A visit into a moment frozen in time

Note: this story is more meaningful if you have read posts 1-4 first. You need to know the old Gillums, and me, first.
     I was at my wit's end. I had been searching every nook and cranny of our house, for months on end, looking for “The Chickens” picture. Say that title to anyone in our branch of the Gillum family and they immediately know what you are talking about. I knew Ken Gillum had one, and I know daughter, Kinley, had one. So did I. But no one could find it.
     You must understand. My wife Barbara has spent a lifetime taking pictures, not just professionally, but of everyone in our families. She often said, going professional messed up a really good hobby. She has dozens upon dozens of photo albums. Plus sack after sack of just loose photos. I myself contributed to the stash considerably. I had been through it all.
One day it hit me. I remembered that years ago, I put a few boxes of stuff up in our attic, my room was just too full. The first box yielded two albums of brother Harry's photos. Harry's albums were extremely well organized. Imagine that. One was labeled “oldies but goodies.” I began to get excited. When I hit the last page, I found the mother lode! Along with The Chickens, there was a very old, very dim, nobody-has-a-clue-whom-they-are photo. I took it along, copied it anyway, enlarging it.
I sat looking at that photo that night. The faces on the original were almost blank, but now, enlarged, you could begin to see detail.
It was useless. It was just too dim; I didn't recognize the house, or any faces. Suddenly, a bolt of lightning hit me. There was something about the small kitchen chimney with its unique cover. I had seen it before. Looking back through my pile of old photos I had built up while finishing my “Gillums” book, I found it. In an old 1920s era photo of the grandpa Gillums, with the old house they had built when first moving to Wing in the background, the same chimney was sticking up behind. His old house, twenty feet behind Hallie's house! Hallie's was built later in the twenties, the one I was born and raised in. The old house was torn down before I was born. Aunt Lula Belle had come over and thrown a royal fit when she found out it was being done, but it still disappeared. I sat beside Barbara, who was reading, and slowly, piece by piece, the parts came together. The big man had Grandpa's desperado mustache. The young man, standing beside a tall horse, must be Dr. Arthur Gillum. A cute little girl, nine or so, sat in front. Her legs were hanging off the porch, ankles crossed very ladylike, a sweet smile on her tilted face. She looks like Katie Marie, Barbara's niece, I thought. Had to be Lula Belle, but something was very wrong. She was happy, I thought. I had rarely seen Lula Belle happy. Seated beside her was a young boy. He had to be Franz. Back left, Grandma stood. Hallie stood beside her. The tall young man in the back—Homer. But the young man at the front right, leaning against the post, held my attention. I began to tear up. Barbara said, “You've been dealing with this old family stuff too long. You're getting emotional about it.” He had to be Dad! I stared at that image a long time. I had never seen a picture of Dad as a boy! He was a skinny kid, just like me at that age, about sixteen. I thought, “Oh, if I could only have known him at that age!” We could have had so much fun, playing ball, fishing, just roaming the hills. All the things I wanted him to do with me, when I was sixteen. But he was sixty-eight by then, and time and a very hard life had taken its toll. We never did any playing, just work. Barbara stirred beside me. “Are you going to stare at that picture all night!? I'm going to bed. See you in the morning.”
     I sat, just staring at that image. A long time passed. I began to daze out. Suddenly, the haze disappeared. I realized with a start that I was somewhere I had never been. I was riding a horse, shorter than the one in the picture. I looked at my hands and arms. They were skinny! My left thumb was intact! I guided the horse across a creek. Looking into the water, I was amazed! I was young again! A boy, 15 or 16, looked back at me! Something very, very strange was going on!
I rode on through forested bottom land. I approached a hill with a house on it. People were on the porch. I did not recognize the house, but the hill. . . Something about the hill stirred me inside.
     The husky man on the porch was hailing me. “Howdy, stranger. Come by and sit a spell. Get a drink. Where you headed for?” “Howdy. Just passing through,” I lied. He said, “Soon's as we get a picture made, we're goin' ta' eat a bite. Hang around. You must be hungry.” “Thanks, don't mind if I do. I am a little hungry.” I got off, tied up my horse, and walked over. The man with the camera started lining them up. The bubbly little girl sat on the edge of the porch, tomboy style, swinging her legs. “I used to work with a photographer. She always had little girls cross their ankles,” I said. The little girl didn't seem to like that idea, but she smiled at me anyway. Her mother liked it, though. “Glad you mentioned that, young feller. By the way, did you say the photographer you worked for was a she!?” The younger woman seemed to like that. “I'm a teacher. It’s high time women were doing other jobs, too!”
     The camera dude was getting tired of my interrupting. He let me know by stepping in front of me, struggling with his heavy tripod. I just hushed and watched. Suddenly, an amazing realization came over me.  TO BE CONTINUED, NEXT POST. THANKS FOR READING!