And, you know, that dear doctor, oh, he took me and bought my clothing for me and bought my suitcase. And everything was ready. And the day came when he come. And, you know, that doctor took me to the train. And he put me on a train in care of somebody, of course. He had found my people for me. I was on buses and trains and boats for a long time. And one day, after he had gotten my visa to get back into the United States... And I was always in charge of somebody because they wouldn't trust me to travel alone, because of having lived under the ground so long.
And one day they called the name of a town where I was, or where my mother and daddy lived. And, you know, I knew where mother and daddy lived. And I got off of that train and run down to that home five blocks from that depot. Just a very small town. And when I rang the bell my daddy come to the door and, you know, I looked at his face. I didn't know him. And because I didn't know him, I said, "Do you know where my father lives?"
And he said, "Who are you and what's your name?"
And I said my name. And I didn't give him my church name. I gave him my family name. And that man looked at me, and of course it was his name, and he said, "Hookie is this you?" ["Hookie" was her fathers pet name for Charlotte, pronounced "Hewkee".]
My father didn't know me, of course, it was my dad. That dear old man opened that door and invited me in. And I said, "Dad, is mother alive?" Because I didn't know about her. He took me back in to see her. And there she was. Seven and a half years she laid there an invalid. A horrible, horrible invalid. And, of course, she didn't know me and I didn't know her.