House Called Home

I would rather have Mom and Dad here on days like these — not their thoughtful inheritance. If being alone wasn’t challenging enough, being alone thirty weeks pregnant is an unbearable kind of isolation.

I looked at several houses — all unaffordable with one meager income. There has to be a place for my baby and me — a comfortable, warm, and inviting place to make into our home.

Closing in on thirty-one weeks, this motel is less inviting as each dawn and nightfall pass. I do not want to be the “Pathetic young woman with a fatherless child.” I am a young, determined woman abandoned by the baby’s father.

Thirty-two weeks and two days later, I checked the local newspaper’s classified section again. An intriguing ad was on the faded paper: “A proper starter home for a small family. A generational house built in 1926 awaits the joy of a child’s footsteps — a monthly payment of $400.00 with the option to buy. Utilities not included.” The advertisement shared a phone number — a proverbial ladder dangling into the well of despair.

Not being a God-fearing woman, I dialed the phone number and prayed — begged — for this to be the one — our home. The phone rang for a bit, and just as I was to hang up, a breathless voice answered, “Hello, who is calling?”

Ruth and I chatted a bit until we set a time to meet at the rental, “We can meet at three o’clock; I don’t like driving after dark,” she said with a cough.

I pulled into the long, cracked driveway shaded by an umbrella of magnificent old trees. The driveway circled in front of the house, outlining a small area of overgrown wildflowers and weeds. The grass has not been cut in a very long time -years. The small yellow house needs tender, loving care.

I stood on the creaking porch waiting for Ruth. I heard her coughing as she slammed her car door. “She’s not pristine, but with love, she will take care of you and your precious angel.”

A small kitchen with stained wallpaper and a drippy faucet greeted us. The living room was equally quaint, with cloth-covered furniture and a dirty rug, “Sweetie, she comes furnished, and I ask you not to dispose of anything. Not even a doily.”

Ruth waved at the bottom of the stairs for me to go ahead, “These tired lungs and weak heart don’t allow much stair climbing these days. Go ahead — explore.”

The bathroom had a filthy claw-foot bathtub and an equally dirty toilet and sink. There was a musty smell that attacked my nostrils.

“She seems to like you.” Ruth’s voice was a mere whisper. Was she talking to the house or me?

Dusty oversized drop cloths covered the large bedroom’s furniture. I was reaching for the doorknob of the second bedroom when Ruth said, “It’s getting dark, and I need to get home. Come, you can look more in the daylight.”

Since all of the other rentals in this quiet area start at an untouchable rate, how could I turn down this furnished house with the potential to buy? Ruth seemed to know my answer; she took my hand and placed an old skeleton key in it; she gently rubbed my plump belly and smiled, “Welcome home, little one.”

It took me less than a day to pack my belongings. After all, how much can one suitcase hold?

I pulled into the driveway, and the cracks seemed less defined, and the trees appeared alive. The wildflowers were vivid, with heads raised toward the sun.

With a grunt, I pulled myself and, as Ruth said, my precious angel from the car. I collected the old key and my ragged suitcase.

Looking at the doorknob, it was glistening brass, and so was the key. It’s incredible how hope makes everything look different. Old to new. Dark to light. Hopeless to hopeful.

I walked into the kitchen, through the living room, and upstairs — why must the bathroom be upstairs? The bathroom is sunlit and clean. I didn’t mind sitting my bare butt on the toilet seat now. I need to thank Ruth for helping me get the house baby ready.

I needed to lie down. I pulled the dusty cover off the bed to find it adorned with fresh, clean sheets, blankets, and pillows. I quietly whisper, “Thank you, Ruth.” A gentle wisp of air brushed across my face.

It’s been about a week since we moved it, and everything is settling wonderfully. I freed the rest of the beautiful furniture from the dusty coverings. I pretended I didn’t know Ruth snuck in during my work days. Each day, a little more to make things homey and clean. The only room left was the small bedroom.

I put the key into the rusty keyhole of the second bedroom door, which would not unlock. Talking to the door, “It’s okay. I’ll call Ruth -she will know what to do.”

I stood at the kitchen sink, looking out the freshly cleaned window. I noticed that someone mowed the lawn, but who? Just as that thought left my mind, my water broke.

I rushed to the door side table and grabbed my keys. I glance in the mirror; a young couple with arms around each other smiles at me. The pain must be driving me mad. Will I make it to the hospital? I grabbed my cell phone. Suddenly, there was darkness.

My eyes fluttered at the bright light above me — a hospital room. A nurse with a kind face greeted me, “Hi, there. You are a fortunate lady. You would have lost your baby if it weren’t for Ruth and James. Would you like to meet your daughter?”

Holding this beautiful baby girl, I gently touched her pouting lips, “What should I name you?”

I felt a cool breath by my ear; a peaceful word was clear, “Hope.”

I dialed Ruth’s phone number to thank her for all she had done and invite her to meet Hope, “Hello?”

“Um, hi. Is Ruth there?”

“I am sorry. Ruth died about fifteen years ago.”

“No, that can’t be true. I just rented the small house on Lily Lane from her.”

Click — Silence.

Confused, I entered the sunlit kitchen and placed the car seat on the table. I cradled Hope and put the keys on the table under the mirror. I looked up into the oddly clouded mirror. Through the frosted looking-glass, words appeared, “Welcome home, little one.”

Beyond the words, the familiar young couple appeared and faded. I didn’t feel fear when I turned away. I was at ease and comforted.

I kissed Hope’s soft head, “We need to open that door to decorate your room.” I heard a creak at the top of the stairs. I held Hope close to my chest and ascended the staircase. A few steps from the second floor, I saw that the small bedroom door was open.

I quietly made our way to the room. Beyond the door, beautiful pastel colors covered the walls. An old-style rocking chair sat next to a crib fitted with clean linens and a mobile playing a gentle tune. A worn teddy bear sat on neatly folded paper and a sealed envelope. With a sense of welcome and warmth, I unfolded the note, “We have been waiting for you — a beautiful angel to care for and your precious little one — Hope. Love eternal, Ruth and James.”

I carefully opened the envelope with my name written on it. Ruth and James Hubert awarded the deed to me. How? When? Why? These are all questions that I will never have answers to.

While I gently rocked Hope, I heard a quiet lullaby hum fill the room and felt a disembodied kiss on my forehead. I saw an older Ruth and James in the dresser mirror; I whispered, “Thank you.”

Occasionally, the rocking chair gently sways, and soft lullabies fill our house called home.

THE END

Mojha MacDowell

2023