July 26th
It’s nearly ten years since I stood in this house. I would never have dared return on my own, but my guardian is with me, and we know I’m safe because it’s haymaking, so all the family are up in High Tops and Upper Meadow. I was afraid to return, but my guardian wanted me to see, to understand with adult eyes, what happened here. He is standing in the porch, eyes firmly fixed on the hillside down which any of my family might come.
The paved kitchen floor is shiny. My mother’s still using a splash of milk to polish the flagstones. I can smell it. I can also smell new blacking on the coal range and hear the kettle murmuring as it keeps warm on the hob. It’s ten paces from the back door to the back stairs door, giving access to the small square of rear hallway and my Aunt Tizzie’s stairway. I didn’t know I’d been holding my breath, and it escapes in a pent up gasp when I reach that door. I sneck the latch, and the door creaks open.
There it is. Aunt Tizzie’s stairway with the same blisters in the paint and drab brown drugget on the treads. I lean against the hand rail and look up. How I wish she were here today. I wanted to see her again, see her coming down the stairs and go to milk her cows. And oh, the times she and I sneaked off together. Me clutching her hand, Aunt Tizzie tiptoeing, ready to escape the family, to creep out, away from them all. With eyes closed I can almost feel my Aunt’s hand, her skirt scratching as it catches my legs, and I am nine again, and anything is possible with Aunt Tizzie to help me.