In the narrow valley, high in the hills, was a small meadow. The sun gently warmed the green grass and played merrily across the water in the small lake nestled there. A babbling brook spoke happy secrets to itself as it wandered from the snowy peaks to the calm lake. The spring air was permeated with the smell of grass and wildflowers. Bees filled the air with their industrious hum.
Deer would wander in the meadow, eating the finest morsels and watching for predators that never came. It was a peaceful and idyllic scene, even in winter. The trees would shed their leaves, and the snow would fall, covering the brook but leaving a perfect circle where the lake was. All the creatures of the forest would visit the lake for water, careful not to spoil the snow's perfection.
For these reasons, the old man had chosen to lay his best friend to rest here. 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 with no complaint.
He settled himself on the bench and looked down at the slight grass-covered mound with the heavy wooden cross at its head. Flowers grew all around the space, and butterflies visited every bright spot.
"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 so far and the birds that had begun to clean out the old nests under the eaves 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 in front of the fire."
He looked down at his old hands 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 pricked up their ears at 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. I thought I should get to know this interesting woman more."
He sighed, then chuckled to himself. "Did you know I asked your father if I could court you then? He just about threw me out right there. He said, 'No daughter of mine will be associating with a Timberbeast while he is living in sin.' I had no idea what he meant, so I went to the church and badgered the preacher with all kinds of questions about what sin was.
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 says on the matter.
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 to himself and said, "I really worked on changing my ways, but some things get embedded pretty well. I still got in fights with the other men, 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 again at that dance around this time, and you know the rest. Even in our early days together, you 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 tired old 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 beat-up old Bible.
The meadow creatures took turns listening to him relate old tales or read a bit from The Good Book. He finally looked around at the meadow and the lake 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 wooden cross and headed for home. The path wound in and out of the woods and found its way up and down hills. With the leaves as thick as they were, 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 clawed paw at his head. He flinched, and it hit his shoulder instead, knocking him off the path and into the huckleberry bushes along the side.
The bear came at him again, and he scrambled backward away from the enraged creature and the road. As the bear neared, he managed to get 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 and breaking twigs 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 over his shoulder 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 gloom of 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 it and walked across the lot.
He found his road and limped along the dirt road to his cabin. He fell through the door and collapsed on his bed. He figured he had a couple of broken ribs and bruises all over. For now, he just needed rest, and he slowly drifted off from exhaustion, ignoring the pain.
~*~
Dawn shone into the shallow cave, its bed of leaves, and the single fluffy occupant. The red fox twitched his ears and stretched while yawning. He sat and smacked his chops while looking out at the new day. He walked out of his cave and shook bodily while leaves and sticks fell off his reddish fur.
The fox trotted down the hill to the creek and lapped the cool, sweet water. A scent caught his attention, and he perked up, ears erect. He could smell a dangerous smell, and he looked around to ensure he wasn't being stalked. When he was sure he was not in danger, he sniffed carefully to determine where the smell came from. He cautiously crossed the creek and found man-smells on the bank.
They seemed to come from up the hill, and he carefully climbed the slope to the path. He sniffed the path 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 nudged it with his nose, but it lay still and did not move.
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 to consider 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. They were always relaxing and peaceful; somehow, they belonged in nature, like birdsong or the wind.
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. He still felt bruised, but everything didn't hurt as much. He slowly 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 kept in the house and, with a rag, washed his bruises and cuts. 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 made a fire in the stove, careful of his ribs, 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 as his heart dropped; 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."
Time went on, and 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 was there and 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.
He made it to Christmas Eve before he could not wait any more. He went to his tent while the rest of the camp was drinking and singing. He carefully untied the string and pulled back the paper to reveal a handsome brown leather Bible.
He spent the winter working his way from one end of the Bible to the other and memorizing passages from it. He learned to stop fighting and be at peace with his fellow timber beasts. He spoke softly and learned to be calm. He found The Lord and walked with Him daily. He saw the Lord's creation all around him and marveled at the trees and the creatures that lived under them. Where before he saw beasts, pests, and rodents, he now saw life.
In the spring, he returned to town a changed man, and Dora's father gave them his blessing.
In the small cabin he heaved a sad sigh 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 silently prayed that Dora's gift would be kept safe until he could find it.
The fox paused at the top of a wooded rise and sat to rest. The man-thing was heavy, and the fox's neck ached from carrying it. He licked his coat where it had been mussed by twigs and bushes, and had a vigorous shake. He stretched and yawned and itched the spots that needed the attention. Now set to rights, he gingerly picked up the man-thing in his sharp, white teeth and moved on through the woods, making a beeline for the old man's home.
He thought of the old man and the kindness he had always shown the fox. He remembered the snare that had been tied to a tree, which grabbed the fox's leg and held him aloft. The old man had found him this way, dangling and enraged. The fox had snapped and growled at the man who spoke softly and moved slowly.
"Easy, easy," said the man as he moved to the rope where it left the tree to go to a spike in the ground. He gently worked at the spike, rocking it back and forth; all the while, he continued to soothe the fox.
The fox listened to the man, who he thought was very strange. The other men the fox had seen would yell or throw things. Sometimes, they made thunder. These would all scare the fox away. The old man, however, was quiet and made slow movements, and the fox calmed a little.
The old man freed the spike and gently lowered the fox to earth. The fox tried to bound away, but his foot was still caught. He struggled and yanked but to no avail. The old man sat down and pulled a small package from his pocket.
The fox stopped long enough to sniff in the man's direction before determining that he had meat. The fox thought this might distract the man while he got away, but the rope around his ankle still stopped him.
Frustrated, he sat and watched the man as he opened the package and slowly put something from it into his mouth. He chewed for a while and swallowed before breaking another piece of the something into a smaller piece and tossing it toward the fox.
The fox jumped and tried to run away from the thing but stopped short when the rope tugged on his leg. He sat again and looked at the man who hadn't moved. A whiff of meat found his nose, and his ears perked up. He sniffed around himself on the ground and gulped down the scrap of meat he found. He looked around but didn't find any more meat. He stopped and looked at the man to see he was breaking more pieces off.
The old man flicked another piece toward the fox so it landed between them. The fox eyed the meat dubiously but slowly moved forward and grabbed it. It was gone in a second, and he looked to see if the man had any more. The old man sat on the ground and threw another piece to land between them. The fox slunk forward and ate that piece, too.
Over time, the meat landed closer and closer to the man. All the while, he spoke smoothly and in calming tones. Eventually, the fox took meat from his fingers, and he could pet the reddish fur.
Eventually, the old man was able to scratch behind his ears and under his chin. All the while, the fox snapped up every offered piece of meat until he was full. At this point, the fox plopped onto his back and got his first belly rub.
Now fully relaxed, the fox let the old man slip the rope off his foot.
After a while, the fox got up and trotted lazily away, looking back once. The old man took the rope and returned home. The following day, the fox was curled up on his porch, waiting for him. He didn't appear every day, but often enough, the old man always had a bag of jerky waiting for him.
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 and half-lit places, trying to see the thing he smelled. Behind him, branches snapped, and a large figure rose on thick legs. The fox whipped around and saw the bear looming over him. He turned to run and barely grabbed 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 smaller fox dove through the narrowest gaps he could find. The bear followed, crashing after the more nimble creature.
The fox knew these woods well and dove onto a path the rats liked using. Their dung masked his own trail, and the bear continued in the direction the fox had been going, smashing through bushes and small trees.
The fox ran on for a bit more before stopping to rest. He felt a pain in one paw and laid down to inspect it. A thorn had been driven into a pad and broken off. He worked at it with teeth and tongue 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 treeline and crossed the wide space the old man made.
The thorn in his foot had begun to hurt, and he imagined laying on the old man's sheltered porch and working on the thorn until he got it out. This idea plaeased him gave him strength to continue on. He limped over the small white bridge that crossed the creek and through the old man's garden. He slowed to watch the chickens busily scratching at the ground but thought of the meat sticks and moved on.
Finally, he passed the barn up a narrow path onto the porch. He walked to the door and dropped his load on the floor for the last time. 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 on his haunches 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 sharp cry unique to his species. The old man smiled fondly at the fox and pulled the jerky sack off of its hook by the door. He put one foot outside, and it bumped something. He looked down and saw his Bible at his feet with the first few rain drops on the cover.
He dropped the jerky sack and bent down to scoop up Dora's gift to him. He carried it back inside while the fox investigated the sack.
The old man placed the Bible on the table and lit a candle against the gloom produced by the rain. He took a clean cloth and wiped it down. Aside from some new scratches and bite marks, the Bible was intact and dry. He folded his hands, bowed his head, 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 gorged himself on every piece of meat in the sack and listened to the man as he spoke the same words he had heard in the meadow many times. 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 fluffy 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 rough edge of the thorn as it stuck out from the pad.
"You've got it stuck, good," He said and stood again. He walked inside and patted his leg. The fox sat on his haunches 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 it was wonderfully warm. He walked to the hot thing at one end of the cave and sniffed around it once before lying on the warm stones before it.
The old man chuckled as he shut the door 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, and in one swift movement, 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. The two friends enjoyed the comfort of companionship as the storm drenched the world outside.