Henry - part two

Photo credit - cwd0107

Read part one first !!



Looking to the sky as it changed from bright blue to darkish grey, He sighed heavily, as deep thunder rolled on the mountains edge. The weather turned nasty and a swirl of dust and autumn leaves weaved under the legs of the horses. Fidgeting they pranced: keen to move away from the impending storm. Henry unhitched them and led them to the barn. One horse was a grey mare issued to him when he signed at Bellow Bluff Creek. The other, a brown horse, belonged to his cousin Ralph, who fell at the battle of Red Tree Hill.

Henry's callous hands pushed the heavy oak doors open and the roof beams creaked loudly. A loft of pigeons hasty to retreat, flew out leaving a swirl of dirt, dust and straw. Peering through the dust, Henry could hear his father's voice echo as he retold the story of the barn.

One hundred years ago, his father's father had lumbered every plank from the forest by the creek and had forged every nail. Like the aroma of home from a Sunday roast, the barn stood as a symbol for he and his ancestors.

The shadows disappeared as the day darkened and a deep gurgling rumble of thunder heralded the storms arrival. Henry shoved his hands deep inside his pockets and sauntered back to the manor. But as he sat on the steps of his family's home, he felt enriched by the legacy etched in his veins.

A tear, rolled down his cheek when he remembered, what he promised his mother, at his father's death bed, he vowed to return.

The war hardened him. His face grimaced. The reflection of blood shed stained in his pupils.

But, as the drops fell, he was reminded of what his father scolded to him all those years ago, there was no place like home.