[Eleanor]: 668.Prose.This Old House

This old house

       I was born in this house. Of course, I don’t remember that; who would, remember being born, that is? But I was, right upstairs in the master bedroom, in a big, four-poster bed that my parents slept in, the same bed my daddy died in, coughing out his lungs from the black lung, what he got from working in the mine all those years. So many of the men in these parts died from it. But then, the mine was steady work and there was so little available elsewhere.

       Our family’s been here forever, here in Nova Scotia, coming from Scotland during the Highland clearances -- a shameful time in Scotland’s past. My grandfather built this house and my father added onto it. There used to be a big vegetable garden in the back, but I can’t keep it up anymore, the arthritis makes it too difficult, so I grassed over most of it. I miss the fresh vegetables, but you have to let some things go.

       I’ve always loved it here, close to the land, close to the sea. I never felt the need to go anywhere else, although I did spend a year or so away, going to school and living with my mother’s second cousin Bethany, the one who married the Englishman and moved out to the prairies. That was nice too, in a different sort of way, but I wasn’t truly happy unless I was here, in this house. So much of me is here, all my childhood memories, my dreams and hopes.

       There was never any question that I would live here after my parents passed on. Not like my brother, Will. He was well-named, for he had a very strong will, always at loggerheads with Dad, making Ma cry. He hated being here, couldn’t wait for the day when he became of age and no one could stop him from walking out that door and never coming back. He didn’t, either, not when Dad died, not when Ma, worn down by grief for missing him, finally went into that nursing home because she couldn’t stand to be surrounded by all those memories. Me, I like the reminders, I don’t have a problem with the past, but Ma must have been worried about seeing ghosts, at least later, when she got kind of strange in the head. But Will never came back.

       So, I’ve lived here since I came back from Saskatchewan. I got married in this house. No, Will wasn’t here for that either, even though I wrote him, begging him to come. He invited me and Robert to visit him in Vancouver, but I just never wanted to go that far away again, and once the children started coming along, it just wasn’t going to happen. It’s kind of sad, but then there’s that strong will of his. I’m stubborn, too, I guess, in a different way.

       But it’s not as though Will was always unhappy here. As children we used to have fun together. I remember when cousin Stacy got married and the reception was here and Will snuck a toad into the punch bowl. That was so funny. We laughed about it for years; Ma and Dad did too, even, after they forgot about being mad. No, it wasn’t until Will turned 13 or so that he started butting heads with Dad. I guess it happens in other families, too.

       So, here I am, getting on. Robert’s gone now, and the children are all grown up having their own families. In fact, you can see the painters are here now doing the walls for another wedding next month, this time my oldest grand-daughter is marrying her young man. She asked me, actually. She said, “Gran, is it okay if Pierre and I get married in your house?” and I was tickled pink. Of course they could, why nothing would please me more.

       It’ll be nice to have the place full of laughter again. I’ll pull out my gran’s crystal and serving ware and that same punch bowl, the one Will put the toad in so many years ago. I may have to borrow extra things from the church, but that’s all right. Alice assured me it’ll be a small affair. There aren’t too many of us left here anymore, the mine being closed up and lots of families moved away. I can’t say I really get lonely here; the memories in this old place keep me company. But it’ll be nice to have the children and grandchildren, and I do love a party. I know I shouldn’t hope, but it would be the icing on the cake if Will came. But I know he won’t. Once you’re away from a place too long, you simply can’t find your way back to it again.