The House on Hickory Hill
Fiction by Cheryl Ferguson Bernini
I exist because of the hands of the man and woman who built me. Given a sturdy foundation which is reinforced with iron bars, I rest atop a grassy knoll. Sitting majestically above the lane, I am surrounded by lush greenery and a forest of deciduous trees. My walls are strong and resolute. Although my exterior tint may change, I am who I am because of what one finds inside.
A man had a dream to erect a structure he could call his own. In 1951, they broke the ground and construction began. For two-and-a-half years, I grew and transformed. And, when the man drove the last nailhead, I became complete. This grand gesture became the initiation of my life.
At the outset, after the confusion, the days carried with them a welcomed solitude. I enmeshed my earliest moments with those of the couple who serenely lived still in the dawn of their matrimony. During those rare times, where obstacles and difficulties filled the days, came also arguments and battles. Yet, the two resolved their differences through discussion and compromise.
Nearly empty of the material, the pair decorated my rooms with a more important item; love. The awkwardness of the three roommates diminished as hours flowed into weeks that developed into years. When she finally learned how to cook--the woman's first prepared dinner was a charred disaster with portions landing on the kitchen linoleum--I became privy to the scrumptious aromas that wafted from room to room. The man, who always used a touch of exquisite charm, kept tidy and secure my interior and exterior.
Five years passed, and then, the couple brought home to me a baby daughter. I welcomed the new addition, giving her the gift of security which she would find within my walls.
Still, in her first months, she became ill with bronchitis. I feared for her, as did her parents. While the man was at work, the woman awaited his return as we watched the little one grow sicker.
Not being able to help, I sat paralyzed as I listened to her cries through the congested coughing and gasping. The father, still fully dressed, rushed her into a shower where the scalding water created rising vapors, which they desperately hoped would ease her pain. With the baby’s airway cleared, the couple bundled her up and rushed out, leaving me in a state of confusion. On their return, the girl was much more at ease and I maintained a calmness for all, inside and out.
Just as the four of us were finding a mutual zone of comfort, the couple discovered that there would be an addition to their family. Two and a half years after the first-born, the man and woman brought home to me a second tiny wonder; this time a boy. I welcomed the infant, as I had his sister before him. The perception of peace would now be just an illusion. A curious struggle was about to commence, one which would persist into the coming years.
This child cried, both by day and by night. His wails migrated into every nook and cranny of my being. Their reverberations rattled my moldings. The parents couldn’t comprehend why. No matter what solution they tried, nothing seemed to settle the newborn. When we were asleep, the tot was wide awake; and, while we were plowing through our day, he was dozing.
The baby boy’s colic exasperated the mother to the point of despair. Rendered useless in this plight, I could do nothing until I ushered through my doors the neighborly women who came to watch the child while the mother tried to rest. Gradually, with time and an abundance of patience, the four cohabitants organized and implemented a tolerable system in which to live.
As they grew, the boy and the girl did not quite get along. In the pandemonium of their animosity, they drew battle lines and set boundaries. Within my confines lived peace along with its opposition, war. They forced me to listen to arguments, petty and mundane. During their auspicious feuds, the siblings exchanged verbal altercations all of which I witnessed. To ease the persistent unrest, the parents brought a four-legged creature into the fold. The dog showered me with great respect, unlike the two children, who, when brandishing their playthings, bashed and scarred my walls and corners.
The habitual cycle of life eventually returned with it a quiet to my halls. The girl and boy attended school, keeping them away from me for a good part of the day. In maintaining their daily schedules, the parents traveled in and out of my surveillance. Once in a while, there were guests of the couple that would come to visit. As they sat and talked over a drink or while playing cards, I eavesdropped on their lives. When the children had friends over, I cringed in anticipation of being battered and bruised. Yet, I always made sure they were all safe and secure within my care.
Nine years passed, and then there was an unanticipated surprise. The couple garnered now with age and experience, brought home to me a baby girl. A bundle of joy I welcomed just as I had her older siblings, with the security she would always find within my walls. But jealousy raged within the elder children. Afflicting torment and abuse, they tried to break her. She was timid at first. Yet, as she grew and matured, she discovered her voice; and she learned well how to use it.
The years passed, some seemingly more quickly than others. The family that lived with me had their good times and bad, as did I. There was joy and there was sadness, sickness, and health. Hurricanes and nor’easters pushed me to the brink. Battles were fought between parent and child and between brother and sister. Involuntarily, nature forced me into combat as I clashed with all she delivered upon me. Tears were shed, but there was also laughter. The man and the woman made sure that not only their children had the basic necessities, but, that I, too, was always in good care. They reared their offspring to the best of their ability. Sacrifices were often made, sometimes for naught; but, the couple always tried.
As the children grew to adulthood, they withdrew from my walls and the security I afforded them from when they were first introduced to me. The couple eventually aged to when they became no more. I live on, but I have become lifeless. There is no one that inhabits me now.
They have left alone, abandoned, except for the occasional bird or raccoon that successfully invades my space. I dream of the day when a new family comes and breathes fresh energy into these old timbers. The man and the woman saw fit to build me well, and my foundation is still strong. But without life, my empty soul sits shattered.
A man had a dream to erect a structure he could call his own. In 1951, they broke the ground and construction began. For two-and-a-half years, I grew and transformed. And, when the man drove the last nailhead, I became complete. This grand gesture became the initiation of my life.
At the outset, after the confusion, the days carried with them a welcomed solitude. I enmeshed my earliest moments with those of the couple who serenely lived still in the dawn of their matrimony. During those rare times, where obstacles and difficulties filled the days, came also arguments and battles. Yet, the two resolved their differences through discussion and compromise.
Nearly empty of the material, the pair decorated my rooms with a more important item; love. The awkwardness of the three roommates diminished as hours flowed into weeks that developed into years. When she finally learned how to cook--the woman's first prepared dinner was a charred disaster with portions landing on the kitchen linoleum--I became privy to the scrumptious aromas that wafted from room to room. The man, who always used a touch of exquisite charm, kept tidy and secure my interior and exterior.
Five years passed, and then, the couple brought home to me a baby daughter. I welcomed the new addition, giving her the gift of security which she would find within my walls.
Still, in her first months, she became ill with bronchitis. I feared for her, as did her parents. While the man was at work, the woman awaited his return as we watched the little one grow sicker.
Not being able to help, I sat paralyzed as I listened to her cries through the congested coughing and gasping. The father, still fully dressed, rushed her into a shower where the scalding water created rising vapors, which they desperately hoped would ease her pain. With the baby’s airway cleared, the couple bundled her up and rushed out, leaving me in a state of confusion. On their return, the girl was much more at ease and I maintained a calmness for all, inside and out.
Just as the four of us were finding a mutual zone of comfort, the couple discovered that there would be an addition to their family. Two and a half years after the first-born, the man and woman brought home to me a second tiny wonder; this time a boy. I welcomed the infant, as I had his sister before him. The perception of peace would now be just an illusion. A curious struggle was about to commence, one which would persist into the coming years.
This child cried, both by day and by night. His wails migrated into every nook and cranny of my being. Their reverberations rattled my moldings. The parents couldn’t comprehend why. No matter what solution they tried, nothing seemed to settle the newborn. When we were asleep, the tot was wide awake; and, while we were plowing through our day, he was dozing.
The baby boy’s colic exasperated the mother to the point of despair. Rendered useless in this plight, I could do nothing until I ushered through my doors the neighborly women who came to watch the child while the mother tried to rest. Gradually, with time and an abundance of patience, the four cohabitants organized and implemented a tolerable system in which to live.
As they grew, the boy and the girl did not quite get along. In the pandemonium of their animosity, they drew battle lines and set boundaries. Within my confines lived peace along with its opposition, war. They forced me to listen to arguments, petty and mundane. During their auspicious feuds, the siblings exchanged verbal altercations all of which I witnessed. To ease the persistent unrest, the parents brought a four-legged creature into the fold. The dog showered me with great respect, unlike the two children, who, when brandishing their playthings, bashed and scarred my walls and corners.
The habitual cycle of life eventually returned with it a quiet to my halls. The girl and boy attended school, keeping them away from me for a good part of the day. In maintaining their daily schedules, the parents traveled in and out of my surveillance. Once in a while, there were guests of the couple that would come to visit. As they sat and talked over a drink or while playing cards, I eavesdropped on their lives. When the children had friends over, I cringed in anticipation of being battered and bruised. Yet, I always made sure they were all safe and secure within my care.
Nine years passed, and then there was an unanticipated surprise. The couple garnered now with age and experience, brought home to me a baby girl. A bundle of joy I welcomed just as I had her older siblings, with the security she would always find within my walls. But jealousy raged within the elder children. Afflicting torment and abuse, they tried to break her. She was timid at first. Yet, as she grew and matured, she discovered her voice; and she learned well how to use it.
The years passed, some seemingly more quickly than others. The family that lived with me had their good times and bad, as did I. There was joy and there was sadness, sickness, and health. Hurricanes and nor’easters pushed me to the brink. Battles were fought between parent and child and between brother and sister. Involuntarily, nature forced me into combat as I clashed with all she delivered upon me. Tears were shed, but there was also laughter. The man and the woman made sure that not only their children had the basic necessities, but, that I, too, was always in good care. They reared their offspring to the best of their ability. Sacrifices were often made, sometimes for naught; but, the couple always tried.
As the children grew to adulthood, they withdrew from my walls and the security I afforded them from when they were first introduced to me. The couple eventually aged to when they became no more. I live on, but I have become lifeless. There is no one that inhabits me now.
They have left alone, abandoned, except for the occasional bird or raccoon that successfully invades my space. I dream of the day when a new family comes and breathes fresh energy into these old timbers. The man and the woman saw fit to build me well, and my foundation is still strong. But without life, my empty soul sits shattered.
About the writer
Cheryl Ferguson Bernini, originally from Connecticut, is an American Expat. She now finds herself married and living in a small Renaissance city in Italy. And, contrary to her husband’s opinion, she does speak Italian. They share (let’s use that term loosely) their humble abode with four felines, all saved from life on the street. She considers herself a follower of re-invention, and she is continually adding to her list of metamorphoses. When not writing, you can find her, a self-proclaimed Jill of all trades, doing just about anything and everything.
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