Homecoming

“[W]hat could they do? Ask for help, probably from a policeman. (Would he put them in homes or orphanages? Wouldn’t that be just what the police or some social worker would do?)”

The Tillermans carry a pre-established distrust for authority figures and societal structures meant to protect them. While the reason for the Tillermans’ skepticism about law enforcement’s ability to protect them adequately is not revealed, their distrust represents a genuine fear often held by people from marginalized communities.

“At the phone, she took out the directory to look up bus companies in the yellow pages. She ran her finger down the names, selected one that sounded local and reached into her pocket for change.”

This scene highlights the narrative’s late 1970s setting. Dicey travels to a phone booth equipped with a phone book. She must call the bus station to discover the cost of transportation and the daily schedule.

“The car was a cave within which they were safe. It held them together; and it protected them from outside forces, the cold, the damp, people.”

When they leave their car, the children lose their feeling of home, setting them on a quest to find a new one. Although the children eventually learn that feeling at home has more to do with people than location, they understand from a practical standpoint that they need shelter to survive. They find this shelter several times and struggle to leave it behind each time, as this also means leaving behind their sense of safety and security.

“Sammy lagged back on Dicey’s hand and she snapped at him time and again to keep up. He didn’t like being snapped at, so he pulled back a little more, while pretending to be hurrying as fast as he could.”

Sibling Dynamics Under Duress, one of the novel’s central themes, is primarily developed through various conflicts and resolutions. Through frustrated with Sammy’s stubbornness, Dicey learns that yelling and snapping at Sammy is ineffective. Rather, spinning difficult situations into games helps to placate Sammy, the youngest and least mature of the siblings.

“‘We’ve gotta stick together,’ she repeated. ‘Momma didn’t,’ he said. ‘Well, we have to,’ Dicey said.”

Through this exchange between Dicey and Sammy, the children establish the critical need to remain loyal to each other, or else their entire family will dissipate. The children explore Defining Family Through Love and Acceptance by first establishing their commitment to remaining together.

“His first words were ‘hot’ (he would grab out for anything) and ‘no’ (‘Doe,’ he would cry, waving his arms, his face dreadfully earnest). He emptied cupboards and drawers, he unmade his bed, he grabbed homework papers and ran away, laughing. He was naughty, but not mean.”

In continuing to define family, Dicey establishes herself as the memory carrier. She recalls Sammy as a toddler, contrasting his personality then with the young boy he is at present. In witnessing Sammy’s entire childhood, Dicey can best recognize the reasons for Sammy’s behavior. While the other characters are quick to dismiss Sammy and want to see him in a stricter environment, Dicey empathizes with her traumatized youngest brother.

“Dicey gathered together her few memories, like scattered marbles. ‘He was tall and dark-haired, with hazel eyes like Momma’s. We all have eyes like theirs. James reminds me of him, and I guess I do too. You little ones look more like Momma. He had a skinny head, like James and me. He had a big, loud laugh. He built our beds for us.’”

Again, Dicey holds together the Tillermans’ family memories like a living photo album. She describes the children’s father with vivid detail and focuses on his positive attributes, glossing over more troubling memories. In doing so, Dicey understands that a person’s identity, in part, is made up of how their family remembers them after they’re gone.

“But this wasn’t their song. This song was about William the false lover and how he tricked pretty Peggy-O into running away with him but then murdered her. Edie sang the song quick and cruel, with sharp metallic sounds from her instrument.”

Songs and music symbolize comfort and human connection for the Tillermans. Here, Edie sings a familiar tune to the Tillermans, though she adjusts the harmony and lyrics to create a darker song. Dicey distrusts Edie from their first encounter, and her apprehensive feelings are reflected in Edie’s interpretation of the Peggy-O song.

“‘What’s it matter?’ James asked. ‘I mean, we’re the hungry ones. They could probably go back to the store and buy food, whoever this belonged to. Or just go home and eat. We need it.’ Dicey couldn’t entirely disagree with him. ‘But it’s stealing,’ she said.”

The Tillermans, James especially, grapple with morality in the face of survival, establishing that the line between good and bad behavior isn’t always clearly defined. Dicey feels responsible for her siblings’ moral fiber, disliking when the boys steal or talk back to Abigail. Still, she understands James’s and Sammy’s perspectives on a person’s entitlement to food.

“Dicey stood, chewing on her lip. Money, money, money, always money. And she couldn’t get into the drawer, find the right map, and get out the door—not fast enough to make it.”

Contrasting her previous statement about theft, Dicey considers stealing the map—and would likely do so if she could get away with it. In considering theft despite her strong aversion to it, Dicey highlights the critically important nature of maps to the Tillermans. Likewise, the Tillermans must navigate their emotional landscape to discover who they are individually and as a family.

“If you took home to mean where you rested content and never wanted to go anywhere else, then Dicey had never had a home. […] The ocean wasn’t home, then, and neither was anyplace else. Nobody could be home, really, until he was in his grave. Nobody could rest, really, until then.”

In the novel’s rising action, Dicey abandons her previous understanding and definition of home while sleeping in a graveyard. Dicey takes a break from thinking about her family’s survival and path forward to have a moment of introspection, redefining her understanding of home and family.

“Who did you hurt? You’re right about me; I’m not rich but I can go to the bank and take out another twenty. So you didn’t hurt me very much. You hurt yourself. More than anyone you hurt yourself.”

Although the children typically distrust strangers, Windy and Stewart assist the Tillermans with food, shelter, and a ride to Eunice’s house and provide emotional and moral guidance. This moment marks a turning point for James, who no longer steals for the remainder of the novel. James’s interactions with Stewart and Windy highlight the significance of a strong male role model for boys.

“His eyes turned to her. ‘I honestly don’t know. Except stick together, all of you. That’s the most important thing.’ Dicey agreed.”

The fact that Stewart and Windy refuse to turn in the Tillerman children to authorities reinforces the limitations of the societal structures meant to protect women and children. Steward withholds from offering any meaningless platitudes when Dicey asks for advice, illustrating his understanding and empathy for the children’s precarious situation. He underscores Dicey’s determination to keep her family united.

“She had a sudden memory of Momma’s sad moon-face and her sad moon smile in the car window; and then of Momma running to comfort Sammy when he had fallen off a chair and was frightened, pulling the little boy onto her knees and wrapping her arms around him, saying crooning comforting things. The two round yellow heads bent toward each other, and Momma’s strong hands cradled the back of Sammy’s little head.”

Again, Dicey proves herself the keeper of the Tillermans’ memories. Dicey remembers this emotionally tender moment just as Father Joseph criticizes Liza for not marrying the children’s father. Dicey illustrates that family is defined by the normal, everyday gestures and moments of love and not by traditional signifiers like marriage certificates.

“Momma said she couldn’t do that. She wouldn’t even go talk to anyone. She said charity was not for the Tillermans.”

Still a child, Dicey echoes her mother’s opinions on financial support systems that undoubtedly were instilled in Liza by her mother and father. Voigt highlights the very real stigma that exists surrounding government assistance programs; the Tillermans’ situation reveals how detrimental that shame can be for individuals in need of help.

“There was so much life, all here in one place, teeming, whirling about her. More than at the crowded summer beaches in Provincetown. It was like a pot of vegetable soup boiling on a stove, everything moving. A restlessness and excitement came into Dicey with the air she breathed. Anything can happen, she thought.”

Now a seasoned traveler, Dicey approaches the next leg of the Tillermans’ journey with enthusiasm. Dicey no longer operates on fear, and she feels excited about the possibilities that lay before her, ultimately illustrating Empowerment in the Face of Vulnerability, one of the novel’s central themes.

“Sammy looked at her then, his eyes questioning. ‘I had a dream that you were all on a bus and the door closed and I couldn’t get on. I ran and ran after it, but it kept getting away.’”

While dreams typically symbolize hope, comfort, and escape in Homecoming, Sammy’s nightmare about his siblings leaving him behind illustrates a turning point for this character. Sammy grows to be more aware of his situation and surroundings, hence the fear he experiences while sleeping.

“I kind of liked the idea of traveling alone—you know? With no one to look after. But I was wrong, Sammy, or at least I think now I was. I made a mistake not telling you.”

Dicey speaks honestly with her siblings about her own desires, refusing to completely hide away certain parts of herself. Still, she prioritizes keeping her family united and involved in important decisions over her own ambitions.

“Outside Dicey recognized what had been familiar in the man’s voice. He had Momma’s way with the sounds of letters. They sounded, just a little, like Momma. Dicey smiled and rejoined her family.”

Although home and family are not defined by a physical location, Dicey and her siblings do feel an innate connection to Crisfield, Maryland, where her family originated. Locations can offer a comforting familiarity that feels like home, and the Tillerman children lean into their natural ties to Abigail’s land.

“These were the kind of houses that might have treasures in the attic, or ghosts in the cellar. These were the kinds of houses that could burst with life. Now they rotted quietly, neglected, sad, but filled with mysterious memories.”

The rotting houses that the Tillermans walk past emphasize how physical structures and possessions do not define home and family. Still, the houses retain evidence of the families that once inhabited them, serving as artifacts to the bonds they once encompassed.

“‘Never said I had good manners. Never had any manners to say anything about.’ Her grandmother seemed pleased.”

Abigail instantly recognizes her own traits in her granddaughter, namely Dicey’s sharp wit and direct way of speaking, which is not always polite. Abigail admires Dicey for these characteristics, likely feeling honored to see certain parts of her own spirit transcending on into the next generation.

“The path led up to a dock built of weathered gray wood. At the end of it was tied a long open boat. It had an outboard motor and four seats. It was at least fifteen feet long and painted a bright red, inside and out. The boat looked taken care of too.”

On first impression, Dicey believes Abigail’s home is neglected and falling apart; she soon observes well-maintained, though private, sections of the home, like Abigail’s boat. This juxtaposition represents Abigail herself, with a hard, unwelcoming exterior at first glance, and a softer, capable, and warmer personality that she eventually reveals.

“‘Because paper mulberries are fragile,’ her grandmother answered. ‘It’s the way they spread out at the top, it’s the way they grow. If you didn’t brace it, the weight of the leaves and the growing branches would pull the tree apart. Like families.’”

Voigt frequently draws on metaphor and simile to extrapolate her themes. Abigail compares a family’s need for a strong, supportive brace to her mulberry tree’s branches, or the family’s children, which can only thrive with the correct care.