In a narrow valley high in the hills, a small meadow nestled around a calm lake. A babbling brook fed the lake with water from snowy peaks, while the air hummed with bees and the scent of wildflowers. Through changing seasons, this peaceful haven drew creatures from the surrounding forest, its beauty unmarred even by winter's snow. It was here that the old man had chosen to lay his best friend, Dora, to rest, beneath a wooden cross surrounded by flowers and butterflies.
Dora had always enjoyed watching the animals as they went about the business of life. She found the changes in seasons delightful as well, and the two of them would walk to the lake to sit on the bench he built and take in the intricate majesty of The Creator's hands.
He made the trek to the lake every week to visit her. The path from their cabin to the meadow was long, twisting, and narrow, but he made it happily.
He settled himself on the bench and looked down at her.
"Hey, old girl," he said, "It's been a busy week, let me tell you. I finally got the stump out of the garden, but that took some doing. The colt is doing better now; he isn't sniffling anymore. I had to patch the roof. The rain started a leak last spring, but don't worry. I have a store of shingles that I'll get put up tomorrow."
He told her about the firewood he had collected and the birds that had begun to clean out the old nests in preparation for this year's chicks.
"That fox is becoming a regular,” He groused good-naturedly, "He has begun scratching at the door now. Next thing you know, he will want a rug by the fire."
He looked down at his old hand resting on a bible. It was aged and worn with scratches on the cover. He opened it gently and said, "I found a verse, and it made me think of you, Dora. It is first Corinthians 13:4."
He cleared his throat and read," Charity suffereth long, and is kind; charity envieth not; charity vaunteth not itself, is not puffed up, Doth not behave itself unseemly, seeketh not her own, is not easily provoked, thinketh no evil; Rejoiceth not in iniquity, but rejoiceth in the truth; Beareth all things, believeth all things, hopeth all things, endureth all things."
Around him, birds stilled in their joyous noises, deer listened to the low tones coming from the man, and the squirrel momentarily paused in his frantic movements.
He carefully closed the Bible and sat back. "Do you remember when we first met? It was in your father's store. I had come down from the hills after being up there a couple of months. I couldn't have been rougher than I was that day. But rather than get upset, you stayed civil and kind. That made an impression on me for sure."
He sighed, then chuckled to himself. "Did you know I asked your father about courting you then? He nearly threw me out right there. He said, 'No daughter of mine will be associating with a Timber beast while he is living in sin.' I had no idea what he meant, so I went and badgered the preacher with all kinds of questions about sin.
Can you imagine? This poor fellow has a loud, burly man show up at the church and start in with a bunch of questions, one right after another.
'Is drinking a sin? What about cheating at cards? What about slugging a fellow 'cause he cheated at cards? He eventually suggested that we look in the good book and see what the Creator said.
He showed me Romans 3:23, for all have sinned and fallen short of the glory of God. I knew right then that I was a sinner. I asked the preacher what I could do about it, and he explained how God made a way for us through his Son. I decided to do something about all that and prayed for salvation right there. "
The old man smiled and said, "I worked on changing my ways, but some things just get embedded. I still got in fights, but I did stop drinking. Some of the men thought I had gone soft, you see because I had changed my ways. After a fight or two, though, they all let it be and stopped making a fuss about it.
We met at that dance, then, and you know the rest. You always showed me charity. I was still rough and fought to leave my old life behind. The Lord's grace and your patience helped me win that fight."
He looked at the tired old Bible in his hands and said, "They help me still."
He talked for hours, sharing memories, how he spent his time, what he had seen, and interesting verses in the old Bible.
The meadow creatures took turns listening to him. He finally looked around at the meadow covered in the setting sun and slowly rose to his feet.
"I'll be back again before the week is out. I will have to start plowing soon, and I don't want you to be lonely."
He laid a kiss on the cross and headed for home. The path wound in and out of the woods and found its way up and down hills. Some areas were in absolute darkness in the failing light. The old man, preoccupied with his thoughts, paid no heed to these areas and didn't see the bear.
With a roar, it burst from the bushes and swung a giant claw at his head. He flinched, and it hit his shoulder, knocking him off the path and into the huckleberry bushes.
The bear came at him again, and he scrambled away from the enraged creature and the road. He got to his feet again before it rammed him, throwing him through the air and down a steep embankment. He rolled over and over, crashing through bushes before tumbling into a creek. He gasped and splashed and swam as best he could before finding the opposite bank and dragging himself onto it.
He looked back but couldn't see the bear. He heard it snuffling in the brush and prayed it would just move on. Before he saw what it would do, the pounding in his head overcame him, and he passed out.
He woke with a start and listened for his attacker. The sun had set, and the dusk made it hard to see anything. The old man was cold and tired and stood on shaky legs. He looked around himself and saw that he was standing near his woodlot. He knew there was a road beyond and walked toward it.
He found his road and limped along the dirt road to his cabin. He fell through the door and collapsed on his bed. He had a couple of broken ribs and bruises all over. For now, he just needed rest, and he slowly drifted off from exhaustion.
Dawn broke over the forest, rousing the red fox from his shallow cave. He stretched and shook off the night's debris before padding down to the creek for a drink. As he lapped the cool water, an unfamiliar scent caught his attention. Alert and cautious, he traced the smell across the creek, where he discovered the lingering scents of man on the bank.
They seemed to come from up the hill, and he carefully climbed the slope to the path. He sniffed and found where the bear had sat before charging the old man. He followed the smell of the struggle and stopped halfway down the hill. There, on the ground, was a man-thing. It smelled of his friend, the old man, leather, and tree smells.
He sniffed it more, then wandered back up to smell the other parts of the story. After a few minutes, he followed the smell back down to the man-thing and sat, considering it.
The old man always had this thing with him when he wandered to the meadow. The fox had seen it with him many times when the old man would sit on a bench and talk aloud for hours while holding it.
He liked the old man's voice and would find a nice, cozy place to lie and enjoy the sounds coming from him.
The fox thought the man might like to have his man-thing back again. He thought of the meat sticks the man always had and how the man might be willing to give him even more if he traded the man-thing for them.
He twitched his fluffy ears, swished his tail, then gently grabbed the soft man-thing in his mouth and trotted up to the path.
The old man woke with a start and grunted in pain. Bruised, but not hurting as much, he rolled to the edge of the bed and stood up. He was stiff; his ribs ached, and his head pounded. He moved to the bucket of water and, with a rag, washed his wounds. He found a long strip of cloth and wrapped his ribs tightly. He knew his ribs were broken as he felt them shifting and grinding when he bent over.
He gingerly made a fire in the stove, and put the kettle on to boil. He sat at the table and reached for his Bible. With a start, he realized it wasn't there anymore. The previous day came to him in a rush; the bear attack and limping home were as vivid as the moment they happened. He had his Bible with him when he was attacked, he realized, and tears filled his eyes.
"I am sorry, Dora," he whispered, closing his eyes.
That Bible had been a part of his life for decades. It was his most cherished gift and the only one he had left that she had given him.
He remembered the dance then and how uncertain he had been of all the people and goings on around him.
He thought of his first awkward attempts to get her to notice him and how they finally danced the whole night together. He remembered her father's eyes boring into him the entire time.
They spent a lot of time together over the next few months, always meeting at church functions or in her father's parlor. He attended church as regularly as he could when he wasn't deep in the woods, felling trees.
He had finally asked her father if he could marry her. The older man looked him in the eye and said, "Not yet. I have seen you grow, but you aren't there now. Dora needs a man who treats her as the Lord treats the church. Discover what that means, and you can marry her."
Winter began moving in. He came into town one last time before the logging camp was snowed in for the winter, and they had to stay put. Dora helped fill out the order. He loaded everything on his horse before turning to leave when he heard her call him.
He turned to see her wrapped in her shawl, holding a brown paper package for him.
"What is it?" He asked
"Wait and see," she said, "Open it on Christmas." Then she ran inside, where it was warm.
He carefully tucked the package into one of his saddle bags and began the slow trek to the camp.
On Christmas Eve, while the camp celebrated, he unwrapped Dora's gift: a handsome leather Bible. Throughout the winter, he immersed himself in its pages, memorizing passages and finding peace. His perspective shifted; he ceased fighting, spoke softly, and saw the Lord's creation in everything around him. Where once he saw only pests and beasts, he now recognized the sanctity of all life.
In the spring, he returned to town a changed man, and Dora's father gave them his blessing.
He sighed sadly and prayed, "Lord, I am sorry for not being more careful with your word. If there is any way that it can be returned to me, then I ask that it is. I know you can do anything, and I ask for this precious gift to be returned to me. Amen"
He looked out his window to the south and saw a summer storm blowing up the valley toward him and prayed that Dora's gift would be kept safe until he could find it.
The fox paused at the top of a rise and sat to rest. The man-thing was heavy, and the fox's neck ached from carrying it. He licked his coat and had a vigorous shake. He stretched and yawned and itched the spots that needed the attention. Now set to rights, he collected the man-thing in his sharp, white teeth and moved on through the woods, making a beeline for the old man's home.
He remembered how the old man had saved him from a hunter's trap and how the two lone creatures found comfort in one another. That's when he'd first had meat sticks.
The weight of the man-thing pulled the fox out of his reverie, and he dropped it on the ground. He looked around at the deep woods and sniffed carefully. Something was out there.
He peered into the shadows, trying to see the thing he smelled. Behind him, branches snapped, and a large figure rose on thick legs. The fox turned, saw the bear looming over him, and ran and barely grabbing the man-thing when the bear charged. He dashed into the nearest clump of bushes.
Branches and twigs snapped or were thrown away as the fox dove through the narrowest gaps he could find. The bear followed, crashing after the smaller creature.
The fox knew these woods well and dove onto a path the rats used. Their dung masked his trail, and the bear continued blindly smashing through bushes and small trees.
The fox ran for a bit more before resting. He felt a pain in one paw and inspected it. A thorn had been driven into a pad and broken off. He worked at it with his mouth but couldn't get to it.
He stood, shook himself off again, and wearily picked up the man-thing again. He set off once more and, before too long, found the tree line and crossed the wide space the old man made.
The thorn in his foot started to hurt, and he imagined laying on the old man's sheltered porch and working on the thorn until he got it out. He limped over the small white bridge that crossed the creek and through the old man's garden.
He passed the barn up a narrow path onto the porch. He walked to the door and dropped the man-thing. He plopped to his belly and worked furiously on the stubborn thorn. He bit and licked over and over, but it stayed put. He sat and raised his good foot to scratch the door.
The old man was lying in his bed when the rain began to hit his roof. He listened to it tapping when he thought he heard something at his door. He slowly stood, ribs still aching, and hobbled to the door.
The fox looked up when the door opened and saw the old man standing there. He jumped up, wagging his tail, and made the noise unique to his species. The old man smiled fondly at the fox and pulled the jerky sack off of its hook. He put one foot outside, and it bumped something. He looked down and saw his Bible with the first few rain drops on the cover.
He dropped the sack and bent down to scoop up Dora's gift. He carried it back inside while the fox investigated the sack.
The old man placed the Bible on the table and lit a candle. He took a clean cloth and wiped it down. Aside from new scratches and bite marks, the Bible was intact and dry. He folded his hands and prayed thanksgiving for the Lord had returned the gift to him.
He began reading his favorite verses aloud and leafing through the pages.
The fox had eaten every piece of meat in the sack and listened to the man as he spoke. He went through the sack again with his button nose twitching this way and that.
Finding nothing, he lay down and worked to remove the thorn again.
The old man shivered and realized he had left the door open. He looked out at the rain and saw the fox licking at his paw. He stood and said," What's the matter, boy?"
The fox looked up, gave a single thump of his tail, and went back to licking his paw. The old man kneeled beside him and bent over to look. The fox paused in licking his paw to lick the man's face once.
The old man gently laid his hand on the fox's paw and could feel just the edge of the thorn as it stuck out from the pad.
"You've got it stuck, good," He said, standing again. He walked inside and patted his leg. The fox sat and looked at the man with his head cocked sideways.
"Come on, boy," The old man encouraged and patted his leg again.
The fox stood and walked into the house, looking around and sniffing for all he was worth. The whole cave smelled like man-things, and was warm. He walked to the warm thing at one end of the cave and circled it once before lying on the warm stones before it.
The old man chuckled and went into the bedroom to find Dora's sewing kit. He opened her wooden chest and laid aside a few things before finding the pincushion. He pulled the biggest needle out and returned to where the fox was lying happily in front of the fireplace.
The old man lowered himself to his aching knees and patted the fox on the head. He petted, scratched, and rubbed the fox all over before gently holding the paw with the thorn in it.
He placed a finger between the toes to isolate the one he needed. Quickly, he caught the thorn on the needle and pulled it out. The fox jumped and yelped, but when nothing more happened, he laid back and closed his eyes again.
The old man cleaned the area with his handkerchief and washed it with a little water.
Then he climbed back into his chair and began to read aloud again while the fox slumbered happily by the fire.
Foundation Scripture:
Charity suffereth long, and is kind; charity envieth not; charity vaunteth not itself, is not puffed up, Doth not behave itself unseemly, seeketh not her own, is not easily provoked, thinketh no evil; Rejoiceth not in iniquity, but rejoiceth in the truth; Beareth all things, believeth all things, hopeth all things, endureth all things.
1 Corinthians 13:4-7 KJV
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Enjoyed your tale, and the imagery.
What a wonderful story D.W. Dixon weaves. I was mesmerized by the tale.