Waiting at Pine Hill

There were a great many people out that night.

It was the middle of November, the tree branches bare, fallen leaves blanketing the grass like a soft quilt. Down the way, Tobias Wilkes stood in his usual spot beneath a weeping willow, enjoying a cigar and watching as neighbors’ visitors came and went. Some lingered for hours. Others stopped briefly, whispered a few words, and slipped away as if time itself were fragile.

A group of people had gathered a little further down, speaking softly with visitors about yesterday—memories lost to time but alive in the hearts of those who once loved. This was always the case during the holiday season. Folks found their way to Pine Hill to visit an old family member.

Across the path, Mrs. Rodriguez stood where she often stood, just as her daughter’s car rolled up. The woman stepped out carrying what looked like a pie, balancing it in both hands the way she used to when she brought desserts to church functions and sat before a statue of Mary or any other saint.

She was older now, her hair streaked with gray, but Tobias remembered when she used to come to visit wearing pigtails and a sweatshirt.

Her name was Gwendolyn—Gwennie, as Mrs. Rodriguez always called her only child. She placed the pie down near where her mother always remained and spoke quietly, lovingly, as if even the night dared not interrupt.

“…life turns out differently,” she said. “I used to draw and paint. Haven’t picked up a brush in years. If I could only go back, just for one day.”

Mrs. Rodriguez didn’t move, only listened, the way she always had. When Gwennie finished speaking, she said, “Life never goes the way we plan. Only the way it ends up.”
“It’s a funny thing—and before you know it, everything is in the rearview window.”

After a long silence, Gwen lifted her hand and touched the air near her mother’s cheek—but never made contact, as if she felt something there without seeing it. Then she turned, walked back across the path, climbed into her red car, and drove away in tears.

Mrs. Rodriguez didn’t leave her spot until her daughter’s car turned off the pathway and onto the main road, disappearing into the distance. She smiled faintly and looked around at the groups gathered throughout their “neighborhood.” Then she picked up the pie.

“It’s an apple pie,” Mrs. Rodriguez called softly toward Tobias. “I’ll bring you a piece soon.”

He nodded, and she slipped away—vanishing before he could reply.

Tobias turned toward another neighbor. He eased himself onto a wooden crate beneath the tree and quietly took in the night.

Nearby, two figures sat laughing together.

“Remember when we were playing in the snow and I hit you right in the face with that snowball?” Little Mrs. Daisy’s brother said.

Mrs. Daisy swatted playfully at him. “Oh, you made me mad,” she chuckled.

Mrs. Daisy had always walked around greeting everyone—new families, old families, stray pets, lost children. She had been a light in life and was still a light now.

Her brother’s smile softened. “I’m sorry I threw that snowball at you.”

She touched his hand. “You got a whipping so bad…”

He laughed. “Daddy tore me up.”

They both laughed, a sound warm enough to soften the cold air.

Tobias wanted to laugh too. Memories always warmed him. He felt especially tender that night—it was his birthday. Another year passed. His daughter Gail had come earlier in the morning; his son Albert had stopped by just before sunset with a box of cigars. Albert was fifty-five now, gray in the beard, softer around the middle. Time works on every man the same.

He was glad to see them both. But there had been no sign of the woman he loved—Nina.

Albert and Gail were as different as day and night. Albert had been an Army man and would have gone to Vietnam if he hadn’t been discharged early on account of an injury. He left home normal and came back an addict. Booze. Women. Heroin. Broken promises.

Gail was the opposite. A schoolteacher. Church every Sunday. Married to a deacon. No children. And she never let on how her marriage was unraveling, how she felt like she was holding sand in her hands—tight as she could—yet still losing pieces through her fingers.

She had stood before him earlier, trying to smile.

“Momma’s not doing too good today,” was all she said.

Gail didn’t tell him Nina was in the hospital. She didn’t tell him her marriage was dying too. She carried it all quietly, the way women often do.

“Tell her I said hello,” Tobias told her. “Tell her I miss her.”

“I’ll tell her you miss her,” she whispered. “She ain’t been the same since you left. None of us have.”

He knew that part was true.

It had been ten long years before he saw any sign of Albert after Albert got out of jail. And when he did return, it was with a white woman holding a baby and a broken look in his eyes.

“This is the last one,” Albert had said. “Her name is Becca. I got five total. Next time I come I’ll bring the others.”

He never did.

Years later, Albert came again, crying—caught up in something big. Tobias remembered wrapping his arms around him that day, heart aching but still loving.

Life. Heartbreak. Years. Regret.

Thinking about all that—their lives, their choices—Tobias drifted further back, all the way to Mississippi, where his family roots were buried deep in red clay. He remembered the stories his grandmother told him about the heat, the cotton fields, the kindness of Mr. Clark, the hardships of others, and the war that had taken their loved ones away.

He remembered the romance between his parents, Leo and Willean Stevens, the promise Leo made before boarding the bus to fight overseas, and the quiet dignity of the life they built once he returned.

Those memories wrapped around Tobias like a quilt as he relit his cigar.

A breeze swept across the path, extinguishing it again.

Mrs. Daisy and Mrs. Rodriguez walked up to join him. They each took their usual crate.

Right behind him, Mr. Barada Anderson appeared and took a seat.

“I came for some of that pie,” he said as he sat down.

“Every year she brings it,” Mrs. Rodriguez said, “and every year y’all make it disappear.”

“Saw your son today,” Tobias said to Mr. Barada, handing him a cigar and a match.

“Yeah,” Barada nodded. “My son said he’s grateful for the life I gave him. He doesn’t talk much, but he smiles often. It’s good to see him. He came to tell me he started a new job up north, so he won’t be visiting as often.”

Mrs. Daisy poured coffee from a canister she kept tucked under her shawl. “I took the sugar packets from the diner down the way.”

That diner was the furthest they could go without causing commotion among the living.

“Your wife never visits you,” Tobias said to Barada.

“No. She left long ago. My children had her buried over in Franklin Township.”

Mrs. Daisy sighed. “Mine never came back. He died in the war. His body was never found.”

They fell quiet—the kind of quiet that comes from living through things that reshape you.

Tobias thought of Nina then.

Of her afro. Her Malcolm X speeches. Her Black Panther father. Their small house on Newbury Street. The night they sat at the window after signing the deed. The kids. The jobs. The church. The pride. The pain.

Silence.
Sickness.
And then—everything shifted.

A rustling across the walkway made Tobias lift his head.

From behind the largest oak, she appeared.

At first he didn’t move. He looked around, wondering if anyone else saw what he was seeing. But he knew—he knew—the person walking up the path was Nina. She was barefoot and wearing a hospital gown, her eyes filled with wild confusion and desperate searching.

Her spirit had slipped free.

And she was coming for him.

“Tobias?” she called, breathless.

He realized instantly that she could see him. He stood. Mrs. Rodriguez, Mrs. Daisy, and Mr. Barada stood too. They all saw her. She saw all of them. Tobias’ heart fluttered. The world grew still, as if holding its breath.

She saw him fully—finally—and without hesitation, she ran straight into his arms. He held her tightly, and after accepting she was real, he introduced her to his friends.

“Mrs. Rodriguez. Mrs. Daisy. Mr. Barada.”

“Tobias,” she whispered, touching his face, sliding her hands through his hair, trembling. “Is this real?”

“I think so,” he said, laughing through tears. He ran his hands through her hair, cupped her cheeks, kissed her forehead. They stood side by side, together again.

They laughed and talked, reunited in the quiet between worlds.

And then—together—they moved forward.

The veil before them thinned like a curtain drawn open, and a soft horizon of light unfurled. It was not a doorway, not a tunnel, but a world opening—gentle, glowing—like the first color of morning spreading across the sky.

They stepped toward it, husband and wife, hand in hand, and crossed into the place meant for them.

They did not return.

It would be many years before anyone came for Mrs. Daisy, Mrs. Rodriguez, or Mr. Barada.

But for Tobias and Nina—

their waiting was finally over.