The Visit

By Nellie Gray Canterbury

Nellie Gray Canterbury's book is about looking at the past. It is a novel about two sisters, Anna and Grace, who grew up in West Virginia. They are visiting together and Anna tells Grace the story of their parent's meeting, courting, engagement, and marriage. The language of the book is colloquial and takes the reader back to the early 1900s.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Pocahontas Press
• Release date: Aug 11, 2015

Nellie Gray Canterbury

Nellie Gray Canterbury is an 80+ year old writer who writes books about the old days and poetry about what she is feeling.

Book preview

The Visit

Nellie Grey Canterbury

The Visit

Copyright © 2015 by Nellie Grey Canterbury

Printed in the United States of America

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the written prior permission of the author.

A view from Lee and Annabelle’s two hundred and fifty-eight acres of heaven is captured on the cover by Lena Ruth Marshall

Published by Pocahontas Press, Blacksburg, Virginia

ISBN-10 0-926487-72-8

ISBN-13 978-0-926487-72-7

INTRODUCTION

Anna and Grace were sisters who grew up in the southeastern mountains of West Virginia. Anna and her husband had moved their family to Arizona. Grace had been married to a construction worker and moved throughout many states. They had not seen each other for many years. As time passed they both became widows in their senior years. They now had time to spend together and share the many events that were missing from their past. This wonderful visit would complete their treasured memories.

One

Grace stood at the heavy, ornately carved wooden door. She could see her reflection in its highly glossed finish as she nervously rang the doorbell. Inside, the chimes sounded like church bells ringing. What a rich, resonant sound. It suited the exterior of Anna’s stately two-story residence. White cement lions graced the pillars leading to the side courtyard. Rose bushes heavy with crimson, sweet-smelling blossoms could be seen through a locked iron gate. A stone walkway curved gently back and forth to another locked iron gate. Beyond this gate, she caught the glimpse of a swimming pool surrounded by loungers and umbrella-covered patio tables. Grace thought about the three-room, snake-infested shack they had briefly lived in as children, and a familiar cigarette ad came to mind: You’ve come a long way baby.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the opening of the massive door, and before her stood the petite form of her older sister, Anna. Grace had been promising to visit her for several months. At last, she’d made good on her promise. Anna reminded her of the rose blossoms in her courtyard: beautiful and elegant though Anna’s beauty had not faded. She seemed to have grown more lovely with time.

What took you so long? Anna asked jokingly as they embraced each other. Grace’s eyes became a little teary. She took a deep breath, composed herself, and quickly replied, I took the long way around. They both laughed, and the huge door closed behind them.

Grace and Anna sat around the black wrought iron table in Anna’s warm and inviting kitchen. Grace’s pink coffee cup was almost empty. She fetched the carafe from the coffeemaker and filled their mugs for the third or fourth time. These sisters had been apart for so many years. Anna had left their home in the beautiful, rugged mountains of West Virginia forty years earlier and settled down to raise her family of three boys in the Southwest, some two thousand miles from her parents and five sisters. They had kept in touch by phone. Grace had been widowed at the age of twenty-four. She had struggled through three failed marriages since then and vowed she’d never marry again. Now, she was free to travel and enjoy some other hobbies. Anna’s husband had passed away eight years ago. These two sisters, for the first time in their lives, could sit quietly together reliving the remnants of their past.

There would be bursts of uncontrollable laughter along with floods of tears as they recounted the wide spectrum of events that had led them to this point in time. Both ladies were still young at heart. Both eager, willing, and ready to face any obstacle that might cross their path.

Anna reached across the table and took Grace by the hand, and in a soft, yet commanding voice said, Grace, our husbands and our children are gone; we have no time clocks to punch and no financial worries. All we have left is the time God gives us and our treasure of memories. Let’s take these boxes of memories from the shelves of our minds and share them with the world. With these words, a beautiful, unforgettable visit began.

Grace, did anyone ever tell you how our parents met? Anna, being a little older than Grace had been told many times of this meeting and cherished every detail.

No, Anna, I don’t think I ever really heard all about it. Please tell me, answered Grace.

Well, our mother earned her teaching certificate at the tender age of seventeen. She was assigned to a one-room country school where she taught grades from the first through the eighth. The attendance was so small that some classes would only have one student and others none. She went on to describe the weather-beaten clapboard structure in vivid detail as it had been told to her.

"In a sleepy, little hollow stood this small schoolhouse that at one time had been painted white. The weather through the years had washed away most of the paint, and now it was more of a soft gray. There was an enclosed entryway commonly known as a vestibule. In the vestibule, buckets of water the students had carried from a neighbor’s spring sat on a shelf. This was their drinking water since there was no indoor plumbing in these remote mountain areas. Needless to say, there was no electricity either.

"Behind the schoolhouse stood two small structures called toilets or outhouses—one for the boys and one for the girls. As you entered the schoolroom from the vestibule, there were rows of desks in varying sizes facing the teacher’s big oak desk. Behind the teacher’s desk, a blackboard almost covered the entire width of the wall. A trough protruding from the bottom of the blackboard held pieces of chalk and erasers well worn with years of use. Above the blackboard hung a tinted picture of George Washington. In a corner at the end of the blackboard, the American flag fell in folds in its portable stand. Our mother, as was customary of all teachers back then, would call the roll. The children were asked to stand and bow their heads as they recited the Lord’s prayer in unison; then each student placed his right hand over his heart and pledged allegiance to the flag. This was a very heartfelt practice since America was involved in World War I. This particular day would be especially memorable.

It was a beautiful, warm autumn day. The surrounding forests were decked out in their most brilliant colors of red, yellow, and orange. The smell of fall was in the air. A tall black walnut tree stood in front of the schoolhouse beside the rutted, seldom traveled, dusty road. Miss Marion our mother had dismissed the children for their morning recess. She was a pretty, mature, young lady. Today she wore a pair of shiny high top black leather shoes, very fashionable in those days. She was so proud of her shoes. They had cost her more than a month’s teaching salary. Today she looked pretty. Today she felt pretty, in fact, she was glowing. She was of medium height but a little stout," as pleasingly plump women were called in those days.

"The children were busy playing tag and hide-and-seek, and some were even gathering walnuts. Suddenly, everyone stood quietly still as they spotted a young soldier dressed in full army uniform coming down that rutted, dusty road. He was whistling a tune called ‘It’s A Long Way To Tipperary.’ They watched in awed silence and as he passed by, and each child raised his right hand and saluted this young soldier who was returning from a military assignment that had taken him to Brest, France. He proudly saluted back. How happy he was to be back in his beloved homeland of America. His heart swelled with pride at having served his country and to once again be walking over these dusty country roads of wild, wonderful West Virginia—his home.

That evening, he kept thinking about the stately schoolmarm who stood there hovering over her pupils like an old hen protecting her chicks. Lee, our father, the handsome soldier, was from a large family. His younger siblings attended that little country school.

Grace was listening spellbound. Her heart swelled with pride as she heard about her father, the proud soldier. Tears welled up in her eyes and spilled down her cheeks. Anna took a deep breath and continued in her low, soft voice. It was as if she were reading these vivid details from special pages she had written and stored among the boxes of memories of her mind.

"Miss Marion, or Annabelle, had climbed onto a tree stump that stood about two feet above the ground in the corner of the schoolyard. Without taking her eyes from the form of this soldier, she watched as he disappeared from sight. Still standing there, staring at the footprints he’d left behind in the dust, Annabelle was jarred back to reality by a tug at the bottom of her skirt. She looked down into the excited face of Martha Andrews, one of her older students. She and Martha were about the same size. They had grown to be very good friends, however, at school they had a teacher-student relationship.

"‘Annabelle, excuse me, I mean Miss Marion, that soldier is my brother. He’s been away for a long time in the war, you know! I’m so happy and excited that he’s finally come home.’ She was half laughing and crying.

"‘Martha, I didn’t know you had an older brother in the army. I’m sure you’re very proud of him,’ said Annabelle, still captivated by the sight of this handsome passing stranger.

"‘Well, you see, he’s been gone so long I almost didn’t recognize him. Isn’t he handsome in his uniform?’ chirruped Martha.

‘Yes, Martha, he is a fine-looking soldier. At first, I thought it was one of Henry Jackson’s boys,’ added Annabelle. She walked toward the schoolhouse and rang the bell. Recess was over. The children were still excited and she was... well, she was just plain befuddled. She could not keep her mind from wandering down that lonely country road.

Two

Martha, along with her brothers and sisters, rushed home from school. They were so happy to see Lee. He looked so much older and more grown up. Lee hugged his siblings, and they talked about a lot of different things. There was a lot of catching up to do. He could hardly wait to draw Martha aside.

"‘Marty,’—that’s what he always called her—‘who was that big, fat bitch wearing them shiny shoes?’ he asked.

"‘Lee, is that the kind of talk you learned in the army? Mommy and Daddy won’t stand for that kind of language around here. That girl just happens to be our new schoolteacher and my best friend. Her name is Annabelle Marion. I’m almost as old as she is. Sometimes she comes over, and we help Mommy with the chores. Last week we shelled beans and sliced apples to dry for winter. On Saturday night we went to a pie supper. All the boys wanted to buy Annabelle’s apple pie just so they could sit with her. She makes the best apple pie in the whole world. Besides being a good teacher, Annabelle is really a good cook. Why, she even worked in a candy factory out in Kansas before moving here,’ Martha’s voice trailed off after defending her friend.

"‘So, it’s Annabelle, huh? What happened to Miss Marion?’ asked Lee.

"‘You don’t understand, Lee. At school she is Miss Marion. When she’s not at school, it’s Annabelle. She says it wouldn’t be proper for me to call her Annabelle at school in front of the other children. I’m gonna ask Mommy if Annabelle can come home with me from school this Friday evening. Maybe she can spend the whole weekend. We could make some candy or sugar cookies. We could even do the churning while Mommy finishes sewing the dress she wants to wear to preaching,’ Martha was so excited just talking about Annabelle’s visit.

"Lee’s ears took in every word Martha had said. He thought about the shiny black shoes and the golden-haired girl who wore them. He’d sailed to France and back, and no woman had held his interest like the schoolmarm from the little one-room country school just around the bend from his home. Lee was getting on in years. He’d never seriously been interested in girls. His twenty-fifth birthday was just a few weeks away. If he didn’t watch out, he’d be an old bachelor. He figured Annabelle to be about eighteen or just a little older than Martha. That was a bit young, but it did not dampen his interest in her in the least; in fact, he admired a girl who could hold a teaching position at such a tender age. Lee wondered how many boyfriends Annabelle had, but he dared not ask Martha.

"There was so much work to do on the farm getting things rounded up for the coming winter. Frost was in the air this crisp Thursday morning. His warm breath formed small clouds as he drove the cows into the barn for their morning milking. The rest of the day was spent chopping and stacking firewood. A fire in the big fieldstone fireplace would feel mighty good on these chilly fall nights. Lee loved to sit in front of the fireplace and warm his feet just before going to bed. As he crouched with his buddies in those cold, muddy trenches thousands of miles from home, he dreamed of times spent with his family around a roaring fire baking potatoes in its ashes and popping corn over its flames. There were times when he wondered if he would ever be home again. Many who served with him would not be so lucky. War is so cruel.

"Leaning against the old rail fence, Lee drank in all the beauty of his surroundings: the shocks of corn,tall, cone-shaped haystacks, and the old barn with loose and missing boards. He heard the chickens clucking as they scratched in the loose dirt. The tinkling of cowbells filled the air as the cows busily plucked at blades of grass. The hillside was dotted with fluffy, white sheep. The most cherished object in this panoramic view was the house he had helped Daddy build before he went to war. He thanked God, for the millionth time, to be back home safe and sound with his family, for he was truly blessed.

"The sun was fast setting behind the tree clad hills. Their brilliant leaves, still clinging to the branches, would soon fall prey to the frosty nights and the howling winds. The commanding clang of the big iron dinner bell that hung dutifully from a post near the kitchen door was the sound that drew the whole family together. They knew it was time to wash up and gather around the big dining table Daddy made from lumber harvested from his land. The kids had come home from school and scurried about doing their daily evening chores. They were anxious to sit down to the table loaded with Lee’s favorite food and hear him tell about his war experiences. He had told about eating the scarce, tasteless rations.

"Each one sat at his chosen place. Lee’s place at the table had been vacant for what seemed like an eternity. Tonight Martha sat proudly beside him.

"‘Mommy, Miss Marion said she could come home with me tomorrow from school to spend the weekend if her Ma got to feeling better. If you plan to make apple butter, we can help with the stirring,’ Martha rambled on. She loved to spend time with Annabelle on a girl-to-girl basis.

"After supper the girls washed the dishes. The boys locked the hen house door and carried in wood and kindling, so Mommy could fire up the big, black cook stove before nightfall. Lee filled the oil lamps from a five gallon can of kerosene. Bedtime always came early out here in the country. The silence of night was broken only by the call of a whippoorwill while the moon cast dark shadows all around. Lee climbed the narrow stairs to his old bedroom. The tongue and groove, beaded pine walls rose from the floor about four feet then ran at an angle with the roof. He sank into the feather bed made from feathers plucked from their geese and chickens. There were layers of patchwork quilts Mommy had sewn together from their discarded pants and coats. The wool batting had come from the sheep they had sheared in the early spring. Then she had tacked the quilts with strands of yarn she had spun from the wool. This bed was a far cry from the battlefields of World War I.

Reviews for The Visit

[J K · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

Love the setting, characters, and the story. A moving love story. Makes you want to see these places. Thank you, God bless