Coming Home
By William Louis Widmaier
She walked into the old house and the smell welcomed her.
The large fireplace, while dusty and providing a home to more than a few spiders still spoke of quite evening fires and of warmth and peace. The tiled floors needed a good sweeping; yet hinted at coolness on bare feet in the summer.
She could see this from the door, and with these sights a weight began to lift. She didn’t know what the weight was, but it was lifting.
Something she had been carrying her whole life and never knew was lifted, and all she could do was wonder at it, be thankful, and continue on.
She walked into the kitchen and stared at the big six burner stove, the large and small oven, the ancient chopping block the size of an office table with it's smoothly dipping center curve caused by years of use, the brass rack to hang her pots and pans, itself hanging by chains from the 12 foot ceiling, and the giant stone two basin sink.
She smiled as she realized she was salivating.br
The kitchen hadn’t been used in years, yet it still smelled like the memory of fresh herbs, baked breads, and roasting meats.
The bathroom had a big ancient bathtub with clawed feet holding onto spheres resting on the white hexagon tiled floor. Though it had been there a long time it was still in excellent shape with hardly any stain on the enamel. She tested the faucet and it only took ten seconds for the hot water to come gushing out. Not the small stream you get in modern households, but a satisfying torrent that can fill a tub in just a few minutes. She knew without looking that the heater would be a big one, probably fifty years old and prone to making wonderous noises. A small window in the bathroom overlooked the overgrown kitchen garden.
The bedroom also had a fireplace, though smaller then the living room. She pushed open the big blue shutters and stepped out onto the leaf-strewn balcony. The air was clean and fresh with a hint of berries in the light breeze.
Turning around she couldn’t help but smile at the big four-poster cherry wood bed. By the time she added a mattress and box spring the top would stand a good three feet off the floor.
A cat came in, did a circuit of the room, and came to a stop at her feet, turned to face her and sat down looking at her. One ear was shredded, but the cat clearly wore it as a badge of honor. She wondered what his name was. As she scratched the back of his ears the cat began to purr.