I couldn't believe it was still standing. It'd been remodeled at some point in the past hundred years, the porch wider than it had once been. The Corinthian posts that held the porch were new but somehow it worked as did the new multipaned windows. As I stepped upon the porch, I had traced my fingers on the railing, feeling the nubbiness of the wood beneath the painting. It needed sanding down, stained instead of painted. The colors of the house were muted and dull to my eyes. I remembered vibrant paint. When had that happened? Why was it considered more appropriate for homes to be grey or tan, white or pale blue?
When I slid the key into the lock, i was struck with a sense of nostalgia as memories swept over me. I'd come here, fleeing the small town I'd lived in. A small town that was filled with innuendos and outright accusations in the time of the second world war.
I'd gone there as a war bride, newly married and brought to America by my husband. He'd left weeks later, and I was there when they brought his body home. I fought to learn English, to settle in with the town but all they saw was fascist...Italian,, Mussolini lover. I was none of those things but they didn't care.
I told myself I should go home but I didn't. I worked, kept my head down and paid attention to no one but myself. At least, until he came. He was a sailor, younger than I was by...three, four years. He'd knocked on my door one night, pleading to use the phone. He'd noticed the phone lines from the pole to my house. Foolishly, I'd let him in and listened to his call. He was traveling home, wanted to see his sweetheart only to find she'd married another in his absence.
My heart broke for him, for Theodore. Teddy. Foolishly I'd allowed him to stay, woke up in the mornings to see him sleeping on the pallet on the front room floor. He was so charming. Sweet. Kind. A kindness I'd not seen since my husband had died. How could I not fall in love with him in that short time? But I did and when I realized it, I told him he had to leave. It killed me inside to do it. Even one more day in his presence would have broken down my resolve and I would have begged to... begged to be with him.
The night he left I was forced to defend myself from to rabble rousers...men that should have gone to the war but instead preyed upon war widows, war wives. They'd known Teddy was visiting, accused me of vile things. What else respecting woman would do this? Take in a stranger? I wished I'd done what they accused me of, what they tried to do to me. One I shot, the other was stabbed and I survived, bruised and battered. But I survived. I left the next day. How could I stay in that town? With those people?
I moved to the first city that came to mind and found myself on this porch, staring at this door and wondering what my life could be. As the war came to a close, I wondered what had happened to Teddy. Had he survived? Had he married another? Had he remembered me? Decades later, those are still questions in my mind.
She inhaled deeply as she lay the pen on the nightstand, closed the diary and placed it next to the pen. As she looked around the room, the chipped paint, water stains she realized anew how much work needed to be done on the house. But it was hers. At long last, something truly of her own. As she rose from the chair, she grabbed a wrap, draped it around her shoulders and headed for the kitchen as the tea kettle began to sing.
Last Edit: Jun 24, 2024 17:47:33 GMT -6 by CHIARETTA
After adding tea to the pot and clicking on the timer, she sat down on the worn chair with her feet propped on the rung of the chair next to her. A small notebook was drawn out of her pocket, and she ticked off notes murmuring, 'done...done. Wait, where is?" as she looked at her watch, frowned and shook her head.
She hated missing an appointment and having to portal back to it. No matter how many times she'd done it over the years, it always left her with a headache and not just the paperwork kind.
Sighing, she knew there was nothing to be done for it. They were testing a new Hembree witch. First job, those were always stressfull. Could they do the job? Only time could tell.
As the timer went off, she removed the tea bags from the pot, added milk to a tea cup then filled it with tea. A cube of sugar, carefully stirred and the tea was ready. "Well, nothing a good cup of tea can't handle.' she said as she took her first sip. With a sigh she closed her eyes and decided that a five minute break would't hurt. After all, what's five minutes when you need to go back four hours?
