Going Home

[This story contains mentions of people freezing to death]

It was so terribly cold. Snow was falling and it was almost dark. The chilling wind cut right through her thin shawl as she huddled against a hard brick wall. Why were people so stuck up they couldn’t open their home for one night? Dare she try one more time? What harm could it do?

Slowly Priscilla Matheson stood, shivered and made her way through the snow to the icy steps of the brick house. She approached the door and hesitated. The warm yellow lights beckoned her; tore away the fear of being rejected again. She raised her numb hand and knocked. There was a shuffling noise and then the door slid slightly inward. A woman’s wrinkled face appeared.

“Hello?”

Priscilla forced out an answer. “Hello. I’m sorry to bother you again but I’m ever so cold. Please. Could I just come in for a little while.” Warmth floated out the open door.

Recognition lit the woman’s face and then it clouded. Without a word she began to shut the door.

“No. No! Please! Just for a second.”

Click. The door was shut. And locked.

Priscilla tried to push back the tears. They would freeze on her cheeks and make matters worse. She sank down on the porch. Every place in this mangy town had closed their doors to her. Every emotionless face had mocked her with their eyes.

I’ve got to keep moving, she told herself.

She stood and climbed down the four wooden steps. A layer of ice clung to the hem of her dress. Her loose brown hair was wet from the snow and before long it would freeze too. She focused on reaching the end of the street and then she would turn back.

Lord, she prayed. Don’t leave me. Please don’t leave me. Deliver me from this peril. If it is my cup to die tonight, can I please be warm once more?

She thought about the last time she had been warm. It was Thanksgiving Day last year.

The aroma of turkey spread through the little house, the fire crackled in the open fireplace, and Priscilla’s three brothers were running around laughing as she and her mom watched from the table. Delicious dishes were lined out in front of them. Buttered corn with herbs, Squash all mashed and laid out just right, some sort of salad with fruit and nuts, and other things like fried potatoes, biscuits, fresh vegetables, and of course, pie.

In just a little while the door opened and her tall father walked in. He caught one of the boys as they ran by and tickled him until he squealed.

“Mm. Something smells good.” He said, eyes combing the array of food.

Priscilla smiled. She had made a lot of it this year because of her mom’s cramped hand.

“Looks like we’re gonna have an early snow.” Her father remarked.

Her thoughts were cut short by what happened next in that part of her life. They had been snowed in so bad that they couldn’t even get firewood. Her brothers died from pneumonia and her parents . . .

She couldn’t think about that now.

The wind picked up and the snow blew harder around her. Her body was so numb that she realized it would be more miserable to live than to die.

“Your will be done, Lord,” she whispered.

“This day wilt thou be with me in Heaven,” came the answer.

Peace, like none other, floated over her like a blanket warming her soul.

“I’m Priscilla Caroline Matheson. I’m 17 years old and overall I’ve had a good life.” She shouted. “I have so much to be thankful for! I have my clothes, shoes without holes, and God. I’m just who God made me to be! Nothing that happened in my life was an accident. My parents are in Heaven and soon I will be too. Everything is perfect!” Her arms outstretched, she smiled for the first time in months.

Her strength was leaving her and finding moving hard she sank down in the middle of the street. She faintly heard someone approaching through the whistling wind. They knelt beside her. It was a young man just a few years older than her. He murmured something that was lost in the night.Then he wrapped a blanket around her and carried her to a familiar brick building.

Inside the wrinkled woman turned from the fireplace to glare angrily at them. Her face turned an angry shade of red and she said something that Priscilla’s frozen ears could not pick up.

“Mom!” the young man cried. “How could you? She’s nearly frozen.” A tear formed in his eye.

She wanted so badly to tell him not to cry. That everything was fine. That she was happy. That she was thankful he cared but there was no need to waste tears over her. He didn’t even know her. Did he know the peace she was now experiencing? If only she could tell him she was finally going home.

Anything else the two said she missed. Through the numbness she felt a little warmth and a tear raced down her cheek. To think God had been faithful to her prayer and had given her warmth once more was overwhelming. She was laid on a bed but she didn’t know what else happened.

“Thank you, Lord,” she whispered.

Now she could freely think about what happened to her parents and it didn’t make her cry, because she knew she would see them soon. They had been driving through the snow storm to get help for the kids when, according to the neighbor that found them, the wagon had gotten stuck and they had frozen on their way to town. Who could’ve known that the goodbyes they had said would be their last. No, in Heaven she wouldn’t think of them as Dad and Mom but it didn’t matter. There would be no more cold, or hurt. They would be happy and she would be happy. And as far as she knew her brothers would be there too.

Priscilla closed her stiff eyelids and a gentle smile rested on her lips. Soon she would stand at the judgment throne painless and perfect. Soon this life would be forgotten and she would enter Heaven. Soon she would be home. Soon . . .