Jeana’s Journal

On our drive to Tucson, one of the many small towns we passed through in Southern Utah was Orderville. That tiny town is a part of my personal history. My mother grew up there and in the small cemetery near the center of town, three generations of my grandparents lay sleeping. Growing up, I heard many stories about Orderville and the way life there used to be. Although I had rarely visited this town, it became a part of me through my mother’s memories. Just months before her death, my mother shared with  me one last and very personal event that took place in Orderville.

It was the fall of 1945, my father’s tour of duty serving in the Army Infantry during World War II was nearly over. After a brief courtship and a very short honeymoon in 1942 they had been separated for three long years. During that time my mother had moved back to her parents’ home where she and their young son waited for his return. His remaining time was short and news had come in the form of a telegram telling Mom that her husband was finally on his way home. She did not know the day nor how he would find his way to her, she only knew he was coming.

Late one night, well after midnight, she lay awake unable to sleep. In the distance she heard the Greyhound bus pause as it passed through the sleeping town. A few minutes later she heard the sound of running feet echo in the silent night. The running sound was coming up the hill toward the house. Instantly she knew who it was—her sweetheart was home!

It had been well over fifty years since the event when Mom told me her story. As she ended she said, “To this day I can still hear the echo of his feet running through the dark streets when he ran home to me.”

Last week, as we slowed for the bend in the highway, that is about all the town consists of, Mom’s last story came to me in vivid detail. As I remembered her story, I too heard that unforgettable sound. It was the sound of the beginning their many years together.

On our drive to Tucson, one of the many small towns we passed through in Southern Utah was Orderville. That tiny town is a part of my personal history. My mother grew up there and in the small cemetery near the center of town, three generations of my grandparents lay sleeping. Growing up, I heard many stories about Orderville and the way life there used to be. Although I had rarely visited this town, it became a part of me through my mother’s memories. Just months before her death, my mother shared with  me one last and very personal event that took place in Orderville.

It was the fall of 1945, my father’s tour of duty serving in the Army Infantry during World War II was nearly over. After a brief courtship and a very short honeymoon in 1942 they had been separated for three long years. During that time my mother had moved back to her parents’ home where she and their young son waited for his return. His remaining time was short and news had come in the form of a telegram telling Mom that her husband was finally on his way home. She did not know the day nor how he would find his way to her, she only knew he was coming.

Late one night, well after midnight, she lay awake unable to sleep. In the distance she heard the Greyhound bus pause as it passed through the sleeping town. A few minutes later she heard the sound of running feet echo in the silent night. The running sound was coming up the hill toward the house. Instantly she knew who it was—her sweetheart was home!

It had been well over fifty years since the event when Mom told me her story. As she ended she said, “To this day I can still hear the echo of his feet running through the dark streets when he ran home to me.”

Last week, as we slowed for the bend in the highway, that is about all the town consists of, Mom’s last story came to me in vivid detail. As I remembered her story, I too heard that unforgettable sound. It was the sound of the beginning their many years together.