| Family Fiction posted November 4, 2024 |
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When wealth and power aren't enough
Returning Home
by Begin Again
"Jacob."
Her shrill voice sent a shiver down the young man's spine.
"Yes, Mrs. Lexington."
"Bring the car around right away," she commanded with authority.
"The car?" Jacob's shoulders sagged, fearing his hopes of a family dinner were about to be dashed.
Henrietta pursed her lips and sighed. "Yes, Jacob. The car — the vehicle that you chauffer me around town in now and again."
"Sorry, ma'am. I know what the car is, but I —" Jacob stammered, not sure how to address his employer. "It's just that —"
"Spit it out, young man!" Henrietta lived alone and had done so for many years. Pamela, her jack-of-all-trades assistant, and Jacob, her chauffeur, were the only two people who ever entered the mansion. Long ago, she'd chosen power and wealth over family and friends and never looked back until everyone was gone.
"Today's Thanksgiving, ma'am. You said I could spend the day with my family. Has — has that changed?"
Henrietta gazed at the fireplace before she asked, "Your family — do you have a big celebration? Turkey with all the trimmings?"
Jacob thought he saw a glimmer in her eyes but quickly nixed that idea. Henrietta hadn't smiled or been happy about anything for years.
He smiled, the biggest grin his face could bear. "Twenty-five — no, twenty-seven this year. My sister had twin girls."
Henrietta rolled her eyes. "How nice."
"It is — ma'am. Everyone brings a dish to pass, and those who can't — well, they help in the kitchen with preparation."
"Hmm — you must need a big turkey?" A hint of a smile tugged at the corner of her mouth.
Jacob shook his head. "Things have been tough on the family since my grandfather's passing. We manage without a turkey."
"No turkey? It's not Thanksgiving without the turkey and all the trimmings." Jacob knew the shine in her eyes wasn't his imagination this time as Henrietta's thoughts drifted to better days. "My grandmother would always make the best dinners."
Impatient, Jacob returned to the need for the car. "Were you wanting to go somewhere, ma'am?" He dreaded the answer, knowing Henrietta's outings were never short trips. When she didn't answer, he asked again, "Ma'am."
Lost in thought, Henrietta looked startled. "What?"
"The car — you said to bring the car around. Should I tell my family I won't be coming?"
"Nonsense! You did say you were having dinner at your grandmother's place, right?"
"Yes, ma'am. Not far from your old home." His eyes shifted away from his employer. "I remember that place. It was always so cozy and warm. Now, with it all boarded up and left standing — do you ever think of it?"
"Enough of this reminiscing. Get the car," she snapped. "Your dilly-dallying around is going to make us late."
Confused, Jacob nodded, grabbing his hat as he raced out the door.
*****
"It's your old place, ma'am. Someone has taken the boards off the windows and doors. Are you selling the place?"
Henrietta stared at the abandoned house, surveying the neglect. The sidewalk was cracked and overgrown by weeds and bushes. The paint on the shutters had peeled away. Vines tangled around the porch railings, and the windows, now unboarded, were streaked with dirt from many years of neglect. Yet, in her mind's eye, she could almost see it as it once was.
She opened the car door and climbed out. Surprised, Jacob scrambled from the driver's seat and took her hand to steady her. "You're not going to walk around in there, are you? You might trip and get hurt."
"I'll be fine, Jacob."
"I'll walk with you. It doesn't look safe."
Henrietta patted his hand. "You are going to get back in the car. You have a family waiting."
Jacob's eyes widened. "But — you can't stay here. I can't leave you."
"I'm afraid you have no choice, young man, if you want to keep your job. I am your employer, and I insist you go. There's furniture inside, and I'll be fine."
"Inside? You plan on going inside?" He gulped, imagining the cobwebs, dust, and spiders. "It's not — you can't."
"Jacob, it's your day off to spend with your family, so stop worrying about what I'm going to do. I've lived this long taking care of myself. I think I can manage a few hours here."
"I know you lived here and all, but you have heard the rumors, right?" Jacob glanced at the house and shivered.
Henrietta laughed — a sound Jacob had never heard from her lips. His mouth dropped open as he stared at her.
"Close your mouth, Jacob. The bugs might fly in."
"I'm sorry, ma'am. It's just I never —"
"I know.' Henrietta turned her attention to the house. "This was my home, and it was always filled with love and happiness. I was a fool to leave it all behind in search of money and power." She chuckled, "If there are any ghosts here, they will all be kind ones." She brought her attention back to Jacob. "Now, go! Come back around 6. I recall sitting on that swing with my grandfather and watching the sunset. It was beautiful. Maybe you'll see it, too."
"You want me to leave you here alone?"
"Yes, I do! And before I forget, there will be a delivery made to your house. Tell everyone it's from one grandmother to the other. Now, get in the car and go before you're late."
Jacob reluctantly climbed into the car, promising to return at six. As he drove away, Henrietta called out, "Happy Thanksgiving, Jacob. Hope the family enjoys the turkeys."
*****
Standing near the front porch, Henrietta closed her eyes. She could hear the children laughing and saw herself running barefoot across the lawn. A smile tugged at her lips as she imagined her grandfather on the porch swing.
The wooden steps creaked and moaned as she climbed up to the porch. Her hand rested on the worn doorknob as she remembered how long it had been. Finally, she turned it and pushed the door open. She inhaled the unmistakable aroma of Thanksgiving dinner — roasted turkey, stuffing, freshly baked rolls, and pumpkin pie.
Laughter drifted down the hall, filling each room with warmth. Henrietta's heart fluttered with excitement. For the first time in years, she was home.
A male voice yelled, "Hey everybody, look who's here?"
"Aunt Henrietta! What a wonderful surprise. It's been too long since we had you back home."
Soon, everyone was gathered around, hugging and telling her how happy they were to see her. Tears of joy sparkled in her eyes as she realized how much she was loved and missed.
It didn't take long for her to feel comfortable as they joined hands at the dinner table, saying grace and thanking the Lord for bringing them together.
"Henrietta, you have to try my corn casserole. It tastes just like Grandma made it?"
A cousin chimed from the other end of the table, "She probably did." Laughter erupted, and the merriment continued.
Several people teased her about when she was a child. Henrietta couldn't help but feel sad when she thought of how much she had missed. It was the best Thanksgiving she'd had in years.
As the afternoon wound down, each guest embraced her with their kindness. "We'll see you again soon, Henrietta," her cousin whispered. Her old friend from school squeezed her and laughed, "You won't be a stranger anymore." The warmth of their goodbyes filled her heart.
She settled into an old armchair by the fireplace when she found herself alone again. The fire crackled, casting a soft glow across the room. Resting her head against the back of the chair, her thoughts drifted to her recent doctor's visit and what he'd told her — "It's progressed too far, Mrs. Lexington. You might have months if you're lucky, but it will most likely be much less."
She reached into her purse and retrieved a folded paper. She carefully unfolded her last Will and Testament. She'd attached a note — "Dear Jacob, You've always been so kind to me. I leave you this home and enough funds to make it a happy place for many more dinners with the family. Please expect a few extra guests from time to time. Always, Henrietta."
Satisfied with the day's events, a peaceful smile touched her lips as she drifted off, surrounded by memories of a happiness she had nearly forgotten.
*****
Jacob couldn't shake his unease after reluctantly leaving Henrietta at the old house. It was a chilly evening, and the memory of her frail frame, standing alone amid the cracked sidewalk and overgrown grass, gnawed at him. With a quick excuse to his family, he grabbed his keys and drove back to the old house.
He rushed up the sidewalk and opened the front door. A wave of unexpected warmth enveloped him. His eyes widened as he stepped further inside. Despite the musty smell he remembered from before, a faint scent of Thanksgiving dinner hung in the air. The house remained unchanged — the furniture draped in white sheets, the floors dusty, and cobwebs hung from the walls and chandeliers.
"Henrietta! It's Jacob." She didn't answer, so he called again, "Henrietta!"
He found her by the fire, seated in the armchair, her face softened by a gentle smile. In her lap, tucked against her hands, was the folded envelope. He read the note, his hands shaking as he absorbed her final words.
Panic washed over him. He rushed outside, pulling out his phone to call 911, his heart racing as he thought about the frail woman inside.
As he turned to go back in, he paused. Through the front window, he saw a scene that took his breath away. It was Henrietta, surrounded by the entire family he never knew she had — their laughter ringing through the air, smiles stretching across their faces. It was a picture of joy and reunion, so vivid that he felt a twinge of hope.
But just as quickly as it appeared, the vision faded. The warmth and laughter dissolved into the cold silence of the empty house. Jacob shook his head, unsure if he really saw what he thought he did.
He pushed the door open. The smell of Thanksgiving lingered in the air. When he stepped inside, reality hit him — Henrietta was still by the fire, peaceful and serene, a smile on her lips. He rushed to her side, wishing he could share the moment he'd just witnessed, but thankful she'd come back home.
As the sirens approached, he whispered, "See you next Thanksgiving, Henrietta. I'll set a few extra plates."
Ghost Story writing prompt entry
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Writing Prompt Write a Ghost Story. No limit on the word count. No poetry. |
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