Take Me Home

2. Thoughts

(Hey! Hope you liked the first chapter, and although it didn't have too much to it, it was important. Thanks for reading, hope you like this one. We're jumping right into the plot now, so get ready :))))

(Also, going to try to make the chapters longer.)

Freyas P.O.V-

Freya's navy blue eyes were focused straight ahead of her, on the wet, brick road as she and her horse, Cadence, both left the funeral. Trotting at a gentle pace, she had time to mourn alone.

Her and her father had always been very close, especially when her mother passed away from sickness. The sickness that came took her Ma quickly, and that she thanked it for. Her father had been there to help her get over the death of her mother. They both did, eventually.

Freya steered the horse right, down a paved dirt pathway, leading into the open moorlands that were outside the village. They walked alongside the cliffs, and she looked down at the churning water. Completely soaked, she continued this direction until there was a small house in the distance, fenced in, with a garden close by. She could see the shape of the house in the distance on the hills close to the cliffs and trotted on, eager to escape the downpour that continually soaked her.

Her mind wandered yet, thinking about her father. Her father had built the fairly large garden, digging from sunrise to sunset. Freya had helped him. She was about 8, or 9, but together they had built an averaged size garden. From zucchini, to carrots, to tomatoes... they had it all.

But it was overgrown now, weeds had taken over the whole garden, choking the plants in it. Nothing was left.

Ruined.

She had heard the news of her father from Pastor Evan one night, who had rode out to meet her on her doorsteps. The news had shattered her. She had begun sobbing, then let her mind believe it wasn't but true and that he wasn't gone. She couldn't be bring herself to work on her and her fathers garden, at least not without him.

Soon, she accepted the fact that her fathers death was true, not too long after she received the heart breaking news, mainly because she saw other families being broken around her. She was given a flag, her fathers dogtag, and a few of his remaining possessions. The body was unable to be brought back to England.

Now, she lived with her grandparents. Grandpa was old but still as strong as ever. He worked with the livestock, the cows and horses they owned that were in a large barn in the back. Her grandmother was always in the kitchen, rumbling on about how Freya needed to learn to cook someday or soon.

Freya was thankful she had both of them in her life. Even though they were getting old (They had both just turned 67) she knew she could rely on them.

After all, now they were all she had.

Things would definitely be harder. She wouldn't get over the death of her father immediately, that was impossible. She would learn to cope without him. She knew that time would heal the wounds that had been left by the past, and the future would still be there to support her recovery.

Freya knew she would get over him.

Reaching the end of the pathway leading up to the house, Freya steered Cadence around it, on another thin, hardly visible trail that led around to the back of the house, where a fairly large, red barn stood. She slid off of Cadence and opened the barn doors and the two went inside, leaving the rain. Settling Cadence into her stall, she refilled the horse trough and turned to a nearby table, which had on it bags of carrots and apples. Opening the bags, she fed Cadence a carrot, then the other three horses her grandparents owned. Once done, she left the barn, running back up the trail and to the house.

Freya was soaked to the skin, and she began taking her black shawl, shoes, and her hat off, setting them on a small chair that was nearby. Turning to the white door that would let her enter, she knocked.

Almost immediately, the doorknob turned, and the face of her grandpa was what she saw. Moving aside, the gray haired man eyed Freya in concern. Freya paused in the room, locking eyes with her grandpa.

"Where were you?" He asked her, voice old and crackly, his wise and intelligent eyes narrowing at her.

Freya stood by the door. "At the funeral..." Her voice trailed off, realizing that Shen hadn't told her grandpa about the church meeting Pastor Evan had planned. They were probably worried about her the whole time she was gone, and she couldn't blame them.

"They storm is bad, Freya. You should have told me. I would have gone with you." He responded, turning to close the door, and then look at her soaked clothing.

"And, your soaked."

"I know that, I-I didn't want anybody to come with me. I'm sorry that I forgot to tell you..."

He stared at her and then nodded. "I understand. Just, tell me when your going somewhere alone. Especially in a storm like this one." He smiled, eyebrows raising and shaking his head.

Freya forced a half smile, then turned, walking toward the wooden stairs which were directly in front of the door.

"He's proud you, you know that."

She stopped. Tears returned to the surface and she took a shaky breath.

"Yes." She thought she did, but it wasn't as though she had done anything heroic or worthy to make him proud of her. She had always been a well behaved daughter, except when she was really little. Apparently she had been sassy and mean then.

Her grandpa nodded again. "Well...If you need anything...or want to talk about anything...I'm always here." He muttered quietly, looking away. Grandpa had always been the one to get all distant when it came to other's feelings.

Freya nodded. "Well...I'm going to go dry off now." She said, turning quickly and walking upstairs, where there was a small hall with two doors facing each other at the end.

Moving forward, she opened the door that was to the right, entering her room. It was mostly plain, they were tight on money. She had a simple bed with a light green, silk blanket and sheets, and a wooden dresser with a smudged mirror was against the wall, across from the bed. She studied the mirror, the marks and smudges irritating her. She would have to clean it. Next to the dresser there was a closet, her clothes and extra room items she didn't need out stored in it.

Walking across to the simple bed which was also against the wall, she sat down on it, studying the empty ceiling. Thoughts entered her mind within seconds of relaxing and she let them take over.

Her father was gone. She would never be able to hug him again. Never have him with her, never hear his voice. He's gone. And he's never coming back.