Quest For the Homestead

Quest for the Homestead

I placed the box at the table along with the envelope; "To Madeline, My Madie" written across it. Inside was a letter describing the trip we were about to take and in the box were my mom's cremated remains. Diagnosed with Lewy dementia three years earlier, she had gone downhill considerably since moving in with her. I was a nurse at the local hospital which allowed me to have a somewhat predictable schedule. Mom had become very forgetful; hallucinating most evenings. Not wanting to eat nor sleep had destroyed her health. It was pneumonia that had put her into hospice and the last month had been miserable for both of us.

In the letter, she talked about the man who should have been my father. I had never met this person; but knew he had abandoned us both before my birth. He was in the VA hospital in Shreveport and how she knew that I don't have a clue. We were to travel there to see him and get the directions to the Old Homestead. She wanted her ashes spread under a large pear tree on that property. Seemed simple enough; I knew Shreveport from attending nursing school there. The VA hospital was close to Barksdale, the military base in the area. Barksdale had always seemed like a funny name to me.

Carrying the box that held my mom's ashes, I placed it into the passenger seat of my car; this would be the final trip we would take together. Driving out of Lafayette, the pink morning skies were becoming brighter. Starlings were drifting in waves into the heavily draped woods that masked the swampy areas hidden within. I reached over and gave my mom's container a soft pat; remembering the person she had once been.

Driving into Shreveport later that morning, I went directly to the VA hospital; locked the car and went inside.

"I am here to see Michael Moreau." speaking to the receptionist. Checking her computer, I was directed to an area reserved for terminal patients. The nurse informed me that he was very ill; a victim of Agent Orange - a deadly herbicide that had been used in Viet Nam to destroy vegetation. They had stopped using it in 1971; the year he had been deployed into combat there. It coincidentally was the same year I was born; over thirty-five years, ago.

Walking into see him, I was horrified. It stunned me to see what could only be described as a shell of a man. I told him who my mother was and that I needed directions to find the Old Homestead that she had talked about. An almost hollow stare met my eyes.

"I am sorry; but I am not your father." he said. Reaching into his nightstand, he pulled out a letter. The directions to the Homestead were written on the yellowed envelope.

"Give this to my sister when you see her. She will tell you who your father is." he said.

With that he simply looked at me again with those hollow eyes and then just turned away.

Quickly leaving the hospital, I got back into the car. Turning to my mom's container I said, "Can you believe that guy?" A small town called Pleasant Hill was the first landmark on the yellowed envelope. We were on our way after finding it on the map; not far. At Pleasant Hill, turn at the Old Halfway Inn and go north until you cross a creek. A wooden bridge would be the crossing and the Homestead is to the left as you cross.

Crossing the bridge, I noticed the sparkling little creek with wildflowers everywhere. A flock of angry crows flew ahead of me. Then there it was; a cute little house just ahead. Pulling into the short drive, I noticed a giant pear tree to the right of me on a hill. I couldn't believe that we were here.

There was a sweet little lady sitting in a swing on the porch. At her feet lay an elderly Golden Retriever who perked up his ears as the car rolled up. Getting out, I explained that I had a letter from Michael Moreau.

"Come on up here, sweetie; I am your Aunt Kathleen." she said. Patting her hand on the seat next to her, I sat down.

Her yard was beautiful with all sorts of flowers and bees working the blooms; little birds were everywhere. Her dog started wagging his tail as I pat the top of his head.

After opening the letter, a tear started down her cheek. "I've made some sandwiches; won't you have one?" she said.

Handing me a peanut butter and banana sandwich, startled I said," I love these. I used to have them as a child."

Oddly she pulled out some black and white photos. One was of my mom, Michael Moreau, Aunt Kathleen and another man. She said," That is Curtis, he was my husband." She handed me another picture of Curtis and a little girl sitting on his lap.

"That is you in the picture" she said. "This is your father". I looked at her with amazement.

"My brother could not conceive children; nor could I." she said. "Your Mom and Curtis conceived you. I forgave him; but my brother could not forgive your mother and so he left to join the Army. My husband, your father, was killed in a horrible automobile accident soon after that picture was taken of you and him together."

I told her my journey here was to spread my mom's ashes at the pear tree on that hill. "Well, you'd better get to it before it gets too late in the day. Here, take the picture of you and Curtis; I'll be alright." she said.

At that moment, the cutest little puppy was by my car in the driveway. Kathleen told me that the puppy was one from her dog, Atlas. Reaching down to

pet the puppy, he was all over me with excitement. Retrieving my mom's container and walking up the hill, the puppy was right at my heels. Quickly getting to the pear tree and setting the container down at the base. After spreading her ashes around the tree, I reached up to grab a pear from the tree and took a big bite. Below, there was a small pond and a row of tombstones in a fenced area. We ran down to them and I started to read the names. There was a collection of weathered stones and one was for Curtis Jenkins, died August 6, 1975. Another one next to his read Kathleen Jenkins; died August 6, 1975. My heart almost stopped. Running back up the hill to the pear tree, I looked down. The beautiful little house was now a dilapidated shack totally overgrown. Kathleen was gone, Atlas was gone and the house was a ruin.

As I got to my car, the puppy was still with me. Opening the door he quickly jumped in. "Think I'll name you Barksdale." I said as we drove off to cross the creek. It was starting to get dark; there were fireflies everywhere.

I just remembered Kathleen saying, "I'll be alright."

I think I will be, too.