Congratulations !
You have been awarded points.
Thank you for !
- Story Listed as: Fiction For Adults
- Theme: Family & Friends
- Subject: Seasonal / Holidays
- Published: 12/04/2018
Home for the Holidays
Born 1944, F, from Melbourne, FL, United StatesHome for the Holidays
by
Valerie Allen
“Welcome back to Harmony House, Mick,” Father Joseph said. The plump man reached across the stack of folding chairs and grasped Mick's thin, calloused hand. It was a firm, knowing handshake between two men comfortable with each other.
Father Joseph grinned, his cheeks filling out like a squirrel feeding on newly dropped acorns. “Now I know it's really Christmas.” He set the chairs against the dolly and moved toward Mick, wrapping him in a bear hug. He could feel the man's bones through his flesh. Too thin. Way too thin for a healthy person. The priest stood back and studied his friend. Another year on the road had taken its toll on this hard-boiled man.
“What've you been up to, Mick?”
Mick ran his fingers through his sandy hair and rubbed the back of his sun-creased neck. “Riding the rails mostly,” he said.
Father Joseph noticed another missing tooth, the sunken cheeks, and the wrinkles furrowed deep across Mick's forehead. “Rough way for a man to live.”
“Ain't that the truth, if I ever heard it,” Mick said and shook his head.
Father Joseph gave a short laugh and patted Mick on the back. “You've never been a man to stay in one place too long.”
“For sure,” Mick said.
“Where 've you been?”
“Headed Northeast, went to Vermont, then across the Great Lakes, and on to Washington State.”
Father Joseph nodded. “Beautiful territory up there. You sure are a traveling man.”
“Yep, but there's nothing like winter in Florida,” Mick said, just the hint of a smile touched his lips.
Father Joseph laughed. “Lucky for us. Christmas wouldn't be the same without you being here to help out.”
Father Joseph looked around the cavernous hall set with long tables. “We expect to feed about six hundred tonight.”
Mick set his jaw, squinted his eyes, and looked toward the serving kitchen. “The cops must be real busy cleaning up the parks and under the bridges,” he said.
The priest gently placed his meaty hand on Mick's bony shoulder. “We're all God's children, Mick, even the cops. They mean well.”
Their eyes met.
“Save that religion stuff, you know I ain't into it,” Mick said.
Father Joseph sighed and dropped his hand to his side. “Well, speaking of God's children, Mrs. O'Rourke is bringing Michael again to play the piano for us tonight.”
“She's still bringing her grandson here?” Mick asked.
Father Joseph smiled. “Yes, and he's made it big time.”
“What'd you mean?”
“Michael went to an audition in New York and won a full music scholarship for college and he's only 12 years old!” Father Joseph said. He leaned in toward Mick and lowered his voice. “I didn't think Mrs. O'Rourke would bother with the likes of us anymore, now that the boy's on the road to fame. She said they'd be back and good as her word, they'll be here tonight.” Father Joseph straightened and gazed toward the piano. He turned to look at Mick. “Somewhere in heaven, I think there's a chair with Ms. O'Rourke's name on it.”
A strange look crossed Mick's face, he rubbed his hand on his jaw and turned away.
“I'm telling you that lady is truly an angel of God,” Father Joseph said.
Mick looked at the priest and cleared his throat. “Glad to hear the kid's still into music.”
“Me too. We'll need you to clean up the piano and get it tuned for the boy to play tonight.”
Mick nodded slowly. “Sure thing, Father. I'll get right to it.”
“You've always had a way with music, Mick.” Father Joseph held out his hand and gestured toward the piano. “Glad to have you back and be sure to have an extra plate tonight. You could use a little more meat on those bones.”
Mick looked at his thin arms, fresh wounds, and old scars from jumping trains and living in the woods. “Hmm, guess so.” He turned away and headed toward the old high-backed piano.
Father Joseph watched Mick cross the room. He saw Mick favoring his right leg. A bit of a limp. He tilted his head to one side. Don't remember that from last year. I'll have to ask him about that.
Mick eased the piano out from the wall, tugged off the dust-covered cloth, and ran his fingers across the keys. The corners of his mouth turned up and the slightest glint shown in his eyes.
Father Joseph turned back to the men unloading the metal chairs from the palettes. He lifted two folding chairs and handed them off to a crew member who carried and placed them at the farthest table. Each man continued doing his part to have the dining hall set up for the holiday meal about to begin.
While he worked, Father Joseph listened to the tinkle of keys as Mick adjusted and readjusted each of the scales. He paused to look at Mick, a small smile formed at the corner of his mouth. Music can heal a man's soul.
* * * *
It was after ten when the last diner left Harmony House, a full stomach easing the miseries of life on the street. A crew scrubbed pots and pans in the kitchen and two men hauled overstuffed black plastic bags to the dumpster. One man pushed a large broom from one end of the hall to the other and back again. Father Joseph joined the men on duty with the folding chairs. He lifted each chair and with a snap and a clang, he placed it on the dolly.
Mick, stomach full, body weary, wandered toward the piano and then rubbed his hand across the scratched surface. He looked beyond the boy collecting his music books and nodded at Mrs. O'Rourke.
He studied the boy. “Great job with the music son. You've got a real gift.” He tousled the youngster's chestnut hair.
The boy looked up at Mick and smiled. “Thanks, mister.” He pulled his head away then looked at the older woman. “I'll put this stuff in the car, Grandma.”
“Good boy Michael. We'll be leaving soon.”
Mick watched as the boy lugged his things toward the door, a backpack on his shoulder, music sheets tucked under his arm. Mick let out a deep sigh and glanced around the room, noting the men busy at their tasks. He turned toward the woman and stared at her face. He noticed the white hair at her temples, wrinkles at the corner of her eyes, and jowls beginning to sag. He moved closer to her, lifted both of her soft hands, and clasped them into his.
“You've done a fine job with him, Momma,” he said.
“Thank you, son,” she smiled. “I'm glad to see you.” She went up on her tip-toes and kissed him on the cheek. “I'm so happy you're home for the holidays."
# # #
Thank you for taking the time to read
Home for the Holidays
If you enjoyed it,
please consider telling your friends
and posting a review on
Amazon.com or other online sites.
Word-of-mouth referrals are
an author's best friend
and much appreciated.
Home
for the
Holidays
by
Valerie Allen
Copyright 2013 by
Valerie Allen
All rights reserved
For more information, please contact:
Valerie Allen
VAllenWriter@gmail.com
ValerieAllenWriter.com
Amazon.com/author/valerieallen
Amazon.com/dp/B00H25P4MK
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Valerie Allen is a psychologist, educator, and author. She writes fiction, non-fiction, short stories, and children's books. She previously wrote a newspaper column, Family Matters. Her parenting articles have been published online and in magazines nationwide.
She is a popular speaker at book fairs, writers' conferences, and libraries, using her book, Write, Publish, Sell! 2nd Edition.
She also conducts seminars for medical and mental health professionals using her self-help book, Beyond the Inkblots: Confusion to Harmony.
Her fiction includes short story anthologies: 'Tis Herself: Short Story Collection, Volumes One, Two, and Three, A Gift for Mom, and Stories for the Man in You Life,
Her novels are, Suffer the Little Children, Sins of the Father, Amazing Grace, The Prodigal Son, and My Father's Business.
Dr. Allen is a Florida Licensed and Nationally Board Certified School Psychologist, and a Certified Case Manager.
She has served as a member of the Space Coast Writers' Guild, The National League of American Pen Women, Cape Canaveral Branch, and is the co-founder of Authors for Authors.
She lives in warm and sunny Florida and enjoys reading and writing.
Home for the Holidays
by
Valerie Allen
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or events, is entirely coincidental.
Printed in the United States of America. All right reserved. No part of this story may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the author.
Short Stories
by
Valerie Allen
A Good Thing on a Bad Day
A License to Practice
A Marriage of Convenience
A Mother's Love
A Tooth for a Tooth
Best Wishes
Brotherly Love
Conditional Love
Doggie Tales
Father's Day
Fire Engine Red
Fit for Life
Future Plans
Holiday Traditions
Home for the Holidays
I Remember Momma
Just Be Cos
Ladies in Waiting
Leisureville
Love is in the Air
Match-maker
Mother Knows Best
Potty Talk
Puppy Love
No Goin' Home
Second Chance
Small Steps
Split Second Timing
Thank You, Mr. Jackson!
The Garden of Love
The Lonely Life of Amanda Miller
The Penalty Box
Words of Wisdom
Valentine's Day
Visiting Day
~ ~ ~
Amazon.com/author/valerieallen
Home for the Holidays(Valerie Allen)
Home for the Holidays
by
Valerie Allen
“Welcome back to Harmony House, Mick,” Father Joseph said. The plump man reached across the stack of folding chairs and grasped Mick's thin, calloused hand. It was a firm, knowing handshake between two men comfortable with each other.
Father Joseph grinned, his cheeks filling out like a squirrel feeding on newly dropped acorns. “Now I know it's really Christmas.” He set the chairs against the dolly and moved toward Mick, wrapping him in a bear hug. He could feel the man's bones through his flesh. Too thin. Way too thin for a healthy person. The priest stood back and studied his friend. Another year on the road had taken its toll on this hard-boiled man.
“What've you been up to, Mick?”
Mick ran his fingers through his sandy hair and rubbed the back of his sun-creased neck. “Riding the rails mostly,” he said.
Father Joseph noticed another missing tooth, the sunken cheeks, and the wrinkles furrowed deep across Mick's forehead. “Rough way for a man to live.”
“Ain't that the truth, if I ever heard it,” Mick said and shook his head.
Father Joseph gave a short laugh and patted Mick on the back. “You've never been a man to stay in one place too long.”
“For sure,” Mick said.
“Where 've you been?”
“Headed Northeast, went to Vermont, then across the Great Lakes, and on to Washington State.”
Father Joseph nodded. “Beautiful territory up there. You sure are a traveling man.”
“Yep, but there's nothing like winter in Florida,” Mick said, just the hint of a smile touched his lips.
Father Joseph laughed. “Lucky for us. Christmas wouldn't be the same without you being here to help out.”
Father Joseph looked around the cavernous hall set with long tables. “We expect to feed about six hundred tonight.”
Mick set his jaw, squinted his eyes, and looked toward the serving kitchen. “The cops must be real busy cleaning up the parks and under the bridges,” he said.
The priest gently placed his meaty hand on Mick's bony shoulder. “We're all God's children, Mick, even the cops. They mean well.”
Their eyes met.
“Save that religion stuff, you know I ain't into it,” Mick said.
Father Joseph sighed and dropped his hand to his side. “Well, speaking of God's children, Mrs. O'Rourke is bringing Michael again to play the piano for us tonight.”
“She's still bringing her grandson here?” Mick asked.
Father Joseph smiled. “Yes, and he's made it big time.”
“What'd you mean?”
“Michael went to an audition in New York and won a full music scholarship for college and he's only 12 years old!” Father Joseph said. He leaned in toward Mick and lowered his voice. “I didn't think Mrs. O'Rourke would bother with the likes of us anymore, now that the boy's on the road to fame. She said they'd be back and good as her word, they'll be here tonight.” Father Joseph straightened and gazed toward the piano. He turned to look at Mick. “Somewhere in heaven, I think there's a chair with Ms. O'Rourke's name on it.”
A strange look crossed Mick's face, he rubbed his hand on his jaw and turned away.
“I'm telling you that lady is truly an angel of God,” Father Joseph said.
Mick looked at the priest and cleared his throat. “Glad to hear the kid's still into music.”
“Me too. We'll need you to clean up the piano and get it tuned for the boy to play tonight.”
Mick nodded slowly. “Sure thing, Father. I'll get right to it.”
“You've always had a way with music, Mick.” Father Joseph held out his hand and gestured toward the piano. “Glad to have you back and be sure to have an extra plate tonight. You could use a little more meat on those bones.”
Mick looked at his thin arms, fresh wounds, and old scars from jumping trains and living in the woods. “Hmm, guess so.” He turned away and headed toward the old high-backed piano.
Father Joseph watched Mick cross the room. He saw Mick favoring his right leg. A bit of a limp. He tilted his head to one side. Don't remember that from last year. I'll have to ask him about that.
Mick eased the piano out from the wall, tugged off the dust-covered cloth, and ran his fingers across the keys. The corners of his mouth turned up and the slightest glint shown in his eyes.
Father Joseph turned back to the men unloading the metal chairs from the palettes. He lifted two folding chairs and handed them off to a crew member who carried and placed them at the farthest table. Each man continued doing his part to have the dining hall set up for the holiday meal about to begin.
While he worked, Father Joseph listened to the tinkle of keys as Mick adjusted and readjusted each of the scales. He paused to look at Mick, a small smile formed at the corner of his mouth. Music can heal a man's soul.
* * * *
It was after ten when the last diner left Harmony House, a full stomach easing the miseries of life on the street. A crew scrubbed pots and pans in the kitchen and two men hauled overstuffed black plastic bags to the dumpster. One man pushed a large broom from one end of the hall to the other and back again. Father Joseph joined the men on duty with the folding chairs. He lifted each chair and with a snap and a clang, he placed it on the dolly.
Mick, stomach full, body weary, wandered toward the piano and then rubbed his hand across the scratched surface. He looked beyond the boy collecting his music books and nodded at Mrs. O'Rourke.
He studied the boy. “Great job with the music son. You've got a real gift.” He tousled the youngster's chestnut hair.
The boy looked up at Mick and smiled. “Thanks, mister.” He pulled his head away then looked at the older woman. “I'll put this stuff in the car, Grandma.”
“Good boy Michael. We'll be leaving soon.”
Mick watched as the boy lugged his things toward the door, a backpack on his shoulder, music sheets tucked under his arm. Mick let out a deep sigh and glanced around the room, noting the men busy at their tasks. He turned toward the woman and stared at her face. He noticed the white hair at her temples, wrinkles at the corner of her eyes, and jowls beginning to sag. He moved closer to her, lifted both of her soft hands, and clasped them into his.
“You've done a fine job with him, Momma,” he said.
“Thank you, son,” she smiled. “I'm glad to see you.” She went up on her tip-toes and kissed him on the cheek. “I'm so happy you're home for the holidays."
# # #
Thank you for taking the time to read
Home for the Holidays
If you enjoyed it,
please consider telling your friends
and posting a review on
Amazon.com or other online sites.
Word-of-mouth referrals are
an author's best friend
and much appreciated.
Home
for the
Holidays
by
Valerie Allen
Copyright 2013 by
Valerie Allen
All rights reserved
For more information, please contact:
Valerie Allen
VAllenWriter@gmail.com
ValerieAllenWriter.com
Amazon.com/author/valerieallen
Amazon.com/dp/B00H25P4MK
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Valerie Allen is a psychologist, educator, and author. She writes fiction, non-fiction, short stories, and children's books. She previously wrote a newspaper column, Family Matters. Her parenting articles have been published online and in magazines nationwide.
She is a popular speaker at book fairs, writers' conferences, and libraries, using her book, Write, Publish, Sell! 2nd Edition.
She also conducts seminars for medical and mental health professionals using her self-help book, Beyond the Inkblots: Confusion to Harmony.
Her fiction includes short story anthologies: 'Tis Herself: Short Story Collection, Volumes One, Two, and Three, A Gift for Mom, and Stories for the Man in You Life,
Her novels are, Suffer the Little Children, Sins of the Father, Amazing Grace, The Prodigal Son, and My Father's Business.
Dr. Allen is a Florida Licensed and Nationally Board Certified School Psychologist, and a Certified Case Manager.
She has served as a member of the Space Coast Writers' Guild, The National League of American Pen Women, Cape Canaveral Branch, and is the co-founder of Authors for Authors.
She lives in warm and sunny Florida and enjoys reading and writing.
Home for the Holidays
by
Valerie Allen
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or events, is entirely coincidental.
Printed in the United States of America. All right reserved. No part of this story may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the author.
Short Stories
by
Valerie Allen
A Good Thing on a Bad Day
A License to Practice
A Marriage of Convenience
A Mother's Love
A Tooth for a Tooth
Best Wishes
Brotherly Love
Conditional Love
Doggie Tales
Father's Day
Fire Engine Red
Fit for Life
Future Plans
Holiday Traditions
Home for the Holidays
I Remember Momma
Just Be Cos
Ladies in Waiting
Leisureville
Love is in the Air
Match-maker
Mother Knows Best
Potty Talk
Puppy Love
No Goin' Home
Second Chance
Small Steps
Split Second Timing
Thank You, Mr. Jackson!
The Garden of Love
The Lonely Life of Amanda Miller
The Penalty Box
Words of Wisdom
Valentine's Day
Visiting Day
~ ~ ~
Amazon.com/author/valerieallen
- Share this story on
- 9
COMMENTS (3)