Paris, Morgan couldn’t help but be overjoyed at the sight of her parents. She hadn’t realized until now how much she had missed them.
Morgan threw her arms around her mother and stared at her father over one shoulder. He was a little grayer now, but otherwise he was just as handsome as ever. Once he was within reach, she pulled him into the hug and reveled in the comfort of their embrace. She was glad to be home.
“Hey, kid! Is this all your stuff? I don’t remember you leaving with quite so much,” her father said as he looked at her bags.
“Actually, that’s not it. I shipped the rest to the house. Don’t worry. I’ll get a storage unit in town. I don’t think I’ll need much of it for a while.”
Morgan’s mother shushed her. “Oh hush. There’s plenty of room for everything. No sense in spending money to store it somewhere.”
“Well, all right then, let’s get home,” her dad said as he brushed his hand over her cheek.
*
When they pulled onto the gravel drive, Morgan was welcomed by the unchanged scenery of her childhood home. She’d only been away eighteen months, but half expected things to be aged by years. The 1800s farmhouse had been renovated and expanded many times during its life, but had never lost any of its charming qualities. Morgan heard stories from her father that her great-grandfather bought the old train station and moved it to the farm over a hundred years earlier. As a child, she remembered trying to picture a train stopping in front of her house or strangers milling about in her living room while they waited for its arrival. Her favorite parts were the original crystal doorknobs throughout the house. It was an old house, but it was fascinating and it was home.
It was still the faded sunshine yellow with white trim and a wraparound porch. She remembered many summers gliding on the porch swing and daydreaming. Around the back were the milking barn and the grain silo. They too had been renovated over the years, but even with changing technology, her family had altered very little in regards to their milking process. Where many dairies advanced to digital and robotic technology, the Will-Bridge Dairy remained steadfast in their direct involvement and manual practices. Morgan believed that it was this perseverance that made her successful in life.
As the contentedness flowed over her, Morgan was suddenly exhausted. She was looking forward to throwing herself onto her old bed and taking a wonderful and much needed nap. A nap was something she didn’t think she’d had in nearly two years, and it was long overdue.
As soon as her bags were unloaded, they all made their way into the house. Morgan was worn out, but she took a brief moment to admire that few changes her parents had made to the décor during her absence. The same antique milk crates and bottles lined the shelves, along with the old childhood projects she and her brother had made over the years. She smiled at the sentiment of it all. Morgan knew that no matter where in the world she lived, she would always be a small-town farm girl at heart, and she liked that.
“It looks great, Momma,” Morgan said and then hugged her mother again. She was glad to be here. Morgan was also glad that she’d be staying there a while. She excused herself to her room for that increasingly desired nap.
*
Lee raised her glass in a toast to the guest of honor. Mary Turner had been the gallery curator for as long as Lee could remember. It seemed that once word got out about Clara Dencourt’s retirement, all the older employees and senior staff decided it was their time as well. The mass exodus of experienced personnel made Lee both excited and scared to death. She had prepared herself for it and thought she was handling it surprisingly well considering that everything she knew was changing so quickly. Yet, she also knew that the only way for the gallery to grow and advance was for this transition to take place. As long as she kept
Morgan threw her arms around her mother and stared at her father over one shoulder. He was a little grayer now, but otherwise he was just as handsome as ever. Once he was within reach, she pulled him into the hug and reveled in the comfort of their embrace. She was glad to be home.
“Hey, kid! Is this all your stuff? I don’t remember you leaving with quite so much,” her father said as he looked at her bags.
“Actually, that’s not it. I shipped the rest to the house. Don’t worry. I’ll get a storage unit in town. I don’t think I’ll need much of it for a while.”
Morgan’s mother shushed her. “Oh hush. There’s plenty of room for everything. No sense in spending money to store it somewhere.”
“Well, all right then, let’s get home,” her dad said as he brushed his hand over her cheek.
*
When they pulled onto the gravel drive, Morgan was welcomed by the unchanged scenery of her childhood home. She’d only been away eighteen months, but half expected things to be aged by years. The 1800s farmhouse had been renovated and expanded many times during its life, but had never lost any of its charming qualities. Morgan heard stories from her father that her great-grandfather bought the old train station and moved it to the farm over a hundred years earlier. As a child, she remembered trying to picture a train stopping in front of her house or strangers milling about in her living room while they waited for its arrival. Her favorite parts were the original crystal doorknobs throughout the house. It was an old house, but it was fascinating and it was home.
It was still the faded sunshine yellow with white trim and a wraparound porch. She remembered many summers gliding on the porch swing and daydreaming. Around the back were the milking barn and the grain silo. They too had been renovated over the years, but even with changing technology, her family had altered very little in regards to their milking process. Where many dairies advanced to digital and robotic technology, the Will-Bridge Dairy remained steadfast in their direct involvement and manual practices. Morgan believed that it was this perseverance that made her successful in life.
As the contentedness flowed over her, Morgan was suddenly exhausted. She was looking forward to throwing herself onto her old bed and taking a wonderful and much needed nap. A nap was something she didn’t think she’d had in nearly two years, and it was long overdue.
As soon as her bags were unloaded, they all made their way into the house. Morgan was worn out, but she took a brief moment to admire that few changes her parents had made to the décor during her absence. The same antique milk crates and bottles lined the shelves, along with the old childhood projects she and her brother had made over the years. She smiled at the sentiment of it all. Morgan knew that no matter where in the world she lived, she would always be a small-town farm girl at heart, and she liked that.
“It looks great, Momma,” Morgan said and then hugged her mother again. She was glad to be here. Morgan was also glad that she’d be staying there a while. She excused herself to her room for that increasingly desired nap.
*
Lee raised her glass in a toast to the guest of honor. Mary Turner had been the gallery curator for as long as Lee could remember. It seemed that once word got out about Clara Dencourt’s retirement, all the older employees and senior staff decided it was their time as well. The mass exodus of experienced personnel made Lee both excited and scared to death. She had prepared herself for it and thought she was handling it surprisingly well considering that everything she knew was changing so quickly. Yet, she also knew that the only way for the gallery to grow and advance was for this transition to take place. As long as she kept
Similar Books
