Bookworms and Blueberries

“Mom, what does ‘i-dee-lick’ mean?” I looked up from my bread dough to meet the chocolate brown eyes of my youngest daughter. Slightly confused by what could only be incorrect pronunciation, I requested she spell it.

“Idyllic.” I said. “It means peaceful or calm, pleasant.” I paused, thinking. “I spent an idyllic afternoon in the hammock.” Satisfied, Tessa returned to her book and I, to the pounding of the dough.

Tessa was a reader. While her older brother and sister were usually found outside chasing butterflies or playing catch, I could count on finding Tessa curled up in a chair, book in one hand, the other one twisting a lock of hair.

I certainly didn’t mind! I was an avid reader myself. Todd and Tara were too, but they much preferred the outdoor activities of the farm and helping their dad during the day. Save the book reading for evenings when daylight was gone, or the weather too unpleasant to play in. 

Ours was a good life, this one my husband and I had carved. Country kids, both of us, when the McGregor Farm came up for sale, we couldn’t think of a better place to raise a family. We doled out chores along with discipline and manners. It was the way our parents raised us and their parents had raised them.

Out of the corner of my eye I watched my eight year olds mouth work its way around another unfamiliar word. My heart surged with pride for her independent streak that would not allow her to ask for help until she had exhausted her own efforts. Sure enough I saw her face alight with comprehension and she sank deeper into her little world.

I moved the bread dough to the warming oven and wiped my hands. “Tess, tear yourself away from your book a minute and come take a walk with me.”

She groaned but obeyed. While I was glad she loved to read, I worried that my little bookworm wasn’t getting enough physical activities. As we made our way down the worn path to the garden, I looked closely at Tessa. In the sunlight, I noticed the dark circles under her eyes and wondered how long she’d stayed awake the night before, reading under the covers. I circled my arm around her shoulders and drew her closer to me. Instantly she stood straighter.

It had been a busy productive summer as usual and perhaps I had been too busy to really pay attention to my quiet compliant child. With a rowdy thirteen year old son and a precocious eleven year old daughter clamoring for my time, Tessa was the easy one. Maybe too easy, and too often overlooked with all these things demanding my attention. I resolved to spend some extra time with Tessa before school resumed next month.

We had reached the blueberries and we knelt together as I handed Tessa a bucket that rested against the fencepost. For some time we picked berries in companionable silence, enjoying the plinking of plump ripe fruit as it landed in the buckets. The sunlight danced across the burnished red of the blueberry bush. The cooing of a dove lulled us.

“Mom?” Tessa’s voice broke the stillness. “Is this an i-dyl-lic moment?”

Sitting back on my heels, I studied her small face for a moment, brushing a strand of hair so I could see her eyes better. A memory floated to the surface like a picture from a storybook. I was a child picking vegetables from the garden with my mother. It was a memory awash in sunshine, fragrant and rich. Tessa grinned at me. A wave of love rushed over me, a love so fierce, so pure. I wished I could freeze frame this moment.

"Idyllic? Yes, Tessa, I believe it is.”

* this story will soon be appearing in an upcoming publication, "Mixed Blessings, Simple Pleasures" a series of anthologies brought to you by Breath of Fresh Air Press. For more information on Breath of Fresh Air Press please like their Facebook page or look for them on the Faithwriters website.

Dare Ya'

You have to know a bit about Elijah’s background to understand the story I’m gonna tell you. His ma ran off when he was about five and his dad got ugly when he was drinking, which was most the time. The kids poked ridicule at him for not having a ma and for having a drunk for a dad. How he made it through those early years I can't rightly say. I suppose Mrs. Wilkins next door watched out for him and of course the ladies from the church. But he didn’t have no- what’s that word—nurturen’--for most of those years and that can make a person grow up mean. 

He could cuss like nobody’s business and when he’d double up his fists you backed off right quick. What he lacked in height he more than made up for it by the way he carried himself. 

Yet, for all his toughness, there was something about him that sure got the girls excited. By the time he was in high school most every girl thought she’d be the one who was gonna save him from himself. And Elijah for the most part seemed to roll with it. They’d be helping him with his homework, fussing over him, and inviting him home for supper till their mamas and daddies would draw the line and forbid their innocent little Emily or Suzie from seeing him anymore. 

So we were all surprised when he started hanging 'round with Becca. For starters she didn't seek him out which was how the relationships usually started. Secondly, she didn’t act like she was all that taken with him. And thirdly, her daddy was the new preacher over at Crowded at the Cross Bible Church. We figured that whatever Elijah had going with Becca, it wasn’t gonna last long once her parents got to know him. 

But being new to the area and not knowing much of Elijah’s background, and I suppose, being preachers an all, they felt it was their Christian duty to welcome him into their home. But we’d seen many a church folk try to get Elijah to come to church before and not a one of ‘em had ever succeeded.

Now, the way I heard it, Becca didn’t come right out and ask Elijah to come to church with her ever. Nah, I think she musta been pretty wily to figure out that the best way to get to Elijah was to let him think it was all his own idea. And it worked, cause next thing we knew, Elijah not only came to church one Sunday morning but came back that Sunday night for more. And you coulda knocked me over with a feather when I heard that at the end of the service, Elijah knelt with tears streaming down his face and asked Jesus to come into his heart. 

The news of this spread quickly 'round our school and we waited with baited breath the next day to see how this was gonna play out in real life. Now I should mention that Elijah had one sworn enemy for life, a classmate named Pete Nichols. Pete was ring leader of the kids who’d picked on Elijah in grade school and the only kid who had ever not backed down when Elijah was looking for a fight. They pretty much stayed cleared of each other these days. But still, it came as no surprise that Pete would be the one to call Elijah on his new found faith. Challenged him right in the hallway first thing. 

“Hey punk! I heard the funniest thing today. I heard you found religion." Pete sneered.

Elijah didn’t even hesitate. He swung around, looked Pete straight in the eye and told him yes, he had found religion, but more importantly he’d found truth. He’d found Jesus. And went on to say he hoped Pete would find him too. 

Pete was struck dumb for a minute and then let out a big whoop and said "Well Elijah, I dare ya to tell that to everybody!” 

Well, ya' gotta know somebody like Elijah wasn’t gonna back away from a dare, Christian or not. 

Last I heard Elijah was living in Haiti, with his wife Becca and their three kids, working with New Tribes Missions doing exactly what Pete dared him to do… speaking the truth to everybody.

No More Secrets

In a shadowed alley, Krista, little Marie in tow, hurried to find refuge behind a large garbage container. Krista placed a finger to her lips in warning, staring at her daughter anxiously. Eyes round and warm as chocolate returned the serious gaze. They huddled together, frozen by fear. They ducked down, as the sound of the approaching car grew closer. When it had passed by without slowing, Krista straightened and smoothed the little girls’ hair with trembling hands. What were they doing here, crouched in this dark alley, fearing for their lives? Krista had a vague plan, one that involved seeking refuge at the sheriff’s office, but walking openly down the sidewalk was as dangerous as if they had stayed home.

Home. A word that should convey safety and comfort, it only caused Krista to shudder. And suddenly, she was back in the kitchen, cowering, as Hank raged. She shook her head, willing the painful recall away. She couldn’t think about that now. She had to focus. Survival. That was all that mattered. She had to get Marie and herself to a safe place.

Unbidden, her thoughts raced. How many nights had she lain awake, staring down at Hank’s slack figure sprawled on their bed? How many nights of choking back tears as she watched him sleep? How many nights of silently questioning who this man really was? He was her husband, but did she even know him at all? Understand him? Sometimes it seemed all she knew how to do was make him angry. She would have never guessed him to be controlling, authoritative, violent, when they were dating, although looking back, she realized, the signs were there. 

The first time he had ever struck her shocked them both. Now, after being beaten down time and time again she was only shocked that she had finally found the courage to leave. 

How many years of secrecy? Putting on the happy face for family and friends, teaching Marie that there were things they just didn’t talk about -- to anyone. How many times had she sent Marie to her room, cautioning her to be quiet, to stay put, no matter what?

The scene from earlier returned with a vengeance. Hank, disgusted and spent, had given her one last shove as he turned to leave the room. Only after she heard his snores from the bedroom did she rise from where she had fallen and go to check on her daughter.

It was what she had witnessed from Marie’s bedroom doorway that had done it. Not fully comprehending at first, she had watched as Marie, one arm poised as if to strike, bent over her doll. She was hissing words. Ugly words, words that Krista had just endured from Hank. Then, quickly, Marie’s role-play had changed and she was scooping up the doll, whispering, “Shhh! We don’t talk about this.”

Awash in crushing grief at this disturbing revelation, Krista faced her moment of truth. She had acted quickly. An overnight bag in which she shoved only what they would need for the next day. Money. Car keys. There wasn’t time for anything else. She was counting the minutes, gauging how much time she had and how far she could get.

Hank’s rages followed a definite pattern: Anger. Violence. Exhaustion. Sleep. She knew she didn't have much time before he would awaken, demanding her presence. What would follow next would be the manipulative apologies, warnings about keeping the secret and finally, sexual domination, Hank’s version of making up.

They had made it only a few blocks when her car had sputtered to a stop, it’s flashing fuel light mocking her. She knew he would come looking. Panicked, she had unbuckled Marie from her car seat. He would see the abandoned car. She couldn’t waste time. They had taken to the streets on foot. 

Now, Krista rose from the kneeling position her body was cramped in. Marie followed obediently without being told. As Krista sought out Marie’s face in the shadows, it was Marie who raised her finger to her lips and made the shushing sound.

Fighting the tears, Krista swallowed hard. With a strength she had not previously known, she squared her shoulders, resolutely taking Marie’s small hand. She would get them to safety. She would teach Marie new rules. There would be no more secrets. And she would never say, “Shhh” again.

This story was written originally  for a Faithwriters Challenge in 2010. This month of October is National Domestic Violence Awareness Month. I felt it appropriate to share this story here. I always hope that despite the ugliness of domestic violence, raising awareness will bring even ONE person to a safer, better place. 

Spreading Sunshine

This entry was written for FaithWriters Weekly Challenge, topic: SPAM (not the meat)

I placed 8th in the Top 20 ( Editors Choice Awards) and 7th in the Top 10 for Master's Level this week!  Yay for me :) :)

With fingers poised over the keyboard, Iris giggled. At 78, it thrilled her to no end to have learned this new skill of surfing the web and sending email. The wrinkled, liver-spotted hands caressed the keys as she opened up her inbox. She got a chuckle out of the dancing dog video from God-Tube and blushed over the slightly risqué one her cousin Clarice had sent her. She wiped away tears over the forward she had received honoring Veterans. She adored the one from her friend Franny about sister-girlfriends and although the instructions to forward this to 9 other women in the next 2 minutes seemed a little reminiscent of the chain letters of her youth, she still thought it was lovely. How much fun it was to reach out to all her friends. Life was too short for not spreading sunshine. Hitting the send button, she leaned back with a contented sigh.

Jocelyn gave an irritated grunt as she opened her email. Delete. Delete. Delete. She went to her mail settings and blocked all future incoming mail from BloomingIris@gmail.com. Life was just too short to deal with spam.

to read this on the Official FaithWriters page click here! 

 

DISCLAIMER: PLEASE NOTE THE EMAIL ADDRESS USED IN THIS STORY IS NOT, TO MY KNOWLEDGE, A VALID EMAIL AND WHILE I DO KNOW SOMEONE NAMED IRIS WHO LIKES TO SEND FORWARDS, THIS STORY WAS WRITTEN WITH NO ONE SPECIFIC PERSON IN MIND!!