It's a 'feel good' story....something we all need.

 

This story was posted here a few months ago......I don't have anything Christmas related,

but this truly is a 'feel good' story...and is about family....and the holidays are about

family indeed.  So indulge me here.....and follow Mary Pritchard in her quest for a 

retirement home. 

   Is it possible to be 'drawn' to a certain place? Can your 'sixth sense' take

over and actually lead you to a place where you are supposed to be?

It does seem so.  Mary Pritchard found that out upon her retirement...drawn to

a place, and actually to a time that she had experienced before. Mary did find

that perfect retirement home....in Morgantown. It's chapter 4, 'The Mason's mark'

one of 28 stories to be found in Tales Unleashed.  

The Mason’s Mark

Mary Pritchard had always wanted to live in a nice quiet home, one with a front yard, perhaps a porch, maybe even a large dining room. But as a youngster in the 1950's, she had little choice about where she would be. Her mother had passed when she was a very young girl.

Mary possessed the one and only doll that her mother had gifted her on her fourth birthday. Soon after that, with her mother’s passing, she would have to go live with her Aunt Trudy, her only known relative. Mary’s father Miles had also passed away very tragically while on a job near their home in Morgantown. Miles was a master mason . . . a bricklayer, if you will. His work was beyond compare and Miles had helped build dozens of homes that were the envy of all who viewed them.

As Mary neared her retirement age, the call of returning to Morgantown kept coming to mind. And so, a year before retiring, Mary contacted a number of real estate agents in the Morgantown area to arrange to look at some homes there. By email, Mary finally had two or three very nice homes to look at . . . and her excitement grew as she marked two walk-throughs on her calendar, scheduled on the same weekend.

Meeting the local agent at a small friendly coffee spot in Morgantown, Mary looked at the information about the two homes that the agent had laid out in front of her. Both were well-kept homes, in nice neighborhoods, and each offered the right accommodations for someone soon to retire. But there was something about 151 Spruce Street that drew Mary’s attention more than the other property. The front yard was small and easily maintained, a nicely decorated porch graced the front, and the home was entirely made of brick. It weathered well over the years and had been maintained beautifully by its previous owners.

That same afternoon the real estate gal drove Mary to 151 Spruce. My, it was a lovely home, and even had a picket fence!

“The price is a bit high,” Mary exclaimed to the agent as they made their way up the front walk. “Do you think they might come down a bit?” The agent assured her she would see what could be done if Mary decided she wanted to buy. The agent gave Mary the quick tour . . . guiding her along the way from room to room and pointing out the amenities as they went.

“I must show the basement,” said the agent. “It has a new furnace, new water heater, cement floor, and it’s completely dry!”

As the two descended the ten short steps down, Mary felt a warm sensation, as if someone was welcoming her to this place. Yet she had never been in this house before. She was sure of that.

As the two gals chatted back and forth, Mary made her way to the straight and square red chimney on the west side of the basement. Old it was, but showed no signs of wear or deterioration. Two bricks up from the basement floor, Mary spotted an irregularity on one brick’s surface. Squatting down and brushing the dust from the brick she read, MJP, 9-’50. As she touched the brick a second time, a wave of exhilaration came over her. She knew then and there that her father Miles James Pritchard had helped build this house, presumably in September of 1950.

She stood up, turned with tears in her eyes, and said, “I’m home, I’ll have a check in full for you tomorrow.”

After more than fifty years, Mary had come home to Morgantown . . . not just a home, but a home that her father had helped to build for her. A better retirement gift, no one could ever have asked for.