“Morning Has Broken”
Listen to “Journey Home”
This is a mysterious first-person story, deliberately written to read as if it were the last chapter of a long novel. It was written during the winter of 1969, considerably later than the other Riverdale stories and really has nothing at all to do with Riverdale. Or does it?…
*****
I remember the night well. It was blistering cold and the wind whipped the snow savagely around the old brick house. The fire burned low on the hearth, but I was not warm inside. I had paced restlessly across the big hooked rug as the eerie flames flickered my already trembling shadow onto the gray wall behind me.
But now I sat quietly and gazed through the slitted curtains for a long while. I knew the moon would have been shining across the snow-blanketed countryside had the clouds not pressed so thickly to the earth. Now there was no moon, no stars—only the moan of a lonely wind through the naked trees.
Suddenly the boy burst into the room. He was covered with melting snow from head to foot. In the light of the red lantern he carried, I noticed his reddened cheeks and bright blue eyes.
“Missy Lora?” He gave me a shy, questioning look as he held out a black-gloved hand. “Dees fo’ you, mum!”
Wordlessly, I took the unwelcome envelope.
From somewhere in the back room I heard the housemaster call in his low friendly manner, “Come, Sonny, have a bit of hot tea before going on.” And the boy disappeared as quickly as he had come.
In choking silence, I tore open the letter. It was brief. Although I had been half expecting it, somehow it was unbelievingly stinging. I felt as if a great bony hand had suddenly closed in around me. I wanted to scream or run—or something. But I stood numbed in front of the fire. Almost without thinking, I tossed in the crumpled pages.
Just then the housemaster came into the room. I must have started when I heard his footsteps, for he asked me, “Something troubling you, Missy?”
I turned but I could not speak. I stared far past him, trying to imagine what might happen to me now. Hurriedly I left the room.
“There’s still some hot tea in the kitchen,” he called up the stairs after me. “Do get a good night’s sleep, Missy!”
I went into my room but I knew I could not obey. I looked around quickly. The place was tidy, its furnishings few. But my eyes fell upon the table. Just where I had left it earlier that day, lay the ring. For a speechless moment that seemed like an eternity, it held me spellbound. A thousand thoughts rushed in and out of my mind. I saw the summer days by the lake, and the green forest and its deep, sweet peace. I knew it was all over, and I could hold back no longer.
My head was spinning as I slipped the ring onto my hand. Then, before I knew what I was doing, I was outside. The sharp chill must have temporarily brought me halfway to my senses. The wind had subsided but the night was bitter cold.
I stumbled on through the snow. The tears were streaming down my cheeks by this time. Twice I brushed a frozen salty bead of water from my chin. I was tired, very tired, but at last I reached the forest. It looked so different from the last time I had been there–last autumn just as the leaves had begun to turn. Now there seemed to be only a skimpy mass of rough crooked sticks protruding from the white expanse of snow.
With what seemed like my last ounce of energy, I made my way to the cave at the foot of the hill. It wasn’t a cave, really, just a big hollow in the rock where we had spent many hours together with the warm breezes playing around us.
The cave was empty but it seemed to shelter me somewhat from the cold. I looked down at my hands and tried to move them. I brought first one then the other to my ears then to my nose. I felt nothing. But the ring on my finger looked shiny, almost new again. My tears had stopped. I felt the day had drained me of all that I could be. My blind frustration was turning into stolid indifference. I felt strangely warm and sleepy all over….
I don’t know how long I lay in the snow before they came and took me back to the house. I only remember waking in a dim, yellow room and a soft bed. The door creaked slightly and I saw the boy again, standing there. He wore the same shy look as he ventured inside. I felt angry but only for a moment. I must have smiled then for he smiled, too.
“How you feel, Missy?” He came over to my side.
“Wh-where am I, Sonny?” My voice sounded hoarse and funny.
“In your room.” He seemed puzzled. “Dee houseman, he carry you back from woods. I fin’ yo’ dar in snow last night and…” His proud words trailed off as he searched my face for some response.
“Sonny.” I had gained control of my words by this time. “Don’t you think I should leave—I mean, go someplace, away from here?”
“But not in blizzard, Missy!” His blue eyes widened.
I laughed roughly. “Tell me, Sonny, today the housemaster goes into the city to market, hey?”
“Oh, yes, mum! He prepare carriage now.”
“Then, run! Tell him I’m going with him today. Hurry, now; I must get ready!”
He stared at me a long moment, then turned and scurried awkwardly out. Sonny wouldn’t have understood any more of an explanation.
The sun was shining when I walked out of the house, my belongings tucked away in the two small bags that I carried. I breathed deeply. Snow glistened along the path to the stables. Sonny was helping fasten the horses when they saw me.
“Well, Missy, what are you taking to market today?” The housemaster laughed good-naturedly as he took my bags and tossed them lightly into the carriage. I laughed, too, and took his hand as he helped me in. Neither of us spoke of the night before.
When he had seated himself at the reins, I spoke—half to him, half to Sonny who still stood by with the same puzzlement at ever. “I am leaving today,” I announced bravely. “I’ve—I’ve been here a long time. I must go. It wouldn’t be the same for me here anymore, you know…”
There was a long tense silence. “Well,” the housemaster’s quiet voice broke in, “it is your decision, Missy.”
“I loved it here, really!” I was choked with emotion. “Your lakes, your forest, your skies—even your snow. Especially your house.” I looked at the old man beside me. He said nothing; only a pleased, gentle half-smile crossed his wrinkled face.
“I—I can’t stay, not now.” I looked toward Sonny–I had to–I felt his uninterrupted gaze upon me, this mysterious strange-acting woman.
He bit his lip. “We mees you, mum!”
Suddenly I grabbed my hand and jerked off the ring. At once I held it out toward the boy. “From Missy,” I said.
Without a word, he took it. In return, he gave me a look I shall never forget.
The horses neighed impatiently. “Goodbye, Sonny.” The words were barely audible. “Tell them—tell them that I’m going home. And the carriage was gone.
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