At Home Again

"At Home Again" by Sarah Orne Jewett is a novella that delves into the themes of nostalgia, belonging, and the complexities of homecoming. Set in the coastal town of Maine, the story follows a character returning to her childhood home after a long absence. As she reconnects with her past and the people of her hometown, she grapples with memories, changes, and the passage of time. Jewett’s rich, descriptive prose captures the essence of small-town life, highlighting the interplay between personal history and the landscape of one's origins. This work is a poignant exploration of identity and the enduring ties that bind us to our roots.

• Short story

								
In Oldfields Dr. Leslie had outwardly lived the familiar life to which
his friends and patients had long since accustomed themselves; he had
seemed a little preoccupied, perhaps, but if that were observed, it
was easily explained by his having one or two difficult cases to think
about. A few persons suspected that he missed Nan, and was, perhaps, a
little anxious lest her father's people in Dunport should claim her
altogether. Among those who knew best the doctor and his ward there
had been an ardent championship of Nan's rights and dignity, and a
great curiosity to know the success of the visit. Dr. Leslie had
answered all questions with composure, and with a distressing
meagreness of details; but at length Mrs. Graham became sure that he
was not altogether free from anxiety, and set her own quick wits at
work to learn the cause. It seemed a time of great uncertainty, at any
rate. The doctor sometimes brought one of Nan's bright, affectionate
letters for his neighbor to read, and they agreed that this holiday
was an excellent thing for her, but there was a silent recognition of
the fact that this was a critical time in the young girl's history;
that it either meant a new direction of her life or an increased
activity in the old one. Mrs. Graham was less well than usual in these
days, and the doctor found time to make more frequent visits than
ever, telling himself that she missed Nan's pleasant companionship,
but really wishing as much to receive sympathy as to give it. The dear
old lady had laughingly disclaimed any desire to summon her children
or grandchildren, saying that she was neither ill enough to need them,
nor well enough to enjoy them; and so in the beautiful June weather
the two old friends became strangely dear to each other, and had many
a long talk which the cares of the world or their own reserve had made
them save until this favoring season.

The doctor was acknowledged to be an old man at last, though everybody
still insisted that he looked younger than his age, and could not
doubt that he had half a lifetime of usefulness before him yet. But it
makes a great difference when one's ambitions are transferred from
one's own life to that of a younger person's; and while Dr. Leslie
grew less careful for himself, trusting to the unconscious certainty
of his practiced skill, he pondered eagerly over Nan's future,
reminding himself of various hints and suggestions, which must be
added to her equipment. Sometimes he wished that she were beginning a
few years later, when her position could be better recognized and
respected, and she would not have to fight against so much of the
opposition and petty fault-finding that come from ignorance; and
sometimes he rejoiced that his little girl, as he fondly called her,
would be one of the earlier proofs and examples of a certain noble
advance and new vantage-ground of civilization. This has been
anticipated through all ages by the women who, sometimes honored and
sometimes persecuted, have been drawn away from home life by a
devotion to public and social usefulness. It must be recognized that
certain qualities are required for married, and even domestic life,
which all women do not possess; but instead of attributing this to the
disintegration of society, it must be acknowledged to belong to its
progress.

So long as the visit in Dunport seemed to fulfill its anticipated
purpose, and the happy guest was throwing aside her cares and enjoying
the merry holiday and the excitement of new friendships and of her
uncommon position, so long the doctor had been glad, and far from
impatient to have the visit end. But when he read the later and
shorter letters again and again in the vain hope of finding something
in their wording which should explain the vague unhappiness which had
come to him as he had read them first, he began to feel troubled and
dismayed. There was something which Nan had not explained; something
was going wrong. He was sure that if it were anything he could set
right, that she would have told him. She had always done so; but it
became evident through the strange sympathy which made him conscious
of the mood of others that she was bent upon fighting her way alone.

It was a matter of surprise, and almost of dismay to him early one
morning, when he received a brief note from her which told him only
that she should be at home late that afternoon. It seemed to the wise
old doctor a day of most distressing uncertainty. He tried to make up
his mind to accept with true philosophy whatever decision she was
bringing him. "Nan is a good girl," he told himself over and over
again; "she will try to do right." But she was so young and so
generous, and whether she had been implored to break the old ties of
home life and affection for her aunt's sake, or whether it was a newer
and stronger influence still which had prevailed, waited for
explanation. Alas, as was written once, it is often the higher nature
that yields, because it is the most generous. The doctor knew well
enough the young girl's character. He knew what promises of growth and
uncommon achievement were all ready to unfold themselves,--for what
great uses she was made. He could not bear the thought of her being
handicapped in the race she had been set to run. Yet no one recognized
more clearly than he the unseen, and too often unconsidered, factor
which is peculiar to each soul, which prevents any other intelligence
from putting itself exactly in that soul's place, so that our
decisions and aids and suggestions are never wholly sufficient or
available for those even whom we love most. He went over the question
again and again; he followed Nan in his thoughts as she had grown
up,--unprejudiced, unconstrained as is possible for any human being to
be. He remembered that her heroes were the great doctors, and that her
whole heart had been stirred and claimed by the noble duties and needs
of the great profession. She had been careless of the social
limitations, of the lack of sympathy, even of the ridicule of the
public. She had behaved as a bird would behave if it were assured by
beasts and fishes that to walk and to swim were the only proper and
respectable means of getting from place to place. She had shown such
rare insight into the principles of things; she had even seemed to
him, as he watched her, to have anticipated experience, and he could
not help believing that it was within her power to add much to the too
small fund of certainty, by the sure instinct and aim of her
experiment. It counted nothing whether God had put this soul into a
man's body or a woman's. He had known best, and He meant it to be the
teller of new truth, a revealer of laws, and an influence for good in
its capacity for teaching, as well as in its example of pure and
reasonable life.

But the old doctor sighed, and told himself that the girl was most
human, most affectionate; it was not impossible that, in spite of her
apparent absence of certain domestic instincts, they had only lain

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