Of Needles and Haystacks by Ann Fryer (the beginning after the end novel read TXT) 📕

James’s face flamed.

“I can’t say I wouldn’t like you to be happy. Or to have the land as well as my cousin. Still can’t figure how Pa got all kerfuffled.” He kicked at a loose rock.

James patted the side of his horse’s neck, a calming gesture, as much for himself as the animal. “I need a chance to talk some sense into him. We’ve been friends for a long time. He’s confused, somehow.” James hoped he could clear things up. Hammond’s expression at seeing the box sitting out before Dorothy had ignited him like flint to rock.

“Please don’t make him mad again.” Ernest’s face scrunched with worry. “Dorothy showed up yesterday. They had words and Mrs. Meade had to send for the doctor.”

James grunted. The boy was terrified.

“She defended you.”

Ah, a glimmer of boldness. Good. “Did she now?” As if he needed defending. He hadn’t done anything worth fury. And more importantly, had Ernest defended him? “What about you? What have you spoken to your father about me? How have you stood up for me and Dorothy?”

“I believe you, David. I just can’t...I just...” Fear etched right down into his soul.

Exactly what he expected. “You ever hear the story about why your father calls me David?”

Ernest shrugged. “He said you earned it during the war.”

“I earned it alright.” James slid off the horse and stood eye to eye with him. “I was in the drum corps, as you know. Got too close to battle at first. It was horrible. Your father found me hiding in the damp hollow of a tree. A year and a good deal of heckling later, I was finally brave enough. The Reb’s, they had their Stonewall Jackson. I was going to be their little David. They didn’t give guns to drummer boys. But I had a sling shot and a pocket of stones. Hid behind a boulder and knocked a few men out cold.

“Like David, I stood up to the giant. Put myself in the middle of battle. Came out unscathed every time. A far different child than I’d been just a year before.” He’d earned his place. “I’d find your father in the trench, and he’d salute me like the man I’d wanted to be.” He stepped closer to Ernest.

“One day, I got too close to the giant. Nearly killed me.” James pointed to his scars. “But I never regretted facing the enemy. Attacking the men who purposed to kill my friends.” He jerked his thumb to his chest. “I learned to defend them. Die for them if need be.” James shook uncontrollably.

Ernest paled.

“Courage doesn’t have to kill a man, but bravery must defend a friend at the very least.” Nausea grew. He needed to find the right words, right now. “Tell your father I’ll be by in a few hours. We need to talk.”

James galloped back home, the cool wind easing the sickness. His valiant young King David days awakened the lion pacing within. He hadn’t picked up a sling shot in years. Today he would.

MAY 28, 1880

Mrs. MacDonald pried me with questions this morning. Offered to take me wherever I wanted to go in her gig. She’d even drive.  But, no, I needed to do this alone.

I’m afraid she got wind of my unfortunate altercation with Uncle and Aunt. Though I trust Mrs. Meade’s confidence. Perhaps I am wrong.

“I’m worried about you, Dorothy. Whatever is the matter? You can confide in me.”

Her genuine entreaty nearly broke my protective shell. Still, I can’t forget her efforts towards my courtship with her son. I do long for a clear-minded friend. But will she forgive me when I reject his offer?

I rolled up my sleeves against the heat, as she had done. “Thank you. I will remember your kindnesses to me always. I may need to discuss some things with you soon.”

She gave me an encouraging smile. “Well then, I see you are as stubborn as I was at your age. May as well see that you have a picnic of sorts. Will you at least take that?”

“Of course.” What a perfect idea.

“And Dorothy? I am praying for you.” She patted my hand. As if her prayer would take care of everything. I clung to that confidence. I sometimes fear that prayer doesn’t work, for all the pain that erupts in my life and the lives of those around me.

I began with joy, but panicked on the way. Had the tornado knocked it flat? I added my own plea to God. “Help me today.” I went forth, looking for a lifeline—one that connected my wild idea to a practical plan.

With a light shawl and a lunch tin of rolls, an apple, and some fried chicken, I made the hike to the scrap of land that Uncle doesn’t care a whit for. Never mind that the Birch’s feel they ought to have it back. I have to ignore that fact if I am going to make my own way. Survive.

I had to pass an intersection of road that led into Mr. Bleu’s property. I felt compelled to go there and even wanted to. But I feared I shouldn’t, and kept going.

I slowed as I reached that dead, forgotten cottage. It appeared as empty-hearted as before. A sad, needy place without memories. Maybe I could create some. I wondered why the Birch family cared. Ten acres was insufficient for a decent farm.

I prayed to God to remove the snakes before I stepped into the tall, greening overgrowth. Miraculous! I did not spot even one slithering menace.

I opened the door to the cottage and glanced about. Someone had been here. The rotten flooring had been torn out, exposing the darkness below. More animal skeletons littered about. Several other broken jars. The heavily-stained plaster remained. I stood there pondering a weighty decision. The answer was clear. I’d already chosen, in the depths of my exhausted dreams.

I did not go in—not yet. I hiked to a nearby low slope and