I wrote this story (below) a few years back. It was actually the first children’s story I ever attempted to write. I stayed up all night writing. When I shared it with my husband, he gave me the kindest compliment. His encouragement spurred me on, and I have continued to write.
I share this story here as the season changes. It is a story about change and how God’s hand is in each season. In some, He plants and prepares, and in others, He harvests and then there are times, He simply waits. But in all of them, He works for our growth and exaltation.
And I love Him for it.
Though written for my teenager neice originally, I welcome you to have a read should you desire.
Unto all the world: Here, a story for a fall evening read. I hope you enjoy it.
Ellie
She was a lovely girl with thick, waist long brown hair. This summer day, she had it meticulously braided, and it hung beautifully down her back – ending at her lumbar region. She favored her father in facial features and her mother in physical stature. She was tall for her age, thin, and like the folks in town had said of her mother, angelic and saintly. She was, by every measuring rod, a very good girl with a darling Tennessee accent. She was named after her mother: Elenore, but she went by Ellie.
She loved it there in Tennessee. It was the only home she had known, but she felt sure it was the place for her soul. She knew about the big cities like Memphis and Nashville. She had been there a few times with her parents when she was between seven and ten, but that was some years ago. Her parents, both musicians themselves, had taken her back a handful of times to participate in musical festivities. They said it was good for her to get some culture, but they had resolutely decided to leave the big city of Nashville when Ellie was only two years old. They wanted something better for Ellie – a life of solitude, hard work, and one grounded in nature, close to God – so they bought a piece of land about twenty miles from a southeastern town, way up in the mountains, and they raised Ellie there. She loved her home and had so many happy memories running amok through the woods and around the lake with her father and mother – singing, dancing, gathering firewood, playing hide-n-seek, and living a life which she cherished with people she cherished.
When she was in Nashville, she heard the lonesome beat of the bluegrass music and especially felt drawn to the five-string banjo and the fiddle. After returning home, she had pestered her parents to buy her a fiddle and a banjo. The next Christmas they surprised her with the banjo and a couple months later on her February birthday, she got the fiddle. She had learned to play both quite well, and when her parents were still with her, they enjoyed many evenings together – the band of three – playing and laughing and singing their hearts out in those mountains of Tennessee.
As Ellie lifted the jar of huckleberries she had picked earlier that morning from the water bath canning container, she wiped away the tear that fell down her cheek. She missed her mom so much. Last June on a humid day like this one, she had been canning with Ellie, and the next week, she was gone. Just like that. She had fallen gravely ill in a matter of a few days. Father had called for the town doctor. He came, but he didn’t know what ailed Ellie’s mother. Ellie and her father prayed desperately, but God took Ellie’s mother. Ellie had cried her heart nearly to shreds. What added to her sorrow was seeing the grief that betook her father. Her parents were so much in love, and when Elenore died, Griffin was never the same. Thinking of her father, Griffin, made the tears pour down Ellie’s cheeks. As bad fortune would have it, Griffin died only six months after his sweetheart. The town doctor said it was a heart attack, but Ellie felt certain he died of a broken heart.
At 17, she was alone in the world. Besides her God to whom she prayed daily and on whom she trusted for her survival, she was alone. When she was orphaned, a group of eight town ladies had made their way up the mountain to Ellie’s cabin, had found her clinging to a picture of her parents as she sat crying in the wooden rocker her father had lovingly made for her 16th birthday. They let themselves in the front door and went kindly to her side. Some knelt, others stood. They all begged her to come to town, choose a home (she was welcome in all of them they said), and let the women look after her. She was resolute in her determination.
“Thank you kindly – all of you. I appreciate your concern. I will stay here. This is my home.”
“But, Ellie,” they persisted, “You cannot stay here by yourself. There are wolves, mountain lions, bears, and all sorts of animals up here. Besides, how will you provide for yourself?”
“I can work. I know how to work. I can plant and harvest and if need be, find a job in town, but this is my home. My parents are buried here on this acreage, and I will not leave them.”
The women tried again – taking all sorts of approaches. It was futile. Ellie said she was not going, and she wouldn’t budge a big toe. The town preacher came next, followed by the doctor, the vet and his wife, and finally, the school principal. It was no use. Ellie was staying put.
And she did.
Except that she never really stayed put per say. She was, like her parents, on the go. She was up and doing, gardening, canning, chopping wood for the winter, picking berries, cleaning, improving everywhere she went and making the best of her unfortunate circumstance.
But this day – one year exactly since her mother died – she missed her parents so much. She had managed alright through the rest of winter after her father passed, and she was managing just fine, all things considered. She had finished her homeschooling at age 16, read like a pro, could out-math any boy her age, and was great with her hands. She was self-taught largely in many trades, and for 17, she produced impressive work – some of which she sold at the local bi-yearly fairs. She always did well. She was a good saver and had a stash of money to which she was always adding.
She cried herself through that summer day as she went about her work. Each tear that fell was a tribute to the power of child to parental love. She would go on living, but she would never forget her roots. She was part of her parents, and they would forever be a part of her. In time, she would heal – maybe never fully – but enough to go on and grow up, though she was more mature than women three times her age.
Summer passed, and as it did, Ellie fell prey to bouts of crying. But there were sweet moments, too – times when heaven seemed close and times when earth was kind to her. Her garden was a huge success, and the meadow of wildflowers her mother and she had planted when Ellie was nine years old was stunningly gorgeous. It seemed to Ellie that this year, the flowers were the prettiest they had ever been. She hoped her mom could be granted a peek of them. Oh she would love them so, as Ellie did! The columbine blue was divine! The sunburst wildflower was sun-like in its glory. The white trillium could be seen curling under their green leaves. Like a kaleidoscope, the meadow graced that Tennessee space with a splendor and wonder akin to heavenly realms. Ellie squatted and closed her eyes as she breathed deeply to inhale the goodness of the meadow. Yes, she could see there was still beauty in the world, even if her little world had been sorely disrupted with less than beautiful deaths.
Fall came, and it was lovely in its coming. Brisk morning air reminded Ellie that winter would be on its way soon. She was totally prepared with food, money, and wood for warmth. She wouldn’t be able to enjoy the great outdoors as much in the winter, so she wanted to take what was sure to be one of her last walks of fall around the lake. She grabbed the leather jacket her father had thoughtfully made for her, pulled her arms through it, and secured the zipper. She closed the front door behind her and thought of what her mother had told her: “Ellie, life has seasons just like Mother Earth has seasons. Embrace each season as it comes. Sometimes it will rain gloom upon you. Other times, you will be caught in a winter’s blizzard. But, Ellie, oh Ellie, there will be so many times of sweet summer and glorious spring – when the beauties of life will be almost too much for your soul to take in. Cherish each season, Ellie, cherish each season from Mother Earth and from life.”
Yes, Ellie would cherish this fall day, this season of her life.
She approached the lake the same way she had approached it for years: down the pine tree path, around the bend, and there off to the right – there it was. She loved the sight of that water. It wasn’t yet frozen, but it was cold. The water glimmered under the rays of the waning sun. Since it was fall and cold came to the mountains early, Ellie knew she didn’t have much daylight left. She would walk briskly and be back home in a jiffy.
But wait, what was that? She did hear something didn’t she? Was that a whimper? A cry for help? Who was it or what was it? She had heard something to the north, hadn’t she? Her heartbeat increased, and she began to run in the direction of the sound. Yes, there was something there. She could see it now. She couldn’t make out what it was, but she was pretty certain it was an animal. One that seemed hurt. Oh yes, it was an animal alright, and it was hurt alright. Badly. She reached it and realized it was a male dog – the mountain cur dog to be exact. He had been hurt by something – a wolf, a bear, something. He was down, and he needed help. Not caring about the blood that would get on her coat, Ellie reached her arms under the dog and scooped him up. She stumbled forward as she tried to secure both her footing and her balance. The dog was bigger than she anticipated, easily weighing forty pounds – perhaps more. The dog whimpered. Ellie didn’t know for certain, but she didn’t think any major arteries or veins had been cut. The bleeding was slow but steady. She moved as fast as her legs would carry her. She reached the front door of her cabin and with her knee and one hand, pushed-pulled it open. She laid the dog on the large elk hide in the center of the living room. She would worry about hosing it off later. She was no doctor, but she noted the laborious breathing pattern of the dog, and she felt for a pulse. It was weak. She was running out of time. She grabbed her white kitchen clothes and ripped them into swaddling pieces and began to bandage the wounds as best she could – if nothing else, to stop the bleeding and buy precious time.
“Hang on, I’ll get you to town. There is a good vet there, and he will help you. Can you hang on for me? Please, oh please, hang on.”
A whimper. Ellie took it as a “yes.”
The vet came to the front lobby. “Well, Ellie, you saved the dog. Had you gotten him here even two minutes later, we would have lost him.”
Ellie bowed her head in humble appreciation for the goodness of God in sparing the dog. The vet noticed and waited in silence. When Ellie looked up, he continued:
“Well, it looks to be a wolf attack. I’m not sure, but that would be my guess. Have you seen this dog before, Ellie?”
“No, never.”
“He’s a beautiful dog. He will heal, Ellie. If you and I can work any magic akin to what your good mother (bless her soul) used to work on wounded people and animals, this here dog will be up and running almost tomorrow. There will be wounds and scars, but he will heal. He’s already doing better. You know, Ellie, these dogs are native to the mountains of Kentucky and Tennessee. For early settlers, they were indispensable. They helped them with hunting, herding, and farm work. Plus, they are one heck of a loyal companion. Sometimes called a pioneer dog, this is not chance, Ellie girl, no not chance. I guess God sent you a pioneer dog, and since you are a fierce little pioneer up there in the mountains who won’t come down, I guess God gave you a dog. You say you’ve never seen him before, right?”
“Right, never.”
“Well, we should run an ad in town to see if anyone claims him. If not, Ellie, he’s yours – so says the town vet!”
Ellie gasped. “Really?”
The vet nodded his head though remained silent. “Now, have you thought of a name?”
“Ugh…no.”
“Well, get thinking.”
No one claimed the dog, and when the time was up, Ellie raced through the front door. The vet looked up and smiled.
“You will find him in back – upright and taking nourishment.”
Ellie paid the vet who only charged her a third of the cost, thanked him profusely, and leash in hand, left for home.
Once home, she sat quietly in her rocker as the dog laid by her side. God had sent her a companion. Yes, God was good. Her mom was right: a new season, a rainbow after the rainstorm.
“How about Revo? Will that be a suitable name?”
Revo looked up and barked.
“You agree ole boy? Okay, Revo it is.”
Ellie and Revo were inseparable. God had taken two and given one. Wherever Ellie went, Revo followed. Wherever Revo went, Ellie followed. The days passed into months, and the months passed into three years. The companionship was fulfilling. Revo had fully recovered and was strong, and Ellie was as every bit lovely as her mother and as every bit gifted as her father. Together, their life was full of the wonders of nature, the joy of living, and the beauty of hard work.
One spring evening after a full day’s work while Ellie sat reading in her rocker and Revo laid comfortably at her feet, Revo roused and began to bark.
“What is it boy?”
Then Ellie saw the frame of a young man make his way to the cabin’s front door. He looked to be about her age. She stood from her rocker, laid The Chronicles of Narnia down on the seat, and took Revo by the leash. Together they made their way towards the man.
“Hello. May I help you?” Ellie said as she opened the front door with Revo near her side.
“Hello. I…ugh…Scottie? Scottie, is that you? Oh Scottie!” The man bent down and began to stroke the dog’s neck.
Ellie couldn’t bear to hear what she heard. Someone else knew her dog? Called him Scottie? Owned and loved him before she did?
“Oh Father in Heaven,” she pled in her mind, “please do not give and then take away again. No, please.”
The man stood. “Where did you find this dog? How long have you had him?”
“What?”
“The dog. How long have you had this dog, and where did you get him?”
Ellie spoke, “I found him nearly three years ago out by the lake. He was severely injured. I took him to the vet who said he thinks a wolf got him. We ran an ad in the paper, and no one claimed him, so the vet gifted me with him.”
At this, Ellie began to sob.
The young man heard word fragments but wasn’t sure he fully understood what it all meant.
“Mom first, then my dad. Both gone. No one. Dog, a God-send. Please don’t take him.”
Ellie buried her face in her hands and sobbed.
The young man closed the door and let himself in and walked Ellie to the rocker. He kindly sat her down and then said, “I don’t know who you are, but I can tell you love this dog. He was mine, and I called him Scottie. I lost him on a hunt some years back, but I guess you found him. He’s yours – for the second time.”
Ellie lifted her tear-stained face from her hands and whispered,
“What did you say?”
“He’s yours – for the second time.”
Ellie threw her arms around the young man’s neck and then realized she didn’t even know who she was hugging. She staggered backwards and said, “I’m sorry. Who are you anyway?”
“No problem. It’s not every day a man gets hugged by a gal as pretty as yourself.”
Ellie blushed.
“I’m Red. And you?”
“Elenore. You can call me Ellie.”
“Hi Ellie.”
“Hello, Red.”
Red broke the silence. “Well, Ellie, I didn’t know you had Scottie, but I can tell he’s happy here with you. Thanks for taking such good care of him. I have been hunting – without success I might say – and saw the cabin’s light. I was wondering if you might be so kind as to give me a bite to eat.”
“You bet, the chicken and dumplings should be finished. There’s the bathroom there just beyond the kitchen area. Wash up.”
“This is heavenly! Who taught you to cook like this?” Red asked as he savored the third bite.
“My good mother.”
“And where is she?”
Ellie paused before looking into Red’s eyes and answering, “Up there,” as she pointed heavenward.
“You don’t say. Mine, too. My dad, too. I was orphaned at 18 – both my parents died within the year.”
Ellie nearly choked. “Mine, too, she whispered.”
The evening passed with the two of them talking it away like they had been old friends. There were tears and laughs and smiles.
“It’s growing late. I should go. Can I come back?” Red asked as he stood and walked to the door, grabbing his gun and hat – both of which were leaning against the wall.
“I wish you would” said Ellie, followed by, “soon” under her breath.
Red did come back soon. And back again. And again. And again. He courted Ellie, and in time, they were married. God gave Red to Ellie, and He gave Ellie to Red. Then there were three again: Revo-Scottie (as they called him), Red, and Ellie.
Again, Ellie’s mom had been right: each season of life was beautiful. Even when the torrential rains had come and the blizzard called death had swept away loved ones, spring had come again, and in the wake of the blooming flowers in the form of Red and love, life was once again beautiful.
“I can’t see where I’m going,” laughed Ellie.
“That’s the point,” Red laughed in return.
“How much longer, Red, with this blindfold on? Even though you spun me around and tried to mess up my sense of direction, I know these mountains, and I feel like we are headed to the meadow.”
“Almost there, sweet Ellie, almost there.”
Red guiding, they walked on for a few minutes more.
“Here we are. Off with the blindfold, Ellie,” Red said as he untied it.
There at her feet was a female mountain cur dog who looked to be Revo-Scottie’s size.
“We shouldn’t be the only ones so blessed, Ellie.”
“No. No, we shouldn’t.” Ellie smiled at Red’s gift to Revo-Scottie. And to her.
“Like Job, what was restored was more than what was taken” Red whispered into Ellie’s left ear. “We started out three, then we were whittled down to one each. God gave us each other and two dogs, so here we are: four – more than in the beginning.”
“You miscount, my Red,” said Ellie.
“Huh?”
Grabbing Red’s right hand, she placed it on her stomach. “The actual count is five.”