Jones of Old Lincoln (Chapter 8, page 2 of 8)


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Chapter 8

I have been blessed by the lust, and sometimes the love, of several good women in my life. Despite those precious gifts, there is an empty place in my heart that will forever honor my first love. Unrequited love is carried forever: a wonderful hunger, an imagined taste, never duplicated and yet always remembered.

In another scene within my sleep world, I saw a long, tall, lean man with a full head of silver-gray hair and a great, long, drooping moustache of the same color. He wore suspenders and a white shirt, with no tie. He was a bit stooped and looked very old. His countenance was somber but not hard. There was an aura of wisdom about him.

Beside him was a dumpling of a woman, noticeably younger than he, who hardly came to his shoulder. She wore a blue, checked apron and a white, red-trimmed garden bonnet. Her smile radiated warmth and sweetness. Beside her stood a stout, tall, ruddy-faced man of about forty. He was dressed in a sharp, dark gray, three-piece suit and held a 1930s light gray hat in his right hand. He had a crooked smile, his chin was pulled a little down, and his eyes were a direct green that connected with mine. He looked like my daddy and me.

It was not Daddy or me. It was my grandfather Jones and his father and mother. Jones looked blankly at me, then nodded. His eyes twinkled and his smile went fuller. I heard him say, "well, well, John Harwell's boy, how about that?" Then he said to me, "Gets right interesting doesn't it boy? Godspeed." After a long second he put his arm around his mom and his hat on his head titled back. He led her in a turn and the three walked together towards the porch of the old Mansfield house in Dellrose.

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