Coming Home Again
By Lucy Allen
Eight o’clock in the morning and already Verona could tell the day was going to be sweltering. Here in her home state of North Carolina, and especially in the Sandhills, the combination of heat and humidity always took her breath away. She would not be deterred, however. This morning, she was making one final stop before she headed away from this area for what was probably the very last time—back to the cooler temperatures of the beautiful Blue Ridge Mountains she now called home.
Six months after her grandmother’s funeral, Verona had come back to her hometown of Sandy Pine with one purpose in mind—to find an antique ladies’ secretary desk. The desk had been the prize of the household and held special meaning for Verona and her grandmother, Rebecca. Then her grandmother had been diagnosed with an aggressive cancer that took her in a matter of months. In her grief, Verona hadn’t thought about her grandmother’s possessions, but now she couldn’t get the desk out of her mind. The realtor who’d sold Rebecca’s house explained that there had been an estate sale, which no one had bothered telling Verona about at the time. For years, other than her grandmother, she’d had no contact with distant relatives scattered across the country.
For the past week, Verona had combed every antiques store and collector’s shop. She’d called furniture restorers and even stopped at a couple of yard sales. Finding her grandmother’s desk seemed like an impossibility.
Verona packed her bags to check out of the quaint bed-and-breakfast that had been her home for the past week. As she gathered up and folded clothes, her mind wandered back to the funeral service—the prayers and hymns to celebrate Rebecca’s homecoming. With each word, Verona had felt a stab of pain at the memory of only seeing her grandmother once before she died. She’d always meant to come back again; then, it was too late.
They had chatted on the phone often. But every time she came home to visit, Rebecca seemed fixated on whether Verona was still committed to her faith. Where are you spending eternity? Each conversation had ended with that nagging question. There had been a time in her life where the answers were different, answers her grandmother would have been happy and relieved to hear. Not anymore.
Verona pulled herself back into the present and went downstairs to have breakfast, then checked out. Before heading back to the Blue Ridge Mountains, she would make one more stop: an antiques and collectibles shop about twenty miles away.
As she drove, Verona’s thoughts drifted through the years. Suddenly, she was a child in Rebecca’s house having been dropped off by her mother, Susan. A single mother with a serious alcohol addiction, Susan would have weeks of sobriety before slipping into binge drinking. During those dark days, when it seemed her mother did not love her, her grandmother explained to Verona how Jesus always loved her. Verona remembered the simple songs and Bible verses her grandmother had taught her, reminders of a God who would never abandon her.
Then there had been the notes—the ones her grandmother began leaving for her in her lunchbox, on the bathroom mirror, on her pillow. Sometimes her grandmother would ask Verona to get something out of the little hidden drawer in the secretary desk, and there would be another note, telling her how much she was loved. It became their special ritual.
Verona always felt the drawer was a magical place, with its green velvety lining, so soft to the touch. She could still picture the inside of that drawer, where her grandmother’s initials, RT, had been stamped many years before. Once, Verona had added her own with a black permanent marker, VT.
Each time she left her grandmother’s house to go back to live with Susan, Verona would always leave a note for Rebecca. I love you, too, Grandma.
During Verona’s first year in college, her mother died. At the time, she hadn’t even been sure where her mother was. The call that she’d died of some fatal combination of substances had been a shock, and yet not surprising. Verona knew her mother had a disease. But if her mother had loved her, why couldn’t she beat the addiction? Maybe her mother just didn’t love her enough. Once that thought implanted itself in her head, it wouldn’t stop. Nothing anyone could say—not her grandmother, not the pastor, not her friends—could get that thought out of her brain.
With her grandmother’s death, Verona lost the only real home she’d ever had. Now, there was no place to go back to for love or encouragement.
Verona crossed the city line into the next town and began looking for the antique store she’d called the day before. They had desks, the owner had told her, and urged her to take a look.
Sucking in a breath, she stepped out of the car and onto the sidewalk. Just a few feet away was the store’s door. Verona started at the front and began her search. The owner approached, offering to help, and showed her several desks—but not her grandmother’s.
“Do you have any more?” she asked.
“You didn’t like the others?” the owner asked.
Verona heard the hitch in her own voice as she told the owner about her grandmother’s desk, how it had been sold in an estate sale.
“Come with me,” the owner said, beckoning her to follow out of the back of the store and into a separate building that held the newest inventory that had yet to be appraised, repaired if needed, and catalogued.
“I’ve been to a few auctions recently and bought a lot of stuff. Haven’t had time to go through all of it yet,” he added. “Maybe there is something in here.”
Another hour went by as Verona dug through stacks of chairs and tables, lamps with dusty shades and others with bare wiring, and cartons stacked four high. In the back, she caught a glimpse of something familiar.
The desk was heavily laden with all manner of glassware, dishes and antique décor. She stepped over and around several objects on the floor to reach what was undeniably her grandmother’s desk.
Her fingers slid to the little compartment and the hidden drawer. Inside were two sets of initials, RT and VT—side by side, for always.
As she ran her hand into the drawer, her fingers touched something. Slowly, Verona extracted a piece of paper that had been rolled and tied with a pale yellow ribbon.
My dearest Verona, I am so sorry I had to leave you. But know this; I will see you again one day. I will always love you. Your Loving Grandmother
Clutching the note to her chest, Verona let the tears fall. She’d come home, again.
Lucy Allen is the author of The Pond and Pearls of Great Price, Christian devotionals that focus on everyday things that teach a scriptural lesson. Her works have also been published online at ChristianDevotions.us and AwakeOurHearts.com. Lucy has been married to her high school sweetheart for nearly 50 years and has two children and three grandchildren.