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Welcome To The Bullpen
Her Secret
By Francie Davis
Hello the house!
Mind if I come in out of this rain?
Sure, coffee sounds great! I'll just leave this old horse tied right here.
What a night, what a night! You folks lived here long?
Ten years, you say? Well, sure, I guess that's possible…I usually ride up to the valley the back way.
What do you mean, what valley?! Well, friend, if you were to walk up past those whispering aspens, you'll find yourself in a sweet little meadow valley. She used to live up there, you know. Truth is, you can still find her foundation if you know where to look. It's just a simple rock creation that she spent weeks gathering and preparing for. There is a wild-looking scrub oak growing up in the center of the foundation nowadays, but if you tilt your head just right, you can imagine the strong log walls she had erected upon that rock foundation. Take a deep breath, friend…can't you just smell the fresh wood chips and that dark, dank earth beneath her new plank floor? She even had cut glass windows ordered from Kansas City-
Well, precisely friend, who ever would have put glass windows in a log cabin?! Well, she did. She was just a little peculiar that way. I still remember how those little glass squares sparkled even a mile or more off, like there were diamonds in that meadow…
Do? What did she do? Hmm…well, I guess the closest I can get to the truth is that she lived. She woke every morning to a serenade of bird song, broke fast with a smile on her face, joy in her heart, and a Bible on her table. And then? Then she went out to meet God. Horseback or on foot, she left her foundation and log walls and pretty windows, and immersed herself into the creation of her Creator. She said she always needed to hear His voice before she knew what was good in her life, because, friend, she had had plenty bad.
That bad? Well, now, that's a whole other story, but we might get to that yet, friend. She didn't stop to dwell on it much herself, but rather just kept busy living.
Come spring, she would race out of her cabin like it was on fire, catch her little buckskin mare and take off up the mountain bareback, her plain brown hair blowing out behind them like the sails on a ship. They would wander high, sometimes, and watch the elk herds with the new little calves, or stake out one of the mountain lakes and just observe all of God's creation that stopped by.
Summertime was always busy for her. She kept a garden that she just plain lived off of. She grew corn and carrots, tomatoes and turnips, squash and sweet peas, and everything in-between. And she'd go fishing, and swimming, and now and then she rode up the mountain, "for quiet", she'd say, and just be gone for a few days. Her skin grew dark in the summertime, brown as an Indian. Even her legs would get dark where her skirts slipped up while she was riding. Her hair was all that identified her, the simple brown locks streaked with a rich gold, like a miner's fantasy.
The fall found her busiest. She worked hard-canning and drying all her summer's labor, chopping wood for the cold months ahead, and even cutting meadow grass so her little mare would winter easy. She was like a golden honeybee, gathering in her harvest and just praising God for his blessings. She made sure His creatures wintered well too, and always grew enough produce to leave some sit in her garden, so the deer and rabbits and fox could come grab a bite if they were in a tight spot.
What's that? Why sure, I'd love just a touch more coffee--it sure does hit the spot! It warms me right up, what after that rain and all.
Did I mention what she did in the wintertime yet? No…well, friend, I do believe that winter was my absolute favorite time to watch her. Somehow that first snowfall quieted her, soothed her busy spirit, and a peacefulness and contentment wrapped themselves around her. Her woolen and flannel skirts flirted with the snowbanks every morning as she combed and fed her mare, restocked the woodpile, and scattered seeds for the birds. Her bright green eyes and rosy, cold-kissed cheeks were set off by the snow's brilliance, and her beauty simply stole my breath away.
You look a mite confused, friend. Let me try to clarify the situation for you. Remember that hard time? Well, I had loved her and she had loved me. When I left, her world simply crashed, her heart shattered, and she seemed to lose touch with the here and now. Folks thought she had cried and mourned so much that her brain had gotten rewired from the grief. She stopped hearing or talking to people, but went around conversing with God, and me--real conversations, mind you, and folks thought she was crazy. So she left town, with nothing but her giant broken heart and a sweet young filly, and she found a new foundation for her life. My love was twenty-nine when I left, and lived in that cabin until she was eighty-nine, and then she was gone.
Hehehe, of course, I know where she is.
Friend, you're looking a little pale. I can see that you just did the math, and sure enough you don't understand the answer. That's all right, friend. See, I'm taking her dancing tonight, only when I saw your light I couldn't resist the thought of a little conversation and some of this coffee. Mmmm, and it is good coffee…been quite some time since my last cup.
I'm sorry, friend, didn't mean for my story to upset you so-we are neighbors, just had not met before!
I'll tell the secret before I go, and here it is: She only ever asked God for two things, and Him being so big-hearted, He smiled and said okay. After her heart was broken on account of the news of me, she begged God to let her be able to talk with me, and have communion together, her and I, with Him. Her affliction, as all the folks thought, was really the first answer to her prayer. We got to talk again, day or night, rain or shine.
Her second request came that winter she turned eighty-nine. She had slipped into a little mountain stream while checking a trap, and it clean soaked her through. While she was there on the bank, looking like a snow angel, she asked God if she could hold my hand once more, and He smiled. I got to reach over and help her up, and hold the love of my life for the first time in sixty years.
Well, friend, thanks so much for this coffee. I think I hear her little mare's hoofs outside, so I had better be off. There's a bluegrass band playing tonight, and you oughta hear that ole' harp sing!
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REVIEW 1
Good story to begin with but was a little bit disappointed with the ending it could have gone on a litle bit longer. But it was good. |
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