The Homecoming: The Inspiration for the TV Series the Waltons by Earl Hamner Jr

Author:Earl Hamner Jr.
Language: eng
Format: azw3, epub
Tags: Small Town, Southern, Family Life, Holidays, Literary, General, Rural, Fiction, Christmas
ISBN: 9780795339493
Publisher: RosettaBooks
Published: 2014-04-27T23:00:00+00:00

FIVE

Olivia was feeding wood to the old cooking range. She watched the first red blaze appear, heard the sharp crackle and then a spit of sparks. The wood was dry. It would make a hot flame for roasting the turkey. She had objected mildly when Homer and Ida had left, but now that they were gone it was good to be alone in the house, free of her mother’s suggestions that Clay was off playing poker, or drinking whiskey, or spending the week’s paycheck in sinful ways. She poked the stove wood, and when she was satisfied that the fire was going well, she closed out the bright eye of the fire with a stove lid.

She felt better now that she had a plan. It was a village custom that if the man of the house did not return home at some reasonable hour the oldest child in the family would go looking for him. Olivia had taken some pride that she had never had to send Clay-Boy to look for Clay, but tonight she would sacrifice pride. When the children arrived home she installed the younger ones at the radio in the living room and quietly called Clay-Boy into the kitchen.

“What’s the matter, Mama?” asked Clay-Boy, his hands outstretched over the cooking range to catch its warmth.

“I didn’t want to say it in front of anybody, but I’m worried about your daddy.”

“I expect his bus is late. It’s a right snowy night.”

“Could be any one of a thousand things. Bus could of slid off the road. Maybe he’s already at Hickory Creek and the snow’s too thick for him to walk the six miles home. It’s a blizzard outside.”

“I could go look for him, I reckon,” said Clay-Boy. Having thought of it, the boy warmed to the idea. It was better than sitting home waiting.

“I thought maybe if you could find Charlie Sneed. He’s got that old truck. You tell him I said to ride you over to Hickory Creek and see if there’s any sign of Clay walken.”

“Charlie’s down at the pool hall, or was. I saw his truck down there a while ago.”

“Then you try to catch him. Tell Charlie we’ll pay for the gas.”

“I’ll tell him.”

“Don’t say anything to the children. I don’t want them to worry.”

Clay-Boy slipped into his father’s old sheepskin jacket and buttoned it across his chest. The jacket was big on him, and he seemed to disappear somewhere inside it, his thin, freckled face swimming inside the turned-up collar.

“What you goen to wear on your head?” asked Olivia.

“My cap’s a little wet, but it’ll do,” replied Clay-Boy.

“Wait a minute,” said Olivia. She disappeared into the bedroom and returned with a package wrapped in white tissue paper and tied with a red ribbon bow.

“This was goen to be your present from Santa Claus,” she said. “You’re getten it early.”

From the package Clay-Boy removed a red woolen cap. Olivia had knitted it herself in the long nights alone in the living room after the children had gone to bed and before sleep caught up with her.

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