Flash Fiction Friday

Flash Fiction Friday: A Daring Rescue

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A Daring Rescue

by Kelly F. Barr

Bundled in her white winter coat, red and white checked scarf around her neck, red knit hat perched on her head, and red gloves warming her hands, Chelsea stood at the line that divided her parent’s meadow and the forest of trees. She could see three doe and one six-point buck white-tail deer beneath the forest canopy several yards away.

She plucked the glove from her right hand, shoved it in her pocket, and raised her hands in slow motion to grasp the 35 mm camera that hung from its strap around her neck. She lifted it to her eye and focused the lens upon the group of deer. Click! She snapped a photo and the deer tensed their muscles and turned their heads toward her.

Drat! Why did the best cameras make so much noise when the shutter release button was pressed? She wanted to take more shots but didn’t dare, lest she frighten the beautiful creatures away. She released the breath she’d been holding as they lowered their heads to the ground to nibble at the shoots of grass they had revealed beneath the snow with their hooves.

She held the camera and peered through the viewfinder, watching for another opportunity to take a shot. She didn’t have long to wait, as a moment later, the buck raised his head and seemed to look right at her. She pressed the shutter release button, trying not to cringe at the noise it made. She didn’t want to move the camera and cause the picture to blur.

Just after the loud click of the shutter, the buck turned and ran deeper into the forest and the does followed. Chelsea caught a shot of their white tails lifted straight in the air as they bounded deeper into the trees. Should she try to follow? Would she be able to follow their tracks in the snow with the long leaps they took? She carefully lowered her camera to rest on her chest again, and keeping one hand on the camera, she proceeded into the woods.

Chelsea hadn’t gone more than several yards when the loud bang of a rifle shot made her heart leap in her chest. She ducked behind a tree, and leaned her back against its trunk. What had she been thinking entering the forest? It was hunting season and this was state game land. She looked over her clothes, realizing she didn’t have enough bright red on to make her visible to anyone carrying a gun, looking for a prize deer.

She needed to get back to the meadow, but before she could move, a short high-pitched sound came from her left. She turned her head and saw a doe limping forward, blood running down it’s shoulder toward it’s front leg. Chelsea gasped and the doe turned and looked at her.

“Will you let me help you?” Chelsea spoke in a soft voice. “I’m not a hunter. I don’t have a gun.”

The doe turned its ears toward her.

Chelsea reached her bare hand slowly toward the deer, then held it steady. She mentally sent a prayer to the Lord, Please let me be able to get her back to the the barn on our farm. Let me be able to nurse her back to health and release her after deer season.

The deer limped close enough to sniff Chelsea’s hand. It sniffed, then looked at Chelsea and made another short noise, but this time it was lower in pitch.

Chelsea dared to stand up to gain her footing, keeping her hand out toward the doe. The doe pressed its nose into Chelsea’s hand, and Chelsea said, “Come on. Come with me.” She took a step forward and the deer took a step as well.

Chelsea’s breaths stalled for a moment. Could she get this deer to go all the way back to the farm with her? She moved one step at a time, doing her best to keep both herself and the doe hidden behind trees as they worked their way toward the forest’s edge.

As they exited the woods and entered the meadow, Chelsea emitted a short spontaneous laugh. The doe flinched, but didn’t run. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you. I just can’t believe we made it back to our farm. Please, stay with me. I’ll get you to the warmth of the barn and then I’ll get something to clean and dress your wound.”

The deer looked at Chelsea and continued moving forward step by step after her. As they reached the halfway point across the meadow, the bark of a dog caused both Chelsea and the doe to freeze in their tracks.

Chelsea looked at the doe. “That’s Jasper. I’ll call mom and tell her we’re coming. She’ll put Jasper in the house. You don’t have to be afraid.” She pulled her cell phone from her pocket with her gloved hand and punched in the number with a bare finger.

“Mom, you have to put Jasper in the house. I was in the forest. I took some photos of a group of deer and I’m leading a wounded doe back to the barn. She’s been shot.” She hung up the phone, put it back in her pocket and took another step forward. The doe followed.

When Chelsea had the doe in an empty stall in the barn, she heard heavy footsteps crossing the wooden floor.

“Chelsea, I’m coming to remove the bullet. I’ll help you clean and dress the wound, then you can get her some corn.” Her father stepped into the stall just a moment after his last word. He smiled at her. “You never could resist rescuing any animal in trouble. Not since you were six years old and found your first stray kitten out in a thunderstorm.”

She wrapped her arms around her father and gave him a hug. “Thanks for understanding, Daddy.”

“I’m just glad you didn’t get shot making this rescue.”

“Me too, Daddy. Me too.”

Flash Fiction Friday: A Promising Entanglement

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American Labrador Retriever and English Labrador Retriever

A Promising Entanglement

by Kelly F. Barr

Tara awakened to sunshine lighting her lavender bedroom curtains. She turned her head to look at the clock on her bedside table – 8 a.m. She smiled, thankful she had slept well and later than her weekdays allowed. She sat up and Atticus plopped his forepaws and front part of his body on her lap. He lifted his head and licked her chin.

Tara giggled and scratched the black Labrador Retriever behind his ears. “Good morning to you too, Atticus. Give me half an hour to shower and dress, then we’ll go for our morning walk, and if you’re patient, we’ll stop by Scratch Bakes for breakfast.

“Woof!” The big guy responded as he put all paws on the floor, allowing her to move from the bed. He watched as Tara grabbed her clothes and strode to the bathroom, his tongue lolling out of his mouth.

When Tara turned off the blow dryer after showering, she heard Atticus whining on the opposite side of the bathroom door. She checked her watch. Forty minutes had passed from the time she’d entered the bathroom. “Okay, big guy. Sorry I’m a bit late, but cut me some slack. It’s Saturday.”

Atticus responded with another whine and Tara grinned as she brushed her hair and applied a light coat of hairspray. Then she stepped into her jeans and slid a purple short-sleeved t-shirt over her head. She hung up her bath towel and opened the bathroom door to find Atticus sitting, looking up at her, his tail wagging.

She gave him a scratch behind the ears, kissed the top of his head, and moved to sit on the foot of the bed to put on her socks and lavender sneakers. Then she moved to the bedroom door, opened it, and walked through the living room into the hallway to her apartment door. She stopped to grab her purse from the small table near the door, as well as Atticus’s leash and her keys from hooks above the table. She attached the leash to her eager Labrador Retriever and the two of them left the apartment and jogged down one flight of stairs and through the building’s lobby.

They entered the park and followed the walking path. Lots of people were in the park and several others walked their dogs on the path. Tara always moved Atticus to her right side and held him close to her whenever anyone passed them, well aware that some people were uncomfortable with Atticus’s size. As an English Labrador Retriever, the larger of the two Labrador Retriever breeds, though Tara knew he was gentle and friendly, strangers to him weren’t so sure.

As they walked, Tara spotted a man jogging with a smaller, American Labrador Retriever on a leash running alongside him. Though Tara, again, pulled Atticus close, the jogger made no move to pull his dog in and as they drew near, his dog looked at Atticus and he returned her interest. Tara realized the jogger’s Lab was a female, and though Atticus was neutered, she knew he’d want to greet this pretty female.

“Atticus, no. Heel.” She spoke to her dog in a quiet but firm tone. However, the jogger’s dog crossed the path and met Atticus face to face, bringing the jogger to a stop. The two dogs sniffed each other and attempted to maneuver around to sniff each other’s backsides, as dogs do, and entangled their leashes.

The jogger became frustrated at the situation and Tara began to laugh out loud.

The jogger looked at Tara for a moment, then joined in her laughter. After a couple moments, he stopped laughing and said, “I’m so sorry.”

Tara stifled her giggles and said, “Well, I will try to untangle the leashes if you will follow my instructions. I’m pretty good at untangling dog leashes. Atticus has gotten into such predicaments before.”

The jogger raised an eyebrow at her. “Atticus? That’s your dog’s name?”

Tara nodded.

“So you are either a fan of To Kill a Mockingbird or you’re a lawyer?”

Tara smiled. “I’m not a lawyer, although I am a secretary to a lawyer. But, yes, I am a fan of To Kill a Mockingbird and Atticus is my favorite character in the book.”

“Mine too, although I do love Scout and Jem as well.”

“So are you a lawyer?” Tara asked in a teasing tone.

He chuckled, then said, “No, I’m a history professor at Lancaster Bible College and To Kill a Mockingbird is one of the books I require my students to read.”

“Good for you. Now, let’s get these dogs untangled.” Tara returned her attention to the leashes.

When the leashes were separated, Tara petted the jogger’s Lab.

“Thanks, um…”

“Tara, and you already know my dog’s name, but I’m afraid I didn’t catch either of your names.”

“Oh right. I’m sorry. Please forgive me. This is Lila.” He patted his dog’s head. “And I am Michael. Where are you headed?”

“Atticus and I are headed to Scratch Bakes for breakfast.”

“Sounds delightful.” He lowered his gaze to her hands. “I hope I don’t sound too forward, but I don’t see a ring on your left ring finger. Does that mean you’re not married?”

Heat crept into Tara’s cheeks. “No, I’m not married.” She lowered her eyes to the path as the heat of her cheeks told her they must be bright red.

“Neither am I. Could we meet at the dog park next week? That way Lila and Atticus can run without becoming entangled. We could talk more and, maybe … make plans for dinner without Lila and Atticus?”

When she looked up at him once again, she noted his cheeks had turned pink. She smiled and said, “I think Atticus and I would like that. So, same time next week, but at the dog park instead?”

He nodded, then looked at his dog and said, “Okay, Lila, you’ve got a date next Saturday morning and I may have one next Saturday night.” Lila barked once and Tara and Michael laughed.

Flash Fiction Friday: Vanilla Ice Cream

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Photo by Kyle Hinkson on Unsplash

Vanilla Ice Cream

by Kelly F. Barr

Here he came again—blond hair and blue eyes. He walked with a confident gait, but his smile was always shy. Becky wondered if he had a girlfriend. He came into the creamery once a week. Always alone. Always perused the menu, then ordered vanilla—Every. Single. Time.

Becky watched as he stood back and stared up at the large board of thirty flavor choices. He cupped his chin in the thumb and index finger of his right fist. After a minute or two, he stepped forward. Becky smiled and said, “What can I get you?”

He looked into her eyes, then dropped his gaze and said, “I’d like a waffle cone with two scoops of vanilla. Do you ever have vanilla bean?”

Becky choked back a laugh and cleared her throat. Vanilla bean? Was he serious?

“No, I’m sorry. We’ve never had vanilla bean. Just vanilla. Would you like to try one of our other delicious flavors with one scoop of vanilla? Be a little daring today?”

His eyes locked on hers. She was grinning at him.

“Are you teasing me?”

She chuckled. “I’m sorry. I can’t help it. You’ve been in here every week for a month and you always get vanilla.”

“I like vanilla.”

“How do you know you don’t like any of the other flavors?”

He stared at her in a moment of silence, then said, “Well, what’s your favorite?”

“I have more than one favorite. However, if you want my opinion, for you, I’d suggest a scoop of Wilbur chocolate.”

“Wilbur chocolate.” He cupped his chin and looked up at the menu board again, then returned his gaze to hers. “Why’s that?”

“Well, since you’re a plain vanilla guy, I figure if you’re gonna step out and risk trying a new flavor, you don’t want anything too complicated.” This time she laughed out loud.

“You’re teasing me again.” He smiled his shy smile, but Becky noted a sparkle in his eyes.

“I can’t help myself. I can’t imagine not indulging in something more exciting than vanilla.”

“Are you saying vanilla is boring?”

Becky chewed her lower lip, guilt warming her cheeks, and nodded, hoping she hadn’t offended him.

“You’re very pretty when your cheeks flush and someone leaves you speechless.”

She stared at him. This time, her lower jaw hung a little low.

He smiled, a little less shyly, and said, “Okay. I’ll take one scoop of vanilla and one scoop of Wilbur chocolate … if you’ll … uh … tell me your name and what time you get off on a Friday … and promise to join me in an ice cream cone … uh … next Friday … after your shift.”

Now his face was red. Much redder than Becky was sure her face had been a moment ago. “I’m Becky Johnson and I work most Fridays till seven, and yes, I’d like to join you for an ice cream cone next Friday after my shift.” She scooped his ice cream as she talked. Then as she handed him his cone, asked, “What’s your name?”

“I’m Grant Miller.” He flashed his shy smile, took the cone, and moved to the cash register as Becky waited on the next person in line.

* * * * *

The following Friday Becky couldn’t wait for her shift to end. She kept glancing at the clock, willing the hands to move faster. She still couldn’t believe her flirtatious teasing had led to a date with Grant. She’d been attracted to him the first time she’d waited on him at the ice cream counter.

At five minutes til seven, as Becky was waiting on her last customer of the evening, Grant walked in, caught her eye, and smiled at her. She smiled back and as soon as she finished with her customer, she walked to the back door of the ice cream kitchen area, took off her apron, tossed it on the laundry pile, and punched out at the time clock. Then she stepped into the ladies’ room to use the facility and, as she washed her hands, she checked her hair and makeup in the mirror.

She stepped out of the restroom and moved toward the dining room. Grant met her in the middle of the room just beyond the customer line at the ice cream counter. He motioned with his right hand toward the line. “Shall we?”

She smiled, nodded, and stepped into the customer line with Grant directly behind her.

“So, what flavor do you recommend I try with my scoop of vanilla this evening?” He leaned forward and spoke near her ear.

His warm breath sent a shiver down her spine. She turned and grinned up at him. “How about the chocolate covered strawberry?”

“Hm. I was considering chocolate chip cookie dough. I understand that’s in vanilla ice cream.” He flashed an unusual mischievous smile at her and her heart skipped a beat.

“Not feeling very daring this evening?” She raised an eyebrow at him. “Do you like raw chocolate chip cookie dough?”

“Raw? You mean it’s not pieces of chocolate chip cookies?”

“Of course not, silly. That’s why it’s called chocolate chip cookie dough.”

“Maybe I’ll go with the chocolate covered strawberry after all.”

Becky laughed out loud.

When they had their ice cream cones in their hands, Becky and Grant found a table for two in the small room, off from the main dining room, where it was quieter.

Grant asked, “Do you work every Saturday?”

Becky shook her head. “Every other Saturday.”

“Have you ever been to the drag races?”

Becky’s eyes widened. “You like drag races?”

“Did you think that because I prefer boring vanilla ice cream that I am boring?”

“Well … no. But I wouldn’t have pictured you attending drag races.”

“Does that mean you’ve been to a drag race?”

“No, but I saw them once on T.V.”

“Would you like to go to one with me on your next Saturday off? I have a friend who has a dragster and races.”

“That sounds like fun. I actually have tomorrow off.”

“Great. Where should I pick you up?”

Becky gave Grant her address and he said he’d pick her up at one o’clock the next afternoon. They talked about things they enjoyed doing while finishing their ice cream cones, then Grant walked her to her car and said good night.

* * * * *

The next day was warm and the sun was shining when Grant picked Becky up. They talked about music and books they both enjoyed as Grant drove them to the drag race track. As they pulled into the parking lot, Grant said, “Randy Martin is my friend who races. His car is red. He started racing here last year. He’s only won a couple times so far.” He took Becky’s hand, sending a jolt through her, as they walked to the viewing area.

When they chose a place to stand and watch, Grant pulled something out of his pocket. “You might want these.”

He handed Becky a pair of foam ear plugs. She looked at him with a wrinkled brow, and he said, “These races are quite loud.”

Becky inserted the plugs in her ears just before the first two cars took off down the race track. Even with the ear protection, Becky jumped at the noise as the cars took off.

Grant’s friend, Randy, actually took third place that day.

On the way home, Grant asked, “Do you need to get right home?”

“No. Why do you ask?”

“I’d like to take you to dinner.”

“That sounds wonderful.”

Twenty minutes later, Grant pulled into the parking lot of an upscale Italian restaurant.

As they stepped out of his car, Becky asked, “Aren’t we under dressed for this restaurant.”

“No. It’s not a pizza joint, but it’s not a super classy Italian restaurant either. It’s in between.” Grant took her hand as they walked through the parking lot and Becky smiled. She liked holding his hand.

Grant ordered lasagna and Becky ordered chicken fettuccine Alfredo. Dinner was delicious and Becky couldn’t have been happier with the company. While they waited for their cannoli to arrive, Grant reached across the table and took Becky’s hand in his, rubbing his thumb over the back of hers.

“I really enjoy spending time with you. Would you be willing to be my girl?”

Becky smiled at him. “I really enjoy spending time with you too. I don’t mean to sound like I’m making fun of you, but your girl … what exactly do you mean by that? It sounds old fashioned.”

“Yeah, I guess I am kind of old fashioned.” He tugged at his shirt collar. “What I mean is … uh … going out with only me—no one else.”

“Oh, you want us to be exclusive.” Becky smiled at him. “In that case, I would love to be your girl.”

Flash Fiction Friday: All You Need is Jesus

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Photo by Aaron Burden on Unsplash

Note: Today’s Flash Fiction Story is a Special Edition. This story was written by my youngest son.

All You Need is Jesus

by Z. Barr

A seemingly never ending column of men stood before Archangel Gabriel, who stood at the pass to the wide open battlefield. Gabriel saw men wearing armor and swords and carrying shields. The men passed Gabriel, trudging with the weight of their armor.

As a new group of men passed Gabriel, a new sight caught his attention. “Why do you carry guns?”

One of the men hefted his gun. “These are what we need to eliminate the enemy, faster than those swords and shields. Those are but toys.”

The other men laughed.

Gabriel shrugged. Only he knew what the enemy was and what it took to destroy the enemy on the battlefield. He said, “You may pass.” He watched as the men, still, chuckling, went through the pass.

At the end of the line, walking all by himself, was a young man dressed in torn clothing. The young man stopped before Gabriel.

“You don’t have weaponry,” Gabriel mused.

“I don’t know how to use one. But Jesus called me, and so I … I came.” The young man lowered his head. “I guess I am here just to pull the dead from the battlefield. But I couldn’t ignore Him. I had to come.”

As the young man talked, Gabriel noticed that when the man moved, something on him sparkled like a star.

“But all I have is Jesus.”

Then Gabriel saw it—the young man wore armor. It was inconspicuous, but he was wearing spiritual armor. “Lad,” Gabriel said, “you may pass. All you need is Jesus. Go forth.”

The young man left Gabriel.

* * *

On the battlefield, the men stood in lines. They waited and waited, but there was no sign of the enemy.

“There is no enemy! We’ve been tricked!” These words rippled through the lines.

Gabriel watched the young man. He stood alone, staring off into the distance. Gabriel’s eyes moved to the young man’s line of sight, where blackness met the horizon, rapidly approaching.

The young man shouted, “The demons are coming! That is the enemy!”

The other men looked but saw nothing except the Archangel and the lad.

“What you men brought won’t work against demons,” the young man said. “We need to pray.” With that, the young man dropped to his knees. His spiritual armor started to glow and become more visible. His sword of prayer materialized in his hands.

Several minutes passed and the young man remained on his knees, praying.

Now the demons were closer than ever. Suddenly, an amazing thing happened. Blue tongues of fire fell from the sky devouring the demons. Blue flame formed a halo around the young man.

The battle was won, with the prayer of just one man.

Only one man passed the test.

He had faith … in his Saviour.

Flash Fiction Friday: Someone to Lead Them

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Photo by Annie Spratt on Unsplash

Someone to Lead Them

by Kelly F. Barr

The children loved to sit in the story circle across the fire from Marta, the storyteller, just after dark and listen as she wove stories—scary stories, funny stories, stories of the history of Pattock, their village, and sometimes, stories of things to come. Tonight as the children gathered round, the night air was cool and the moon was full. Many adults from the village—those with children and those without children—gathered outside the story circle.

Dobbin sat on the left side of the circle, close to Marta’s spot, so he could watch her face as she spoke without having to look through the fire’s dancing flames. His heart pounded in anticipation as he wondered what type of story she would tell tonight.

The door of her cottage opened and Tetra carried Marta’s worn wooden chair out. Marta followed, the hem of her black skirt dragging on the ground, her soft leather moccasins making a shuffling sound as she sloughed along. She flopped onto her chair and drew her tattered gray wool shawl up over her shoulders as her silver hair and black eyes glimmered in the firelight.

When Marta spoke, her voice crackled like the sticks that first caught flame when Tetra started the fire, “Good evening children. Tonight’s story is a special one. One of great importance.”

Her eyes met Dobbin’s as she spoke the words ‘of great importance’ and Dobbin’s heart skipped a beat. Could tonight’s story be one of things to come? Could it have something to do with him? He sat up straight, eyes glued to Marta, ears straining so as not to miss a single word.

“From our brave young men, a great leader will arise and several will follow him. He will lead this group to seek help from those willing to come from Sektur, the village to the east.

Several children gasped. Marta’s story held Dobbin in rapt attention. Marta swung her head and locked eyes with him. “Dobbin, you will be the one to lead Olan, Gad, Bartok, Jinya, Prayjes, and Zeficleez. You must be quick as the trouble will come from the southeast, swift on your heels during your return journey.”

The six young men Marta had named stood and moved to sit around Dobbin. The six each reached a hand to touch one of Dobbin’s shoulders—their pledge to follow him. Dobbin nodded, the weight of responsibility settling on his shoulders.

That night, Dobbin tossed and turned. This was his chance to prove he could be a good leader, and for those going with him, to show they were now truly men.

The next day residents of Pattock busied themselves preparing for the upcoming war as Dobbin and his followers sharpened their weapons, packed food and other supplies for their journey. They must be prepared for the possibility of the Hestanauts ambushing them as they journeyed back to Pattock. When all was ready, they gathered in the center of the village and Dobbin led them out.

As Dobbin and his men entered Sektur two days later, heads turned and people stepped out of doors to see the group. Soon many were gathered, and a white-haired old man wearing a white robe, stepped forward. “Who are you and why are you here?”

Dobbin answered, “Sir, we are from Pattock. Marta has seen a vision that the Hestanauts will attack and sent us to seek aid from you, our allies. We need willing Sekturians to travel back to Pattock with us to help defend our village. Marta says the Hestanauts will be swift on our heels during our return journey.”

Rumblings rose from the crowd around the old man. He raised his hand and the people fell silent. “Prepare the evening meal. After we eat, I will ask for volunteers to help our neighbors in Pattock.” He turned back to Dobbin and his men. “Come. You will sit with me in my hut until the food is prepared. I am Kerrick, leader of this village. You can share your plans with me.”

About an hour later, they followed Kerrick to a long house where they dined on roasted meat and vegetables. When their plates were empty, Kerrick rose. He spoke to a young man, “Go and bring the rest of the village men here.”

A few minutes later, a large number of strong, fit looking men filled the long house. The old man raised his hand and the room grew quiet. “Sektur and Pattock have been allies for many years. Some of our sons have married their daughters and some of their sons have married our daughters. If the Hestanauts were to attack us, the men of Pattock would come to our aid.” He paused, allowing his words to sink in. “How many of you will help defend Pattock against the evil Hestanauts?”

Dobbin held his breath and the muscles in his neck and shoulders tightened with tension as they waited. Two men stepped forward, then three more, then five. Soon, there were two hundred men standing in a line before Kerrick.

Kerrick smiled. “Good. This is good.” He waved his hand, drawing Dobbin to him. Dobbin quickly stepped up beside Kerrick, who placed a hand on Dobbin’s shoulder and faced the Sekturians standing before them. “This is Dobbin. He will lead you to Pattock. Prepare and get some sleep.” He turned to Dobbin and his men. “You can bed down in here.”

* * * * *

In the gray light of early morning 200 Sekturian warriors entered the long house.  Dobbin called Bartok to him and approached the man who seemed to be in charge. He said, “My name is Roedan. I am a Sekturian leader.”

Dobbin charged Bartok and Roedan with leading the party, while he, Jinya and Olan formed the rear guard, watching for Hestanauts.

As they began ascending a rise, Bartok and Roedan heard Dobbin cry, “Hestanauts!”

The front half of the group hastened their pace, while the rear half fell back to battle the Hestanauts.

The Hestanauts–large meaty men–hit hard with clubs. But as Dobbin, Jinya, Olan, and several Sekturians shot arrows, numerous Hestanauts fell. When they fell, the Hestanauts began to retreat.

Dobbin and his men turned and raced to catch up with the group Bartok and Roedan led. But the Hestanauts weren’t finished yet. They ran toward Dobbin and the others, axes in their hands. With their long, muscular legs, they gained on Dobbin and the others quickly. Dobbin’s heart leapt into his throat as several Sekturians and Gad fell around him. The battle yells of the Hestanauts combined with the screams of pain from the injured were deafening.

The Hestanauts began losing steam. “Run!” Dobbin ordered his men as he began to run with all his might.

Soon Dobbin’s group had widened the gap, and Dobbin looked back over his shoulder to see the Hestanauts halted. Many were bent with hands on their knees, sucking in deep breaths.

When Dobbin led the group of men into Pattock, the village cheered. With the announcement of losses, the village grew solemn. Tetra clapped Dobbin on the shoulder. “Well done.”

Flash Fiction Friday: Mysteries, Love, and Tea

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Mysteries, Love, and Tea

by Kelly F. Barr

Brad hated his train commute back and forth to the office everyday. The train was often crowded and nearly everyday, whoever sat next to him would reek of cigarette smoke, turning his stomach and engaging his gag reflex. He’d be forced to stand, his laptop bag over his shoulder and briefcase in his hand, or find another place to sit. If he stood, he’d arrive to an empty home with an aching shoulder and arm.

Today had been no different, and it had been a standing day. He turned the key in the lock and let himself into his empty house—no one to greet him and no sound except for the hum of the refrigerator. His mom and dad suggested he get a pet, but he wasn’t a cat person and didn’t want to have to walk a dog before and after work everyday.

What he wanted was a woman in his life, but all the women he’d met so far, since moving to Boston, were either shallow or more interested in his money than him, or weren’t interested in a long-term relationship. He sighed, moved to the kitchen and paged through the menus he had in a basket on the counter, pulling out the ones for restaurants he knew delivered. It was Friday and he was beat—didn’t feel like cooking or going out.

After ordering a pizza, bag of chips, and a two-liter bottle of root beer, he trudged to the bedroom to get out of his suit and tie. Exiting the bedroom in a comfortable pair of lounge pants and a sleeveless t-shirt, he slouched in his favorite chair, grabbed the t.v. remote, hit the power button and started flipping channels. He had just settled on a college basketball game, when the doorbell rang.

After paying the delivery guy, he put two pieces of Italian sausage pizza, oozing with cheese, on a plate, along with a handful of chips. He put ice in a glass and poured root beer over it. Then he returned to his favorite chair.

The basketball game ended at ten. Brad cleaned up his dinner items, ate a slice of the now cold pizza, put the rest in the fridge, along with the bottle of root beer, and went to bed.

Monday morning Brad stood on the platform in a crowd of people, once again waiting for the train. When the train pulled up, screeched to a halt, and the doors opened, people pushed to get through the doors. Brad didn’t even attempt to grab a seat, but instead stood and held onto the handrail.

As the train began to move, he saw a woman with waves of chocolate brown hair falling to her shoulders, slender legs beneath a tan skirt, and a book in front of her face. She seemed completely oblivious to everyone around her as she frequently turned the pages. Her eyes never left the book until the conductor’s voice came over the speaker, announcing they were entering Downtown Crossing.

That was Brad’s stop, but it appeared this woman planned to get off there as well. As she closed her book, he noticed she was wearing turquoise framed glasses over eyes the same chocolate color as her hair. She wore pink lipstick on bow-shaped lips. When the train stopped, she stood, picked up the briefcase at her feet, and when the door to the train car opened, she brushed past Brad sending the scent of sweet pea and violets to his nose. He moved to follow her.

He weaved in and out of other commuters to keep the woman in view. It helped that she was wearing a bright pink blouse. Though it was no easy feat, he managed to follow her to the street. She turned the same direction he did on the sidewalk. He could follow her much more easily now that the crowd thinned out a bit. As they drew closer to the office building where Brad worked, he wondered if she could be heading to the same building. However, she entered a skyscraper three buildings before his.

For weeks, the woman with chocolate hair and eyes rode in the same train car as he did, always reading a book during the ride. Brad wondered how to interrupt her reading and introduce himself, but his mind kept coming up empty.

Then one day, the train lurched to an unexpected stop and her book toppled to the floor. Brad bent and retrieved it, their eyes met as he handed it back to her, and he said, “Hello.”

She gave him a small smile, took the book, and said, “Thank you.”

Her voice was velvety soft like a caress upon his skin. “My name’s Brad.”

“I’m Laney.”

“What are you reading?”

“I enjoy mysteries, especially cozy mysteries. This is an Aurora Teagarden mystery called ‘A Fool and His Honey’ by Charlaine Harris.”

Brad grinned. “Catchy title. Do you enjoy tea and gardens as well?” He quirked an eyebrow.

Laney gave a little chuckle that sounded like water bubbling over rocks in a stream. “Actually, I do.”

“Maybe I could take you to tea some time?”

“Downtown Crossing,” the conductor’s voice came over the speaker.

Laney rose, met Brad’s gaze, and said, “That sounds lovely. How about this Saturday?”

Brad’s lower jaw went slack, but he regained control quickly. “Saturday would be perfect. Say two o’clock?”

Laney nodded. “It’s a date.” She reached into a pocket on the front of her briefcase, pulled out a business card and handed it to him. “Call me on your lunch break and I can give you my home phone number and address.”

Brad nodded, took the card, exited the train, and walked to his office with a new spring in his step.

Saturday afternoon, Brad took Laney to a Japanese tea house and garden. They enjoyed sitting in the garden sipping Japanese tea and getting to know one another. As they were leaving, Brad took Laney’s hand in his.

Flash Fiction Friday: The Love Letters

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The Love Letters

by Kelly F. Barr

Callie sat in an old wooden rocking chair in her grandmother’s attic. Gran had passed away six months ago and left her house, and everything in it, to Callie, who had just graduated from college three months ago. She had a lot of great memories in this house, though she’d never been in the attic before. On the floor in front of her was an old trunk – black with a metal lock. She gripped the lid and tried to lift it, but it didn’t budge.

It must be locked. Where could the key be? Callie scanned the room. A few feet away stood a little table with a drawer. Callie stood and stepped over to the table. She pulled the drawer out. Inside was an old Bible with a black leather cover. Callie picked it up and opened it to the first page – a page showing ownership of the Bible to Grace Randall Witherspoon, her grandmother. She flipped some pages and, in the Book of Psalms, found an old black and white photograph of a handsome man in an army uniform. Callie picked up the photo for a closer look. The man in the photo didn’t look anything like Grandpa Jasper Witherspoon. Callie turned the photo over and, on the back, in block letters, was the name Galen Edward Haskins and the year 1939. She’d never heard that name before. She lowered her hand to place the photo back into the Bible and saw a key.

Callie picked up the key and studied it. It looked large enough to fit the trunk’s lock. She put the photo back in the Bible, returned the Bible to the drawer, and took the key to the trunk. She placed the key into the lock and turned. She heard a click, and leaving the key in the lock, attempted to lift the lid. This time, there was no resistance. She tipped the lid until it stood open, and a puff of dust cascaded down the lid, causing Callie to sneeze. Inside, the first thing Callie saw was a beautiful peach colored gown. She lifted it from the trunk and held it up. Tiny flowers were embroidered all over the bodice. The skirt was silk with a layer of peach colored lace over it. The top of the bodice had short puffy sleeves. Callie imagined the sleeves were to be worn off the shoulders, leaving the woman’s shoulders and neck fully exposed. Had Gran worn this for a special occasion?

Callie laid the dress aside and began to sort through the rest of the items in the trunk. There was a jewelry box with some beautiful pieces of jewelry, including a pearl necklace and a cameo pin. There was a pair of silk white gloves that Callie imagined had once been worn with the gown. Next, she lifted out three books with locks and keys – diaries. She unlocked and opened the first one and immediately recognized her grandmother’s script. She closed it and put the books aside to read later. The last thing Callie lifted from the trunk was a wooden box. When she opened it, she found several yellowed envelopes. They were addressed to Grace Randall, her grandmother’s maiden name.

Callie gently withdrew a piece of paper from the first envelope and unfolded it. It appeared to be a letter written in the same block print she had seen on the back of the photo of Galen Edward Haskins. She read:

MY DEAREST GRACE,

I’VE ALWAYS KNOWN WAR IS UGLY, BUT THIS WAR IS HIDEOUS. I HAVE SEEN THINGS THAT WILL HAUNT ME FOR THE REST OF MY LIFE. I CANNOT GIVE YOU ANY DETAILS NOR WOULD I WANT TO. PLEASE PRAY THAT I WILL BE ABLE TO DO MY DUTY, BUT ABOVE ALL PRAY THAT THIS WAR WILL END SOON AND THAT WE WILL BE SENT HOME.

THE ONLY THING THAT GIVES ME ANY JOY AND HOPE IS KNOWING THAT YOU ARE WAITING FOR ME AT HOME. I MISS YOU TERRIBLY. I LOVE YOU WITH ALL MY HEART.

YOURS TRULY,

GALEN

Callie blinked and looked at the signature again. It still read GALEN. How could that be? Gran had married Jasper Witherspoon, not Galen Haskins. Gran had never spoken of Galen.

Callie replaced the items back in the trunk, except for the diaries and the box of letters. She took those down to the main floor of the house and placed them on her bedside table to read later. Her curiosity was piqued. What had gone on between Gran and Galen Haskins? Had Grandpa known about Galen?

Callie spent the next evening reading the rest of the letters from Galen. Her heart was heavy for him as each letter expressed his longing for the end of the war and his return to Gran. The last letter expressed how Galen didn’t know how much more of this war he could handle, but he praised God that his unit had been able to make a rescue. He hoped they would make more rescues. This letter ended like all the rest: I MISS YOU TERRIBLY. I LOVE YOU WITH ALL MY HEART. YOURS TRULY, GALEN.

That letter was dated October 15, 1942. Why was that the last letter? What had happened to Galen or was it, what had happened to his relationship with Gran?

The next night Callie began searching through Gran’s diaries for mention of Galen. Only the first two entries mentioned him. One was dated January 20, 1944. Received word today that Galen and his unit were captured and taken to a POW camp in Germany not long after the rescue they made On October 15th. Gran wrote: I fear I may never hear from Galen again. Why do men have to go to war?

The next diary entry was dated May 8, 1945, and Gran had written: Germany surrendered today. Lists of the names of POWs released to the U.S. were published in newspapers. Galen’s name is not on any of the lists. Now I must learn how to go on without him.

Flash Fiction Friday: Love by Messenger

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Photo by Warren Wong on Unsplash

Love by Messenger

by Kelly F. Barr

When Tracy stopped walking and looked around, she was in the middle of a wheat field. All she could see were golden stalks of wheat being blown into waves by the wind all around her. The sun was warm on her head and face. Her knees buckled and she collapsed in a heap and sobbed.

What was she supposed to do now? How was she supposed to live without the love of her life? How had this happened? Questions tormented her thoughts as the sobs wracked her body.

When the sobs subsided and Tracy had no tears left to shed, she closed her red, swollen eyes and covered them with her arm. Sheer exhaustion soon plunged her into sleep, but when Austin stepped into her dream, she gasped and sat up. The sun hung low in the sky. How long had she been asleep?

She scrambled to her feet and started back through the wheat in the direction she had come. Austin went with her—in her thoughts. Austin, tall and tan with sun-kissed golden brown hair and a dazzling white smile. At least that’s what he looked like in the photos he sent, but were the photos real?

She met Austin online. He sent her a private message on Messenger. He seemed so kind, caring, and interested in her. She knew the dangers of talking to strangers online, but Austin had a way of drawing her in. Online, people could portray themselves any way they wanted. They could use fake or photo-shopped photos.

Austin told her he loved her just a month after they started speaking to one another. She was thrilled and doubtful at the same time. She hadn’t had any luck finding a good man in person. She knew people who had found their boyfriend or girlfriend, fiancé, or spouse online. Of course, they used online dating services. Were those services any safer or more reliable?

Two days ago, Austin suggested they meet in person, but he lived in Arkansas and she was in Pennsylvania. He said he’d come to Pennsylvania but needed help to pay for the airline ticket.

He’d asked her to send $200 via Western Union.

She wasn’t sure why that bothered her so much. She knew airline tickets weren’t cheap. So, why was she so leery of sending the money? Was it her old-fashioned ideals that the man should be the breadwinner and take care of the woman?

That’s when the doubts, fears, and questions started pounding in her brain with a relentless rhythm: what do you really know about him; how do you know he’ll really use the money toward a plane ticket.

Yesterday Tracy had messaged him and said she couldn’t talk to him anymore, that she thought it would be best if they ended their relationship.

Austin’s response was immediate. Tracy, baby, what’s wrong? Did I say something to hurt you? Please, I’m in love with you. I don’t want to lose you. I thought if we could spend some time face-to-face, we could get to know each other better.

Tracy tried to make some sense of the situation. How could she consider a man she had never met, “the love of her life”?

After a night of tossing and turning, Tracy stumbled to the bathroom and splashed cool water on her face, relieving the grittiness from her eyes. She took a shower and dressed in her favorite shorts and t-shirt then rambled to the kitchen, poured herself a cup of coffee, grabbed her cell phone from the counter, and texted Austin.

Good morning. I’m sorry I ran like a scared rabbit. I will send the money today. When will you arrive?

I’m so happy you changed your mind. I will arrive on Wednesday and plan to stay until Sunday. I will make a reservation at the Country Inn and Suites on Route 30 in Lancaster. Will that be convenient?

Tracy smiled. He would be a half hour’s drive away. She texted, Perfect.

Wednesday afternoon Tracy’s cell phone rang. “Hello.”

“Hello baby. I just got into my hotel room.”

Austin’s smooth baritone voice made her heart skip a beat. “Okay. How about I pick you up in an hour and a half? That’ll give us both a chance to freshen up and give me driving time.”

“See you soon.” Austin hung up the phone.

Tracy showered and dressed in a pale yellow sundress and white sandals. She grabbed her purse, keys, and cell phone, slipped out the door and into her blue Honda Fit and was on her way.

When she arrived at the hotel, she checked her hair in the rearview mirror before stepping out of the car and making her way to the hotel lobby.

She stepped into the hotel and scanned the open room. She moved toward a green settee across from the elevators. Before she reached the settee, a tall man, who had been sitting on the gold chair next to the settee, stood and stepped toward her.

“Tracy, what a pleasure to finally meet you in person.”

Her breath caught in her throat. Austin stood gazing at her through bright azure eyes. He looked exactly like his pictures, only more strikingly handsome in person.

Austin took another step toward her, and she could feel the warmth from his body. She inhaled the woody scent of him. She wondered what it would be like to be held in his arms, then he lowered his head and placed his lips on hers.

The kiss was soft, gentle and brief. Tracy found herself wanting more.

“I hope you don’t mind my greeting you with a kiss. I’ve been dreaming of kissing you for several weeks now.” He took her hand in his.

“No. I don’t mind. It was nice.” She smiled at him. “So, are you ready for dinner?”

“Lead the way.” He swung his arm in an arc and bowed slightly.

Tracy took Austin to her favorite restaurant, P. F. Chang’s. They shared Mongolian beef, Oolong Chilean Sea Bass, and Singapore Street Noodles. The waiter boxed the leftovers for Tracy to take home.

“That was delicious. I can see why it’s your favorite restaurant.” Austin patted his flat stomach.

“Tomorrow I’ll take you to a restaurant where you can try traditional Lancaster County fare.”

Tracy drove to Long’s Park, parked the car, and they got out to walk. They ended their walk by the large pond in the center of the park. The sun was low in the sky and the breeze chilled Tracy. She had forgotten to bring a sweater. She crossed her arms over her chest and put her hands on her upper arms.

Austin stepped behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist. “Better?”

“Mm-mm. Much better.” She leaned back into him. After a few minutes, she turned to face him. “This is the largest park in the area. They have summer concerts on Sunday evenings. It’s a great way to come and spend a relaxing evening enjoying some great music. Too bad you leave Sunday afternoon.”

“I’m sure I’ll be back again before the summer is over.”

“Really? How will you afford the airfare?”

“Tracy, I don’t ordinarily have money issues, but my parents are getting older and starting to have health issues. My mom was in the hospital recently, and Dad isn’t very good at housekeeping. Therefore, I hired a housekeeping company to clean my parents home once a week. I paid a couple months in advance before I decided to come for a visit. I could’ve waited until I saved the money again, but I didn’t want to wait. As soon as I have the money, I’ll pay you back.”

“Don’t worry about it, Austin. I’m sorry. What you do with your money is really none of my business.”

He placed a finger under her chin and lifted so that she looked in his eyes once again. “It is your business if we’re going to have a serious relationship. We need to be completely open and honest about everything.” He ran a thumb down the side of her face and over her lips. “You’re beautiful.”

His lips descended to hers and he kissed her, a longer, more passionate kiss than earlier, and she slipped her arms up and around his neck. He pulled her closer.

When the kiss ended, they were both breathing hard. “I guess we should get back,” Tracy whispered.

The next three days passed quickly. Tracy was quiet over breakfast in the hotel restaurant Sunday morning.

“Dollar for your thoughts.” Austin broke the silence.

She grinned. “I thought it was supposed to be a penny.”

“Pennies don’t buy anything these days.”

“I was just thinking about how I almost threw all of this away out of fear, and now I don’t want you to go.”

“I don’t want to go either, but I promise I’ll be back.”

“Can we really make this work? I mean, there are so many miles between us, and you have your parents. You can’t leave them.”

Austin reached across the table and took her hand. “What keeps you here?”

“It’s all I’ve ever known. I have friends and a job here.”

“What about family?”

“I’ve always been the family outcast. I never really fit in, so once my grandparents and parents were gone … well, I have no family ties.”

“We’ll have to give it some thought. All I know is that now that I’ve found you, I don’t ever want to lose you.” He squeezed her hand.

That night, Austin called her when he arrived home. That was the beginning of nightly phone conversations that went on for a month. Then, Tracy asked, “Austin, what are your thoughts about me moving to Arkansas?”

Tracy heard an intake of breath on the other end of the phone line, then an exhale. “Are you sure?”

“I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life. I can take care of everything here and arrive in Arkansas in three weeks.”

“I will be waiting.”

Flash Fiction Friday: Miscalculated Rescue

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Photo by Oliver Roos on Unsplash

Miscalculated Rescue

by Kelly F. Barr

Sir Tobias the Dragonheart rode through the woods upon his ebony warhorse. He followed the path to Redmont Castle. King Redmont’s soldiers had stormed the gates of Clayborne Castle a week before and had captured Princess Octavia. King Redmont now held the princess in a tower high above the Redmont castle walls, and Sir Tobias determined to rescue her.

Sir Fendril the Butcher and Sir Tancred the Hawk rode behind Sir Tobias. When Redmont Castle came into sight, Sir Tobias slowed his horse. Just inside the wooded boundary, he raised a hand, motioning the others to halt. He studied the layout of the castle, quickly spotting the tower that surely held Princess Octavia.

“I will hasten to the tower and use my grappling hook to gain access to the window. You two keep watch. Do your best to stop anyone from entering the tower room while I attempt to rescue the princess. Sir Tancred, use your hawk call to warn me of any impending danger.”

Both men nodded, and the three separated to take their places.

Sir Tobias undid the rope from his waist. He began to swing the rope in a circle over his head, letting more rope out with each rotation. When the rope appeared long enough to reach the window ledge, he gave a quick lasso-type throw, and sure enough, the hook landed, caught, and upon Sir Tobias’s tug, it held.

He paused to see if anyone had heard the clink of the hook landing and scraping into the window ledge. After a couple minutes of silence, he began his climb up the wall toward the tower. He climbed and climbed until his hands ached and his legs and arms burned. Finally, he reached the window ledge and heaved himself over its edge.

He landed on the stone floor with a clink of chain mail against stone. He heaved deep breaths in and out. The scent of lavender and roses floated on the air in the room. He looked up and noticed he was surrounded by Princess Octavia and twelve other women. How was he supposed to rescue the princess and ride off into the sunset now?

“Sir Tobias! You’ve come to save us.”

Sir Tobias rose to his feet. “Mi’lady, I have come to rescue you. I had no idea there were other women here. Who are all these ladies?”

“Apparently, King Redmont and his son have been capturing women and keeping them here for their own carnal pleasures.” Princess Octavia shivered.

Rage rose within Sir Tobias like a tornado. “They haven’t laid a hand upon you, have they?”

She shook her head. “Not yet. The prince wants to save me for himself. Claims he will make me his wife.”

She reached out and gripped Sir Tobias’s arm. “You have to get us all out of here. Some of these women have already been used and are ashamed. The rest cling to one another in fear every time we hear the key in the door lock.”

Sir Tobias began pacing back and forth. How could he rescue thirteen maidens with the help of just two knights and three horses? He moved to the window, looked down and spotted Sir Fendril with his bow, an arrow nocked and ready.

“Fendril!” Sir Tobias called down, and the knight looked up. “We need a wagon. Raid their barns and stables, and be quick about it.”

Fendril nodded and pressed his horse into a gallop around the left side of the castle.

Sir Tobias turned back to Princess Octavia. “How many come to take the ladies?”

“It is always three—one to lead the women, and two to follow.”

Tobias nodded. Those odds weren’t bad. He’d probably survive such a battle, but he still hoped to avoid a confrontation, if possible. Any battle would draw more unwanted attention.

Finally, the pounding of horses’ hooves and the rattling of wagon wheels reached Tobias’s ears. He peered out the window and took a deep breath. Fendril had succeeded in securing a wagon. Now the problem was how to get thirteen women down from the tower without getting caught.

Princess Octavia touched his shoulder and he turned toward her. “We can do it.”

He raised an eyebrow at her.

“We can make it down the side of the castle, if you can secure a rope around our waists to keep us from falling in case we lose our grip or footing.”

Sir Tobias frowned and his brow creased. The princess nodded at him. He looked around at the other women, who all nodded their agreement.

“Okay. Let’s give it a try. You will have to move as quickly as possible if we’re going to get all of you out of here undetected.”

The smallest woman stepped forward. “I will go first.”

Tobias quickly fastened a rope around her waist and clipped it to the grappling rope. The little woman climbed upon the window ledge, turned her back to the ground, placed her feet upon the edge of the ledge, held the rope in her hands, and began her backward descent.

When only the princess and one other woman remained, Sir Tancred released his hawk call and a chill ran through Tobias. Without wasting a minute, he tied a rope around both women’s waists and clipped them to the rope around his own waist. “The three of us must descend together.”

Tobias was pleasantly surprised at how quickly the two women adjusted to move as one with him. On the ground, he unclipped all of them and the women ran to climb into the wagon. As Tobias grasped his grappling rope to try to wrench it free, three heads appeared in the tower window. They began shouting.

Tobias released several curses under his breath as he let go his grappling rope and leaped upon his horse’s back. Fendril, his horse already hitched to the wagon, pushed the horse to gallop toward the road. Tobias and Tancred followed the wagon while watching over their shoulders for any trouble from behind.

As they raced through the gates of Clayborne Castle, Tobias shouted for the gatekeepers to shut and bar the gates quickly. The wagon and two horses came to a halt and curious Clayborne residents surrounded the wagon, staring at the women who clung to one another.

Princess Octavia stood up in the wagon and shouted, “Get back. Please. Haven’t you ever seen a group of women before?”

Sir Tobias grinned, dismounted his horse and strode to the back of the wagon. “Ladies, please follow me.” He helped the women down from the wagon, and Fendril and Tancred joined the group. Tobias led, and the rest followed him into the castle.

King Clayborne entered the large foyer and welcomed them, then sent the twelve women with several of the castle handmaids to be taken to rooms and settled for the night. Then he wrapped Princess Octavia in a warm embrace.

“Octavia, I’m so glad you are home. Are you … unscathed?”

“Yes Father.”

“Wonderful. Join me in the dining hall, won’t you?”

Octavia flashed a look toward Tobias, then turned back to her father. “Give me a few minutes?”

Her father chuckled. “Of course.”

As her father walked toward the dining hall, Octavia turned toward Tobias.

“Thank you for coming to my rescue, and for taking on the job of rescuing so many more.” She smiled up at him.

“Of course, Mi’lady. No woman should be treated as farm stock.”

Octavia grinned at the big man, stood on her tiptoes, and kissed his cheek.

Heat crept into Tobias’s face. He looked around to see if anyone was near enough to have seen the princess giving him affection.

Octavia giggled and grasped one of his large hands in her delicate one. “Come on. Escort me to the dining hall. I’m sure my father has an offer you can’t refuse.”

Tobias raised an eyebrow.

She looked into his brown eyes. “Don’t play innocent with me. You do want to marry me, don’t you?”

“M-m-marry!” Tobias spluttered.

“Oh come now. You’ve been vying for my attention for over a year now. You’ve already won my heart. You might as well accept the rest of me.”

This time, when she raised upon her toes, she placed her soft lips against his. His heart thumped in his chest, making it clear there was no turning back now.

Flash Fiction Friday: The Love of a Shepherd

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Photo by Douglas Bagg on Unsplash

 

The Love of a Shepherd

by Kelly F. Barr

A knock at the door startled Stella. She wasn’t expecting anyone. She laid her book on the table next to her and rose from her blue wing-back chair. She stepped from the living room into the short hallway that led to her front door. She peeked through the long narrow side window.

Surprised to find a tall man with jet black hair, piercing blue eyes, and a five o’clock shadow standing on her porch, she paused. As she considered whether or not to open the door, the man turned to look toward the front pasture and ran a hand through the dark waves crowning his head, then knocked louder.

Curious, she opened the door a few inches. “May I help you?”

A look of relief washed over the man’s face, and he said, “Oh, thank goodness someone’s home. One of your sheep has it’s head stuck between a couple of the wires in your fence down by the road. It is bleating quite loudly. I wasn’t sure if sheep bite or not, so I thought I’d better let someone know.”

“I’m sure it will be fine. I’m sure if it got its head through the fence one way, it can get it back the other way.”

“No, ma’am. I don’t think so. I’m not even sure how it got its head through in the first place. The wires don’t look far enough apart for its head to fit. Won’t you please check on it? I’d hate for it to get hurt.”

Stella couldn’t help but smile. “Well, thank you for letting me know. I’ll be right out to check on the sheep. You can just climb back into your car and drive on outta here.”

The man looked at her and hesitated for a minute. Then he turned and left the porch.

Stella waited until she heard a car start, then she stepped out onto her porch and looked down her long gravel drive. There was a silver convertible Ford Mustang at the end of the lane. She started to walk down the driveway. The closer she got to the pasture, the more she slowed her pace. That Mustang wasn’t moving.

Was this man up to something or was he just really that concerned over her sheep? She decided to enter the pasture’s gate and walk through the pasture to the sheep. That way, if this guy was up to something, the fence would be separating them.

As she approached the pasture’s fence line near the road, she could hear the distressed bleat of a sheep. The other sheep seemed uneasy and walked around one another, bleating from time to time as well.

When Stella reached the fence, sure enough, there was Lulabelle, the oldest ewe of her flock with her head stuck between two wires in the fence. Stella spoke to Lulabelle before getting too close to avoid startling the old sheep even more. “Oh Lulabelle, what have you done? Calm down. Everything’s going to be all right now. I’m here. I’ll get you out of there.” She continued talking to the sheep as she placed a hand on its back and moved to the fence. Stella was able to pull the wires apart, but had to untangle a wire from Lulabelle’s wool. As soon as Stella extracted the wire from the wool, Lulabelle pulled her head free. The old ewe ran to the flock letting out a much happier bleat.

Stella noticed that the wire she had taken out of the old ewe’s wool had come loose from the fencepost. That is what had enabled Lulabelle to get her head through. However, when she had tried to pull her head back out, the end of the wire had tangled in her wool and drawn tighter, creating a trap.

Stella grabbed the loose wire, moved it to its proper place, and began winding it tightly around the fencepost to prevent this from happening again.

“That sheep seems genuinely happy to be free.”

The voice startled Stella and the wire end slipped in her hand and cut a small slice in her index finger. It began to bleed. She looked up at the man, now standing outside the fence, the car door of his convertible Mustang open behind him. “You still here? I thought I said you should go.”

“I’m sorry. I just wanted to see the sheep freed. I don’t know much about sheep.” He looked at her through squinted eyes as the sun shone down on him.

Stella finished fastening the wire, then pulling a handkerchief from her pocket, wrapped her finger to stop the bleeding. She moved toward the stranger. She paused about four feet inside the fence.

“Sheep are stupid animals. That’s why, in the old days, there were shepherds who worked moving the flocks from grazing site to grazing site. The sheep came to know the shepherd’s voice and learned they could trust the shepherd. The shepherd not only herded the sheep to provide food, he protected the sheep from predators, and he loved the sheep. He made sure each and every sheep in his flock had a name, and he knew each one by name.”

“I heard you call the one that was stuck, Lulabelle. You named all your sheep too, didn’t you?”

“That’s right.”

“But how can you tell them apart? They all look the same to me.”

“When you raise sheep, you have to spend a lot of time with them. Sheep still need shepherds today, and when you spend time with them and love them, it’s easy to tell them apart. Thanks for letting me know about Lulabelle.”

“You’re welcome, and thank you for the sheep lesson.”

Stella smiled and nodded to the stranger, then walked up through the pasture toward her house, the sheep following her as she went.