Millie cried off an’ on during the whole car ride back to her old stompin’ grounds of Dawsonville, Georgia. See, two days ago she got the news her sister, Emma, passed on an’ well, poor Millie jus’ fell apart. Can’t say I blame her. Seein’ her sister was gone now, that left Millie the last descendent in a long line of Hudsons, an’ bein’ a spinster, she ain’t never had no kids of her own. Now Emma on the other hand been married three times an’ had a couple of grown-up kids somewhere – last I heard, one’d disappeared somewhere in Nevada; the other was livin’ the fancy life in England. Over the years, Millie’d listen to her sister lament about how she never knew how ’em kids were gettin’ along an’ it made Millie so angry sometimes thinkin’ about ’em rotten youngins. Lawdy, she’d bitch an’ moan for hours about the way those inconsiderate brats left their mama all alone in that big house out in the middle of nowhere. Now, sittin’ in the back seat of the Mercedes, she wondered aloud how they reacted to the news of their mama’s death, if they’d heard the news a’tall.
Millie slapped her gloved hand on the back of the driver’s seat ‘causin’ that sweet caregiver of hers, Jacob, to flinch at the wheel. “Oh, what am I sayin’. Of course they’ve heard. Tell those rotten youngins’ that their mama ain’t got much time on this earth and they don’t even bother sending her a damn get-well card. But watch. They’ll get notified she’s dead and they’ll be swarming like vultures. Trust me. Emma won’t be five minutes in her grave before those kids will be putting their names on every damn thing in that house.” She folded her frail hands in her lap an’ looked out of the window. I saw a slight smile reflect in the tinted glass. “But I’ve got news for them,” she continued. “That house is mine and they’ll have to walk on my grave before they’ll take a dust bunny from the premises.”
I smiled. Now that’s my Millie. Feisty to the end.
Millie’s arthritis started actin’ up somethin’ fierce about an hour outside her hometown an’ the rain – well it ain’t helped a bit. It jus’ made her cough worse and the ground all soggy an’ such. I worry ’bout my Millie. Ever since I known her, she’s had a chronic cough an’ lately she’s taken to havin’ those clear tubes stuck in her nose an’ a noisy clicky machine that breathes for her. But in spite of all her ailments, she ain’t never looked back an’ felt sorry for herself. She’s had a good eighty-one years on this God’s green earth an’ she’d always taken righty might good care of me over the years. Yep. You won’t ever find a better friend than Millie Hudson.
It’d taken ‘bout three hours to make the drive from Jonesboro to Millie’s childhood home in the Blue Ridge Mountains. We stopped at the old general store at Millie’s insistence ’cause she just had to have a Coca Cola. Millie loves them Coca Colas. She ain’t supposed to have them, bein’ all sickly and such, but she figured the good Lawd gonna take her soon anyways, she might as well be happy. Jacob came back out shielded beneath an umbrella with old Mr. McMurry at his side. I tell you what. I thought me and Millie was old but this man – well he looked like he’d done died and risen again – all skin and bones, but mostly bones. He shuffled over to the car and peeked his powder blue eyes over the top of the window Millie’d lowered just a little. He offered his condolences then waved us off on our way. Lookin’ at him I mus’ say I suspect he’s goin’ to be right behind Millie soon, findin’ his final restin’ spot ‘neath the azaleas.
We traveled on for a while bouncin’ an’ flouncin’ over the pot-holed roads. Finally, as if God had no more tears to spend, the rain let up an’ the sun poked its bright head out from behind ‘em ol’ rain clouds. That was right near the time Jacob turned down the ol’ familiar road, the wheels grindin’ an’ spittin’ out the gravel. Millie sat more upright now an’ slid a little closer to me, though her eyes were focused straight ahead.
Now I gotta tell you, there ain’t much to say ‘bout the two-story weathered house that stands at the end of the long drive. The lemon-yellow paint’d peeled away years ago from the ol’ farmhouse, exposin’ its natural sensibility an’ age. Broken shutters drooped now from the cracked frames around the windowpanes. Vibrant wild flowers mixed up with spindly weeds an’ wild honeysuckle had done taken over the prize-winnin’ gardens. In the front yard an old horse-drawn carriage tilted up on a tree stump still deeply rooted in the parched lawn. Can’t say much was left of the picket fence Millie an’ I used to play on when we was little; many of its railin’s have broken or disappeared all together. As we pulled to a stop, my eyes wandered toward the lone headstone in the side yard. Mama. To my amazement it still stood strong an’ upright with the same strength an’ fortitude of the old woman it honors.
We stepped from the cool comfort of the climate-controlled car into the hot swelterin’ Georgia sun. I could feel the heat an’ sweat poolin’ beneath my hair but Millie, she done pulled her sweater tight about her an’ re-stuck a bobby pin in the silver bun restin’ on the nape of her neck. As she waited for Jacob to hook up her breathin’ equipment, I took a short look around. Lawd, the heat was suffocatin’ but them robins an’ blue jays – they don’t seem to pay no never mind. They be jus’ flittin’ about, squawkin’ an’ singin’ like they be praisin’ the heavens or somethin’.
I jus’ stood there buried in my own thoughts watchin’ them birds rustlin’ ’round the ol’ oak tree when I heard Millie shuffle up behind me. “My, my,” she say. “Look at them. Just as happy as can be. Oh, what I would do to be one of them for a day – to not worry about anything, especially good for nothing relatives, to not even be privy to my own mortality but to live each second of every day as nature intended.”
I didn’t answer ’cause Millie gets into these reflective moods from time to time an’ the best thing to do is jus’ listen. Otherwise she gets a little cantankerous, ’specially if you disagree with her. Why, I remember one time she dumped a bushel of fresh picked green beans on Emma’s head jus’ because she’d disagreed with Millie that the violets in the field were purple in color, not lavender. I’d never seen two kids argue over somethin’ so stupid. Millie’d turned to me at the time an’ asked me what I thought, but I knew better. Uh uh. I wasn’t gonna get in the middle of that one so I got up an’ went ’bout my business. That’s what you had to do with Millie. When she got somethin’ set in her head it’d do you good if you jus’ went along, no matter how wrong she might be. It kept the peace an’ peace was always a good thing in the Hudson household.
We climbed the five weathered steps to the front porch. A breeze came ’round the corner unexpected like an’ caught Millie by surprise. She closed her eyes an’ lifted her head to the sky. “My, oh my, can you smell the biscuits baking? It’s been a long time, Jacob,” she said, takin’ his hand. “Now open these here doors and let me inside my home.”
Jacob fiddled with the key an’ inserted it into the old-fashioned lock. The tumblers turned as his hand wrapped ’round the iron doorknob. The door to our past opened.
I could see the nostalgia sweep over Millie’s face as we stepped over the threshold into the antechamber. The dust-covered cherry wood hat stand her Uncle Jake’d made still stood in the corner next to the bench her grandfather’d built from the same tree. A tear filled her eyes as a gloved hand stroked the strong wood.
“I never told you the story about this hat stand did I, Jacob?”
The young man shook his head an’ said, “No, ma’am, Miss Millie.”
Millie withdrew her soft, speckled hands from her gloves an’ sat down on the bench, her fingertips brushin’ the haze from the red wood. “I must have been about four, five years of age. You see, there’d been a horrible storm that night. I remember flinging myself into the big feather bed with mama and daddy, and hiding under the covers. The wind howled something atrocious and the rain fell in blinding sheets all night long. Thunder rolled over the house and I remember feeling the earth rattle with each boom. Then lightening cracked like a whip and then something large, like a monstrous beast, crashed to the ground. I curled my tiny body up next to daddy, Emma nestled in Mama’s arms, and I remember feeling so safe, as if nothing could ever harm me so long as I lay in daddy’s big, strong arms. He became my hero, the knight of my life that night. Looking back, I suppose it’s because of him I never married. I just couldn’t find another man out there with my daddy’s saintly soul. He was so kind – soft-spoken and gentle and never had a bad word to say about anyone, and my, when he sang in the Sunday choir, his baritone voice rattled the foundation of the church.” A reflective smile flitted across her face and disappeared.
“Anyway, the next morning we awoke to sunlight filtering through the window, the light dancin’ off the yellow wallpaper dotted with blue forget-me-nots. The storm had passed. The smell of bacon and sausage greeted Emma and me as we made our way down the stairs into the kitchen. The back porch door was open and I followed daddy outside. I could not believe my eyes when I saw the beautiful cherry tree, fresh with new fragrant springtime blossoms, laying on its side, its roots naked and exposed to the sky. Oh, my how I felt sad, as if there were something unjust about its demise.
“I remember helping my grandmother make biscuits that morning. She asked why I looked so sad and I told her. She poured buttermilk over my fingers and helped me fluff the dough. Then standing behind me she helped my small hands knead the soft mixture. As she did so, she said to me – ‘Millie, all things have their time and their seasons. Everything that lives must eventually die. What matters most is not the manner in which life leaves this world; rather it is how others remember that life while it was here. That tree did not cease to indulge in life for fear it may die. It lived brilliantly, even until the end. Now wash up and run along. Go, child and have your father cut a few sprigs of cherry blossoms. When you return, we will place them in the magic vase and together we shall celebrate that magnificent tree’s glorious life.’ Millie hesitated for a moment and then said, “Do you know, Jacob, the buds on those cut sprigs bloomed for nearly two weeks?”
Jacob, touched by the story, opened the interior doors an’ stepped into the hallway leading to the kitchen. I glanced up the stairs to my right, anxious to return to Millie’s old room where we used to play for hours, but that would come later. Millie had to say hello to the rest of the home she ain’t seen in thirty years.
We walked down the dark hallway, the floorboards creakin’ beneath every step. Millie stopped in the threshold of the livin’ room an’ looked around. She musta been thinkin’ ’bout her mama ’cause the tears started flowin’, not so hard like but enough to make her sniffle an’ wipe her eyes.
“Are you all right, Miss Millie?” Jacob asked. He’s such a nice man, that Jacob.
Millie nodded. “I spent many a day in this room, sitting in that couch over there, the one covered in pink rosebuds, listening to Mama tell me her stories of growing up. She taught me how to sew and read in this room. She died in that old chair over there next to the window, a knitting needle in her hand. Oh, how she loved to knit. And she loved that window where she could look out onto the yard and watch Emma and me play.” Her voice choked up a little. “Poor Emma. She was the one who found Mama, all crumpled over her latest project – a blanket she was making for Emma’s first born. It nearly broke our hearts. It did break papa’s and I guess God knew it because it was no more than six months later Papa got struck by lightning while out in the field. We wanted to bury him next to Mama, but his hoity toity family had such a conniption that we finally agreed to let ‘em take him back to Mount Airy, North Carolina. But I guess it doesn’t matter where you’re buried, does it, as long as you’re in the afterlife together.”
We followed Millie from the room, down the hall past the bathroom an’ formal dinin’ room, which to my knowledge was never used for nothin’ more than storage, an’ made our way into the kitchen. Except for the sink full of dishes, it was jus’ the way I remembered – bright an’ airy with lots of windows lookin’ out onto the big back yard. Millie brushed her fingertips over the Formica countertop then, appearin’ somewhat tired, sat down on the long bench seat next to the dinin’ table. Jacob rummaged through the cabinets an’ brought down a glass, filled it with ice an’ water, an’ brought it to Millie who thanked him graciously. We’d no more sat there for five minutes, baskin’ in the peace an’ quiet, when Lawd have mercy, the front door bangs open an’ lets in a ramblin’ mess of folks.
I ain’t heard so much racket in all my born days. “Bobby Jean, stop running.” “Philip, get down off those steps.” Why, it sounded like the circus done come to town an’ the high wire acts were gettin’ their practice in. A herd of footsteps came boomin’ down the hallway into the kitchen. We all looked up to see Sarah Jane, Emma’s first born, stalk into the room all dressed in some garish excuse for clothin’. I laughed inside at Millie’s face. It got all tight, her jaw set rigid, her eyes got all small an’ beady like. No, there weren’t no love lost between them two.
Sarah Jane kicked off those high heel shoes an’ hurried over to Millie, fallin’ to her knees an’ wrappin’ her arms around Millie’s neck. “Oh, Aunt Millie,” she blubbered away. “I’m so glad you came. I don’t know what I’m going to do without Mama.”
The caterwaulin’ didn’t seem like it was ever gonna end. Lawd, that girl’s lungs could move some air. Finally, Millie’d had enough an’ pushed her away.
“Stop that hawking and crying, young lady. You should have thought more about your Mama when she was alive, taking off like that to Nevada, never writing or calling unless you wanted something. You should be ashamed of yourself, child.”
Sarah Jane stood up all straight like an’ fixed herself up a bit, tuckin’ her yellow hair behind her ears. “Well, I got married, Aunt Millie. John’s job was in Reno, so it’s not like I had much choice.”
“We all got choices, Sarah.” She peered around Sarah Jane’s wide hips. “So who are the scallywags you brought with you?”
Sarah Jane stiffened an’ pursed her lips. She motioned for her children to stand beside her. “Bobby Jean, Phillip, say hello to your great-Aunt Millie.”
“I don’t want to,” said Philip, a pudgy kid of about nine years of age.
“Me neither, Mommy,” the little curly, red-haired Bobby Jean said. “What’s wrong with her anyway? Is she going to die, too? What are all those tubes for?”
Sarah Jane gasped. “Bobby Jean! You shouldn’t say things like that. It’s not proper.”
Millie stood an’ shuffled forward. She reached up an’ patted Sarah Jane on the cheek. “Don’t try to teach them manners now, dear. It’s too late.”
I have to say the look on Sarah Jane’s face was plumb-right priceless. Millie smiled as she walked past her an’ down the hall. Almost to the stairs, the front door burst open again, this time lettin’ in a meek little man with round glasses an’ a banker’s look about him. Next to him stood his equally short plump wife dressed in a little more demure manner than Millie’s niece.
“Hello, Brock,” Millie said with a groan. “I see you made it to the funeral. I’m surprised, seeing you never ventured here for Christmas or any holiday for that matter.”
“I’ve been in Europe. Surely Mother told you. I’ve been teaching economics at Oxford.”
“Your mother didn’t know where you were, Brock, as you haven’t spoken to her in over five years. Funny how you can’t even send one letter but you get a phone call, I’m supposing from your sister, telling you your mother passed away and you’re here on the next plane. How convenient for you.” She patted him on the cheek. “You are such a fine son.” She started up the stairs.
“I take offense to your tone, Aunt Millie,” Brock says in that uppity foreign accent he’s acquired all the while tuggin’ on his jacket and tighten’ the striped noose ’round his neck. “How long has it been since you have returned home? I find your tone and arrogance uncalled for, especially now that Mother has passed away.”
Millie turned, her features calm. “The difference between you and me is that I called my sister every day, Brock. I never missed a birthday, Halloween, Thanksgiving or Christmas card. Sometimes I sent a ‘just because’ card and once a week until the day I couldn’t write much anymore, I sent her a letter with pictures. And, Jacob brought her to my house from time to time to visit ’cause her good-for-nothing kids never paid any attention to her and never once asked her to come stay with them. She always dreamed of traveling to Europe and she thought after paying for your high-falootin’ education with the money she and your father saved over the years, you’d invite her. But you never asked, never once. Not even after all those times she cleaned the vomit from your face and the shit from your pants. You never called. Hell, she didn’t even know you got married until your sister told her. Now you’re here when it doesn’t matter anymore. She needed you and your sister when she was alive. You both should be ashamed of yourselves.” Millie glanced down the hallway to see Sarah Jane standin’ in the threshold of the kitchen, her mouth open. Millie nodded in her direction. “Yes, you heard me. You should be ashamed of yourself, abandoning your mother when she needed you most.” Millie turned an’, one step at a time, clung to the banister an’ made her way to the second floor with me right behind. “Nasty, rotten kids,” she muttered as she turned left down the hallway an’ entered her room.
She sat down on the four-poster bed ’causin’ the springs to let out a loud squeak, an’ ran her fingers over the eyelet comforter. The room was exactly the way she’d left it with pictures of her parents an’ framed photographs of her an’ me nailed against the blue, yellow an’ white striped wallpaper. Café curtains dotted with yellow rose buds hung from the sashed window. Seein’ she was tired, I helped her lie down on the bed an’ then I curled up next to her an’ watched her fall asleep.
Afternoon faded into night an’ more people began to arrive at the house. Millie never ventured back downstairs, choosin’ to listen to all the mindless chatter from her bedroom. She sat at her dressin’ table, nibblin’ with one hand at the food Jacob brought to her while cradlin’ a picture of Emma in the other.
“Oh sis,” she said aloud. “If you could see the vultures now, pecking away at your memory. They all have their stories, which I suppose is a good thing but their stories don’t compare to yours and mine, do they? Why, do you remember the time down by the old swimming hole when you slipped on the rocks and fell in and that big old oaf, Samson, came out of nowhere and rescued you from drowning? We told Mama and Daddy you’d fallen into a puddle in the Spencer’s yard. Or what about the time Samson snuck inside in the middle of the night and ate Mama’s cherry cobbler she’d left on the counter.” Millie chuckled. “You and I caught hell for that one didn’t we, but what were we supposed to do? Mama would have beat us silly if she’d known we let that boy in her house. Oh, there were lots of times we let Samson in that Mama didn’t know about. She almost caught him in bed with me that one time and would’ve if it hadn’t been for you shoving him in the closet. Oh, Emma, those were the days.” She ran her hand over the picture in the oval frame. “Soon, my dear sister. I’ll join you and we’ll talk about all the old times again, but there is one thing I have to do first.” She opened up the top drawer of the night stand. “Now where is that notepaper?”
Emma’s funeral the next day went as well as to be expected. There was lots of people all dressed in black, sobbin’ an’ moanin’. Emma was buried next to her Mama an’ beautiful flowers were placed on her grave. Millie left a bouquet of Emma’s favorite – daisies. She’d picked ‘em herself from the garden in the rear of the house.
Family an’ friends mingled about the house for several hours afterwards. Finally Millie had had enough of all the pretense an’ hypocrisy an’ excused herself but not before she took Brock an’ Sarah Jane into the livin’ room an’ read Emma’s Last Will an’ Testament. She seemed to find great joy in seein’ Brock’s an’ Sarah Jane’s face fall with shock as they discovered the house an’ everythin’ in it belonged to her. I have to say, watchin’ from outside the room, their stunned looks was jus’ downright funny, an’ if I could have laughed, I would’ve.
After that, Millie pulled herself upright, held her hunched-over shoulders up straight an’ walked with pride an’ dignity from the room. She reached into the pocket of her dress an’ pulled out a lavender envelope, smiled an’ kissed it, then laid it on the small table beside the stairs. I followed her up an’ tucked her in like I’d done for so many years, then curled up on the bed next to her. It didn’t take us long before we was sawin’ on ‘em logs.
The next mornin’ came bringin’ sunlight once again to the room but somethin’ was most definitely different. The room seemed brighter, less noisy. I jumped out of bed, got a drink from the bathroom an’ then sat down next to Millie. I jus’ stared at her face. My Millie. She jus’ laid there all peaceful like. That’s when I noticed there was no clickity clackity sound comin’ out of that blasted machine she always carried about, an’ them hoses once stuck up her nose was lyin’ on the floor. As the sun moved across the room, I noticed somethin’ else too – all them wrinkles an’ age spots she hated so much – well they was plumb gone. An’ she smelled like a spring day, you know that kinda sweet honeysuckle sort of smell that hangs in the air after the grass’s been cut an’ it rains. It’s the smell all angels get when they’ve been touched by God.
I sat next to the bed, my head leanin’ against her small hand an’ I waited. I knew she’d wake up soon. All angels do. Soon I felt her stir. It wasn’t much at first an’ then I felt her hand pat my head an’ then, like she’d done when we was kids, she scratched behind my ears. I stood up an’ nuzzled my cold nose beneath her hand. The eyes of a young girl opened wide. A big smile crossed her face.
“Samson. Is that you?”
I put my head on the bed an’ wagged my tail.
Millie’e eyes all teared up as she wrapped her lovin’ arms around me. “Oh, Samson, it is you!”
I jumped up on the bed an’ licked her all over her face. I couldn’t help myself. After almost seventy years of waitin’ in heaven for my best friend to come home, well it was jus’ a little difficult for me to control myself.
She ruffled my ears an’ stroked my golden coat that glistened like copper in the sun. She cupped my face in her hands an’ kissed my nose. “Oh, Samson. You waited for me. You didn’t forget me.”
I nuzzled her again. How could I forget my Millie? I love my Millie. Always have. I do reckon I understood her surprise, though, ’cause I wondered about it once, too. See, I was sittin’ beside a pond in heaven, lookin’ down on my Millie, watchin’ her grow more fragile an’ ill an’ the good Lawd, sensin’ my troubles, sat down besides me one day, an’ he say to me, ‘Samson, why you so down in the jowls?’ I told him in my own way that I was afraid she’d forgotten about me. After all, I was jus’ a dog an’ I had died when she was jus’ twelve. God jus’ laughed, rubbed me behind the ears an’ patted my shoulder. “Samson, dear boy,” he said in that boomin’ yet gentle voice of his. “Miss Millie loves you. She always has an’ she always will. You have nothin’ to fear ’cause you see, love survives death until eternity. You’ll see.’
I shoulda known then to accept what the good Lawd says but dogs, like folks, well, we don’t always want to believe in stuff we’re told. But now, I can’t believe I ever doubted those words in a minute.
The sound of her laughter lightened my soul. My Mistress Millie an’ I were together again. Millie laughed an’ we played until we heard footsteps on the stairs. She got all quiet an’ held her finger to her lips. “The closet,” she whispered, a big grin stretched across her face. I remembered the game, jumped down an’ hid inside even though I knew whoever walked through them doors wouldn’t be able to see me. But to make my mistress happy, I did as she asked.
A light tappin’ sound came from the door before it opened, revealin’ Brock all dressed in his travel clothes.
“Aunt Millie?” he asked, approachin’ the bed. Of course the person he saw was not the one I saw. My Millie was all young, spirited. Alive. The Millie he saw in the bed was old, pale an’ cold. Lifeless. His hands trembled, his lips quivered. “Oh my God,” he said as he turned an’ flew from the room, runnin’ through the angel spirit of a very young Emma as he thundered down the steps.
I jumped up on the bed an’ nuzzled both Emma an’ Millie’s hands. A bright ray of sunlight streamed through the window. I looked at it an’ barked. Emma hugged Millie an’ then took her hand an’ said, “Are you ready?”
Millie smiled. “Just one moment,” she said. She looked up toward the ceilin’. “Sorry, Grandma. Sometimes it is about the way we leave this world that matters.”
Moments later she heard Sarah Jane scream – “Oh my God, Brock! She left it all to the Humane Society. Millie left her entire estate to the dogs!”
Emma laughed. “I take it she found your Last Will and Testament.”
Millie laughed. “I should say so.” Millie an’ Emma linked arms an’ the three of us stepped into the ray of sunshine. Millie’s hand petted the top of my head an’ said, “Samson, lead us home.”
I was happy to oblige. 
Your title scared me at first, glad it was just from a story! Loved the voice:)
LOL! thanks!