The smell of an early autumn evening enveloped him as he stepped from the
train, welcoming him home in a way that was greater than he could have ever
imagined He was suddenly overcome with memories of his brothers' football
games in the afternoons, long walks with his sisters along Rainbow Valley
painted crimson, canary, and a carroty orange by God's hands, his mother's
smile, his father's sturdy hand supporting him, and a certain pair of
almond- shaped, somewhat wistful and sorrowful dark-blue eyes that would
not leave his mind. Several years had passed since he last left the train
station of the small community of Glen St. Mary. He was home again,
finally, and to him, it seemed as if he had left only a year before.
It had taken but a few short seconds to notice that things had definitely changed, and the welcoming aura around him quickly disappeared. There were more automobiles parked here and there. New businesses had sprung up where there had only been a few when he left.
Of course, his own perception of things had changed too. He had seen sights no man should ever be forced to witness. He had done things he would never have imagined doing before he left. Now he was finally home, the place to which he had wanted so badly to return, and he couldn't help but hesitate. If just the town had changed so much, what had become of those he had left and loved so dearly? What had become of his siblings? How had they commenced their lives? Were his parents well? God forbid: what if they weren't still living?
All of these apprehensions and more made him prolong his return. He decided to enter into an eating establishment that was new to him, hoping that no one would recognize him before he could make himself known. He sat in a dark corner of the restaurant, ordering only a coffee, listening to everyone else's conversations, hoping to possibly get some word from home, however he didn't receive his wish.
He finished his coffee and left, deciding to walk the greatest distance home in order to hopefully calm his nerves. He kept wondering if he would run into someone that he had known, but only strangers greeted him as he walked the street. Deeply in need of encouragement, he looked to the east and saw a very welcome and familiar sight, the church he had attended as a child and young adult. It was a very familiar place because of his family's close connection to the parson and his family. Being there made him feel closer to her, so he couldn't resist stepping inside the little sanctuary.
Time had been kind to the little country church. Little had changed in all the years since he had to leave. He walked to his family's pew and sat down, remembering all the Sundays he spent in attendance and the innocent life he had left behind. He sat there a while, remembering and praying for the strength to continue with his journey when something on the wall above the pew caught his eye. The evening sun glistened on a tablet hanging on the wall, which simply stated, "Sacred to the memory of Walter Cuthbert Blythe." Then and only then, did the reality of everything hit him, and he wondered whether he should even bother to return home leave things as they were. After all, the life he had lived the past few years had brought him much joy despite sorrow. Hadn't life given him enough drama in such a short time? Hadn't his family lived through enough turmoil?
He sighed, leaning his head against the back of the pew. He knew the answer to the question, and he was aware that he could not take the easy road. He had to fill in the missing pieces of his two lives, and somehow put them together; his life before 1916 and his life after 1916.
It had taken but a few short seconds to notice that things had definitely changed, and the welcoming aura around him quickly disappeared. There were more automobiles parked here and there. New businesses had sprung up where there had only been a few when he left.
Of course, his own perception of things had changed too. He had seen sights no man should ever be forced to witness. He had done things he would never have imagined doing before he left. Now he was finally home, the place to which he had wanted so badly to return, and he couldn't help but hesitate. If just the town had changed so much, what had become of those he had left and loved so dearly? What had become of his siblings? How had they commenced their lives? Were his parents well? God forbid: what if they weren't still living?
All of these apprehensions and more made him prolong his return. He decided to enter into an eating establishment that was new to him, hoping that no one would recognize him before he could make himself known. He sat in a dark corner of the restaurant, ordering only a coffee, listening to everyone else's conversations, hoping to possibly get some word from home, however he didn't receive his wish.
He finished his coffee and left, deciding to walk the greatest distance home in order to hopefully calm his nerves. He kept wondering if he would run into someone that he had known, but only strangers greeted him as he walked the street. Deeply in need of encouragement, he looked to the east and saw a very welcome and familiar sight, the church he had attended as a child and young adult. It was a very familiar place because of his family's close connection to the parson and his family. Being there made him feel closer to her, so he couldn't resist stepping inside the little sanctuary.
Time had been kind to the little country church. Little had changed in all the years since he had to leave. He walked to his family's pew and sat down, remembering all the Sundays he spent in attendance and the innocent life he had left behind. He sat there a while, remembering and praying for the strength to continue with his journey when something on the wall above the pew caught his eye. The evening sun glistened on a tablet hanging on the wall, which simply stated, "Sacred to the memory of Walter Cuthbert Blythe." Then and only then, did the reality of everything hit him, and he wondered whether he should even bother to return home leave things as they were. After all, the life he had lived the past few years had brought him much joy despite sorrow. Hadn't life given him enough drama in such a short time? Hadn't his family lived through enough turmoil?
He sighed, leaning his head against the back of the pew. He knew the answer to the question, and he was aware that he could not take the easy road. He had to fill in the missing pieces of his two lives, and somehow put them together; his life before 1916 and his life after 1916.