Going Home

Going Home

By Cissy Hunt

Table of Contents

Title Page

Going Home

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 8

Chapter 12

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

About the Author

DEDICATION

This book is dedicated to my wonderful children Ronald and Amber, who have stood beside me, encouraged me, and loved me unconditionally. They have walked with me through the good times and every dark path and obstacle that has come my way. 

Thank you for believing in me. I love you both very much.

ACKNOWLEDGMENT

I would like to thank my dear friends Debra Shiveley Welch and Debora Graham whom, without their help, prayers, encouragement, and many late hours of reading, suggestions, and help with editing, this book would probably still be taking up space in my mind. Thank you, my dear friends, for more than I could ever put into words on this piece of paper.

C. Creations Publishing /June 2017

This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, and incidents are the product of the author's imagination; any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Text copyright pending Cissy Hunt

All rights reserved

The right of Cissy Hunt to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs, and Patents Act 1988.

Cover design ©Cissy Hunt

Photography by Cissy Hunt

C. Creations functions only as the book publisher and as such, the ultimate design, content, editorial accuracy, and views expressed or implied in this work are those of the author.

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THE TATTERED OLD HOUSE

The tattered old house

With its cracks and creaks

No longer resound

The pitter-patter of feet

The echoed voices

That lingered near

Have fallen silent

With no one to hear

The tattered old house Didn’t look like much

But caressed with love

A tender touch

A rusted tin roof

Kept out the rain

As mother prayers

Soothed away the pain

Living in the tattered old house

Helped keep me meek

With the lesson I learned

Sitting at Mama's feet

BY

Debora Graham

The Old Arm Chair

I love it, I love it; and who shall dare to chide me for loving that old Arm-chair?

I’ve treasured it long as a sainted prize,

I’ve bedewed it with tears, and embalmed it with sighs.

'Tis bound by a thousand bands to my heart.

Not a tie will break, not a link will start.

Would ye learn the spell? A mother sat there,

And a sacred thing is that old Arm-chair.

In Childhood’s hour I lingered near

The hallowed seat with listening ear,

And gentle words that mother would give, to fit me to die and teach me to live.

She told me shame would never betide,

With truth for my creed and God for my guide.

She taught me to lisp my earliest prayer

As I knelt beside that old Arm-chair.

I sat and watched her many a day,

When her eye grew dim, and her locks were gray,

And I almost worshiped her when she smiled, And turned from her Bible, to bless her child.

Years rolled on, but the last one sped— My idol was shattered; my earth-star fled.

I learnt how much the heart can bear,

When I saw her die in that old Arm-chair.

‘Tis past, ‘tis past, but I gaze on it now,

With quivering breath and throbbing brow. ‘Twas there she nursed me; ‘twas there she died,

And Memory flows with lava tide.

Say it is folly, and deem me weak,

While the scalding drops start down my cheek,

But I love it, I love it, and cannot tear

My soul from a mother’s old arm-chair.

By

Eliza Cook

This poem is in the public domain.

Chapter 1

Lost in thought, and traveling at a speed far beyond the recommended limit, Tilly didn’t realize she had reached the dirt road that led to her childhood home. She was jolted back to the present when she skidded to a stop just inches before crashing into a small herd of cows crossing the road.

The young boy who was ushering them to the other side couldn't have been more than fifteen or sixteen years of age. Barefoot, in a pair of overalls that he’d clearly outgrown, his bright, blue eyes framed by ginger-colored freckles, opened wide with a look of surprise. Tilly jumped out of her car with the full intent of scolding the young man for blocking the road, until he apologetically ran up to her asking if she was all right.

Yes, I'm all right. A little shook up, but I'm all right, Tilly reassured him.

I'm so sorry, ma'am! Usually, there's not much traffic on the road at this time of the day, the boy told her. Tilly nodded her head in agreement with him. The young herder asked, Are you from around here? Before Tilly could answer him, he added, You don't look familiar to me.

Tilly told the boy politely, I grew up around here, but was gone for a few years.

What's your name? he asked her eagerly.

When I lived here I was Tilly Grover. I went away to college then got married. I grew up in the old Grover house. It is about three miles down that road. Tilly turned and pointed to the dirt road behind her.  And yours? she added?

I’m Toby. Oh, I know that house! That is the house my friend Jacob used to live in, he told Tilly.

Tilly tried to remember if Matthew had rented the house to someone who had a boy named Jacob. She couldn't recall so, but she didn't want to argue with the kind lad.

After once more reassuring the youngster she was all right, Tilly got back into her car and backed it up. She gradually maneuvered it off the highway onto the dirt road. She traveled down the road for about three miles, then carefully turned into what used to be a driveway, now overgrown with grass and weeds. She eased the old Chevy forward until coming to a stop under a tall, old maple tree.

Placing the gear shift in the park position and turning the key to off, she let her head fall forward onto the steering wheel.

Her hands shook uncontrollably. Almost running over the young boy, on top of the pent-up frustration from her life, and reason for coming back home, flowed out in the form of tears, rolling down her cheeks. She didn't bother to try and stop them.

Tilly took in several deep breaths and then blew each out slowly. She was trying to relax her tight, raw nerves before getting out of the car. She wiped her tear stained face with a tissue. After taking another deep breath and exhaling it slowly, she waited just a few minutes, then opened the door and exited the vehicle. She walked around to the front of her car and stood next to the majestic maple tree.

You're still here, erect and tall, standing guard over the old house, Tilly exclaimed softly.

She placed her hand on the old barked trunk of the tree. Though rough to the touch, it felt wonderful under her hand.

Straining her head back and looking up through the many bent and twisted branches, Tilly spoke softly again, I thought one of the many intense storms that passed through this area would have taken you down long ago. She remembered her Mama's words, spoken many years ago. When the strong storms blow, you bend with the wind, or you break.

I've gone through some severe storms myself. She paused and looked around before speaking once more. But I don't think I weathered them as well as you have. A tear slid down her cheek before she could wipe it away. I guess you learned that lesson much better than I did, Tilly whispered.

While looking up through the branches, she noticed the remnants of a rope-swing, now grayed with age and frayed on the end. It hung loosely several feet above her head and swayed back and forth in the summer breeze. She wondered if, after all these years, it could be left over from her childhood swing? She would play for hours on that old swing, swinging and daydreaming.

Tilly had planned out her whole future while playing on that old swing. Even though nothing worked out as she planned, she still remembered every detail of her long, drawn out thoughts. Tilly spent many an hour swinging and planning – swinging and planning. She also did lots of daydreaming.

Tilly had believed in the many Bible stories her mother told her, but she also believed in fairy tales and happily-ever-after at that young age. She tilted her head toward the old house. She could almost hear her mother now, calling her inside for supper. Tilly it's supper time! her mother would call out the front door. Being lost in the planning of her life, and daydreaming while swinging most of the time, Tilly didn't hear her mother's call.

Matilda Jane Grover, you had better get in this house right now! Supper is on the table! Tilly knew when Mama used her whole name in that tone, it was time to do her bidding.

She remembered how, just before departing the swing, she would give a couple of reliable pumps with her legs. After getting the swing going faster and higher, she would let go of the ropes. Flying through the air for just a few seconds before hitting the ground was an exhilarating feeling – well worth the effort.

In those days, Tilly actually believed someday God would give her wings like the birds. With a set of wings, she would be able to fly so very high. Every morning, she believed that very day was her someday. Now, she was astonished at how, at that young age, she never stopped believing. Never once becoming discouraged, she believed very strongly in the God her mama told her about – the God of the Bible.

Where is that God now? Tilly asked herself curtly.

With one last pat given to the tree, she turned and walked toward the old farmhouse. Though in some need of repair, she was amazed to find it still standing strong after so many years.

If only this old house could talk: all the memories it could tell, good memories of family love, laughter and peace, Tilly whispered to herself as she gazed upon it.

This home was her childhood home, and held nothing but good memories for her. She had memories of growing up poor, materialistically, but ever so rich in love: memories of working hard, but playing even harder; memories of Mama's big hugs and kisses. Always present, were the memories of Mama's Bible teachings that covered every aspect of her life.

Tilly recalled how sometimes she wished her mama would just spank her instead of lecturing her, especially from the Bible. To this day, she couldn't remember her mother ever spanking her, but she could definitely remember every teaching mama had given her.

She suddenly remembered what her mother told her about spankings. "The pain of a spanking fades away with time, and with that fading goes the reason you received it in the first place. Knowledge never fades away. Therefore, you will remember much longer why what you did was wrong."

Tilly decided that her mama was a very smart woman, even if she only had an eighth-grade education. Mama had a lot of living life knowledge and common sense when it came to raising her children. She raised them to know the difference between right and wrong. Her mother was much smarter than most of Tilly's college professors. Those professors might have had book knowledge, but most of them didn't have any common sense. Tilly shook her head as she thought upon her professors, No, no common sense at all.

Tilly turned her attention back toward the old house. On the right side of the now sagging gate was Mama's rose bush, now full of scarlet-yellow blooms. Thick runners stretched out, covering at least half the length of the old, picket fence. The fence, grayed from age, was surrounded by thick rose-bush runners. One knew not where pickets of the old fence began and the rose bush ended.

She was surprised at how much the beautiful rose bush had grown. Tilly called up memories of the day when she helped her mother plant it. This rose is named Joseph's coat, her mama told her. Then, as they planted the rose bush, her mother told her the story from the Bible about Joseph's coat of many colors. No matter what chore they were doing, her mother always had a Bible story or lesson to share.

Tilly pulled on the old sagging gate. It let out a loud screeching noise as it tried to move in the hinges. After several tries, the gate finally opened wide enough for her to slip through.

What she entered was at one time a well-kept yard, full of a variety of Mama's favorite flowers. It now bore nothing but tall wild grass and weeds. Tilly quickly scanned the yard. She could not see a single one of the beautiful flowers her mother had planted. Weeds had overtaken the various beds like it had the yard.

While looking at the old house, an article she’d read in a magazine popped into her head. She couldn’t recall the name of the author or the title of the piece, she just remembered bits and pieces of that article.

The writer of that specific piece wrote: "You can never go home again. One cannot relive or change their past. One is foolish to think traveling back to their past will change their future. People need to leave their past where it is and move on with living in the present and planning their future."

Tilly hoped the writer of that article was wrong. She came home for one purpose, she needed to find what she’d left behind.

Right now she didn't know, exactly what, but she was seeking it with all of her might. Tilly hoped beyond hope, that she would recognize it when she found it. Maybe then her joy, peace and love would return.

Not wanting to think about the magazine article any longer, she concentrated on the old house. Its weather-beaten clapboard siding was in a state of much needed repair. The tin roof was rusted from many showers of rain throughout the years, and the front steps were sagging and cracked from age and many years of use.

She cautiously maneuvered her way up to what used to be a path leading from the gate to the porch steps and carefully walked through the tall grass to the sagging steps. Cautious not to step through a weakened plank, she made her way up the steps to the front porch.

Now she stood in front of the open screen. Before opening the wooden front door, she took a deep breath, then slowly let it out. She had no idea what she would find once she entered her childhood home.

Calming her anxiety, she reached out and took hold of the handle, then slowly turned it. The door appeared to be stuck. Putting her shoulder against it, she gave a big heave and kept pushing until it yielded. A loud scraping sound echoed throughout the room as she pushed the door all the way open.

A scream caught in her throat as a mouse scurried across the front room floor. The mouse, most likely scared by the loud scrapping of the door against the hardwood floors, ran to find cover.

Leaving the door open, Tilly walked to the double windows and pulled open the old drapes. Dust filled the air every time she disturbed the tattered panels. Aggravated, she tugged on the old curtains, pulling them along with the drapery rod out from the wall. A loud clanking noise echoed through the house when the rod and drapes hit the floor.

Some of the bright sunlight streamed through the dirty windows, giving her enough light to survey the room. Mama's old rocking chair, covered in dust, sat as it always had beside the fireplace.

Her mother, as she sat in the rocker, told her many stories. Mama would be sewing on a quilt, or remaking one of Tilly's old dresses, when she would unexpectedly start talking. Mama's story-telling was as real as if Tilly were there watching the story unfold as Mama told it to her.

Tilly remembered sitting awe-struck on the floor in front of her mother, listening intently as she spoke of different characters from the Bible. Tilly loved to hear the story of Ruth the best. That story made her believe that, when she grew up, her Boaz would come for her.

Look where that got you! Tilly scolded herself. The one you thought was your Boaz left you, she continued to talk out loud to herself.

She suddenly remembered her mama's haunting words. My little one, have you prayed for this man who has asked you to be his wife? Have you asked God if marrying this man is His plan for your life? She also remembered the lie she spoke back to her mother.

Yes, Mama, I have. I know Winston Bennett is my Boaz. I know he is the one God placed in my life to marry, Tilly answered her mother quickly.

Tilly knew, when those words came out of her mouth, that they were a lie. She had not bothered to pray and ask God about anything. Even though the two of them had been dating only a month, Tilly desperately wanted to be married to Winston. She wanted to be Mrs. Winston Rochester Bennett.

Tilly didn't pray. No, she jumped at the chance to marry Winston as soon as he asked. She thought she knew better than God what was good for her life. In her mind, Winston was the best thing for her. She never once considered the wealth of his parents in her decision. Tilly even convinced herself that God gave Winston to her to be her honorable husband like Boaz of the Bible.

Now here I am, eight years later, separated and almost divorced, heartbroken and feeling so all alone! Tilly yelled.

Crying, Tilly called out, "Oh, Mama, why aren't you here? I need you