6 July 2025, @mariannewest's Freewrite Writing Prompt Day 2790: define it
Once at home – home? – Colonel Henry Fitzhugh Lee paused on the doorstep of the home he was staying in since having evacuated from near the Bayard Heights neighborhood to consider this thought, and his mind went back 40 years to learning communication – not just how to write and spell and speak, but how to communicate from his grandparents, although of course he had not fully understood that in childhood.
“Home? What does it mean – define it, and then say what it means to you.”
That came in the gentle voice of his grandmother, Linda Fairlane Lee, but it was nonetheless a command that he never thought to disobey … like his little Ludlow cousins, he developed a massive vocabulary very young, and because Capt. Ludlow's grandmother was among his Lee aunts, Capt. Ludlow was using exactly the same methods to develop the communication skills of his grandchildren.
Still, in adulthood, hearing his grandmother's voice in his head, the colonel realized this was his first adult lesson … he had came home from 24 years of military service, but what did that meant? His lack of understanding was causing him to recreate situations more akin to his war years – what was home, and when would he get there? Where was he trying to go? Obviously back in Lofton County, but what else?
Then, Col. Lee's mind took him to the funeral of his first wife and child … and then waking up in the hospital, having survived the massive heart attack – at age 18 – that had almost taken him to share their grave at the end of the funeral. He had lived … but he had scarcely had a chance to establish home for himself before it had been taken from home. Not even the love of his grandparents could fill that gap. From there on, he had been alone for 27 years, with no direction home, but had taken all his capacity for love and leadership and poured it into everyone and everything under his responsibility all the way.
No, that wasn't right. Home is where the heart is … and that was above him, where Vanessa and Henry Victor Lee were, and, as the years passed, less so about them and more about the Lord Who had kept him through all those years. He had not cared about anything in the world for himself, but had lived for the welfare of those he served with. He could take and lead missions that others might not be able to do because of normal fear; for him, so long as he completed his mission, it did not matter whether it cost him his life. He was literally fearless. All any enemy could do was send him home, a service for which he would be grateful so long as he made sure they did not take any of his men with him.
But then had come Maggie Milano Thornton, the beautiful young widow who was a light in the darkness of the Big Loft Police Department, working for good as she could, and also, as it happened, she was his neighbor at the Rosewood Apartments. Now, she was Mrs. Maggie M.T. Lee, and their child was now in her womb, and he loved them both greatly.
Back to making a home … the place where one lived with those one loved the most … at age 46, after 27 years of living simply to be approved on high, and setting his mind upon that, Col. Lee knew he could not change his orientation … but he knew how to operate where he was stationed, and make it home to those he cared about. He was now stationed with Mrs. Maggie M.T. Lee, and also with the Ludlows and the Trent extended family, just as he had been with grandparents in childhood. Not home yet … not until on high, to fall down in grateful worship of his Lord, but, he could be faithful at station … and so, he walked through the house he was sharing with his wife to find her in the kitchen with Eleanor (11), Glendella (10), Edwina (8), and Amanda (7,) with them learning about types of Italian noodles.
“Hello, loves, big and small,” he purred, and the little four ran to him and his wife got up as well. “Big Cousin Aggie Hamilton sent us all cakes and breads – let's go get them out of my truck!”
Eleanor went to get Mrs. Thalia Ludlow, and Amanda and Edwina went to get their best friend eight-year-old Gracie Trent so she could get Mrs. Melissa Trent her mom, and the Lees unloaded the back of Col. Lee's truck to all of their neighbors. But Mrs. Lee already knew: sitting in the cab of the truck was a whole pound cake with lemon glaze, and Col. Lee got that out after their neighbors were all gone and handed it to her.
“For you, my love – Woody asked Aggie to add your favorite glaze to one cake, anticipating my request for you as I rested.”
“I'm glad you got some good sleep, Harry,” Mrs. Lee said as she put the cake down and they embraced.
“The death of Sandy Gebhardt has indeed triggered me, on a lot of levels,” he said, “but I am recovering, Maggie. I think I will be able to sleep tonight; the Lord has met me in the place of my need, and the burden is lighter than it was.”
“I've put a few extra hot peppers in your spinach and chickpeas,” Mrs. Lee said.
“Oh, I see you are looking at my caloric intake and you know I'm down!” Col. Lee said with a laugh. “A pepper bribe will get you everywhere, my dear!”
But Mrs. Lee noticed: the colonel's appetite had been gone for two days, but was back to life, for she quietly served him more in a bigger bowl and he cleared it and then went back to get the rest.
“This is really good, Maggie – good thing I am feeling better, because it would have been a shame to not be ready for this,” he said.
Mrs. Lee had spinach with chickpeas too, just in a separate pot with milder peppers than what her husband liked … then he had dessert with some pickled superhot peppers while she ate cake. They talked about their day; he said much less and she said much more, but that was the nature of things because he did not burden her with a warrior's nitty-gritty, and was much more interested in everything happening around her in their home circle – at station, for both of them. She was contented with the day in the circle, and also had prepared a few more cooking videos for upload – she and her cousin Margie had cash-flowing YouTube and Threespeak channels while the spinach and chickpeas were simmering. Col. Lee used his vast influence to introduce their channels to veterans' family circles, and the viewership and cash flow had increased significantly.
“It's just a lot of responsibility, too, though,” Mrs. Lee said. “You know how it is when people come to depend on you, Harry.”
“I do indeed – we are in a generation in which you and Margie are the first people to really show many how to cook with love, and it is the love – I know because I'm hooked too.”
She laughed, and he laughed.
“You and Margie are going to chase Vertran next door for that first 100,000 subscribers in a little bit,” he said.
“That little boy rolled over here yesterday and said we should collab because he can help us bump our numbers!” Mrs. Lee said. “Just nine going on 109 in confidence, that Vertran Stepforth – he really is like Lil' Robert on the other side of us and is the twin of his grandfather!”
“Are y'all going to do it?” Col. Lee said.
“As soon as I can get Margie to get out of this whole, 'Now, look, little boy' mood about it. She thinks he's insufferable, but she doesn't know how he is the way he is – he's not an immature arrogant man, but just confident in what he can do. But as you know, we have to give each other grace to work with our triggers.”
“Always,” Col. Lee said. “If y'all want it, you'll get there.”
After kitchen cleanup, the Lees relaxed on their couch before bed, and Mrs. Lee felt her husband completely relax and go on to deep sleep. When that happened, she didn't wake him for bed: she went and did what she was going to do and got ready and returned with a sheet and put it around them both as she settled in for the night right next to him. It was ten hours to reveille: he would rest for them all, and so would Mrs. Lee.