she was assigned to work under me as an apprentice. She showed immense enthusiasm about every aspect of the craft from start to finish. 

On her first day of the job, I tried to tell her everything I’ve learned from pottery in the last nine years. In all the four hours that I spent explaining the ins and outs of pottery making, she never lost that sparkle in her bright blue eyes, a sparkle of passion, joy, and enthusiasm that I hadn’t seen in years.

At the end of the day, I asked her, “Do you have any questions?”

She replied, “Not at all. But I was wondering if you could show me how to use your pottery wheel.”

“If you are ready, I suppose we can,” I stated, surprised at her early eagerness.

I wish I could say her first creations were beautiful, but that’d be far from the truth. She appeared to be nervous as she couldn’t keep her hands steady. So I offered my help and put my hands on top of hers. Her hands jittered no more, but my palms began to sweat, as I realized she was just a prettier, more perfect version of myself. So there we were, caught in a moment of time where hours passed like seconds until our piece was finally done. 

The following month had blurred by. My passion had returned, all thanks to that enthusiastic girl, Lily. Her love and desire to be her best self inspired my soul to light up once more. 

This rediscovered fire in my heart was necessary, as the town was having its fiftieth anniversary celebratory ball next month. From the order from the town mayor himself, I was alerted that this extravagant party needed at least sixty distinct and different pots for the purpose of displaying our town’s beautiful flowers.

For the following weeks, Lily and I spent nearly every single waking hour together. Each day was getting more stressful than the next, but as long as we had each other and worked together, our milestone number would soon be complete.  

As the final day arrived, we spent eleven hours straight finishing up the last of our pots. But as I made the final count, I realized that we were still one short. So to speed things up, Lily and I crafted the final one completely together, mimicking the exact same mold as the first pot we made two months ago. And to commemorate this special moment, we wrote our initials on the bottom of the pot as a reminder of who made this possible.

The party was now upon us, but to my dismay, both Lily and I were alone at this event, as we both worked far too hard to find time to bring a plus-one. So the night went on, and the couples danced, while Lily and I stood in the background waiting for it to be over. 

“Wanna go for a walk and escape the noise for a bit?” asked Lily.

I obliged. So we walked through the woods, until we approached the town’s cemetery. Lily told me her feet were aching, so she sat down on the gray cement walls of somebody's last words. We talked and chatted for the next good while, until I saw her reach into pockets and pull out a snow-white paper.

She put her hand on my shoulder, and handed me the note. 

Lily exclaimed, “Please don’t judge me for what it might say.”

I told her, “I give you my promise.”

Slowly, I opened this mysterious sheet. A question appeared that would change my whole life: “I love you, Jane, and I wished we could’ve danced at the ball. So will you give me your hand and help grant my true wish?” 

Through shock and awe, I managed to give her my hand. We danced all night long and wondered how our lives would change from now on.

​Samuel Ritter