The Library is open
Back in the second grade (many moons ago) in a small New York town,
a beautiful (weren't they all?) teacher smiled at a young boy and handed
him a book. He smiled back and struggled to read the words ever so quietly
aloud. The teacher again smiled and told him to speak up so all could hear
the story. He shyly continued and when he finished, the small class of
children smiled with the teacher. The boy was secretly thrilled at his
new skill and the teacher allowed him to take two books home. After supper
that evening, he read them and hoped for more. School seemed more fun than
anything in his young life.
The teacher continued to send books home with him and soon he was reading
the big kid's books. He was reading so well, he was allowed to take many
books home from the school library. The child grew to manhood as most do,
and his love of the written word grew as a friend. The man would give his
children and grandchildren books as a sign of love. They would never present
him with a Father's Day tie, or a wrench or a sweater. They were children
of the word and would give him a return of love with a book, a magazine
or at many times, a child's own story on notebook paper. These gifts made
the man feel as if it had come full circle.
All because of a smile.
The flip of a coin
A fictional account of compassion
Robert slept fitfully undercover of the rushes near the farmhouse. He
was dirty and his blood had stuck his sleeve to his arm, thank god it had
stopped bleeding. Virginia almost smelled like home when your face was
in it.
He could see lanterns moving in the darkness and calls for help were muted
by most. Were those his comrades searching for life out there? What if
it was the enemy come to finish him off?
He tried to move away from the lights, but his wound reopened and the blood
let loose again. Young Earl lay beside him and had not breathed since dusk.
He shouldn't leave him here, they were townfolk that shared friends in
that other life and even attended the revival together when the camp was
opened for the preacher. Earl's mother would never forgive him. But did
he need to tell her that? Earl had taken leave to carry his father's body
back to Sullivan county and his mother had not wanted him to come back.
Earl said it was his duty to finish the fight his pa started and ma gave
in to his wishes.
He decided to empty Earl's pockets in case they were separated by circumstance.
There was the ever present chunk of hardtack, the paperwrapped leaf and
soil from his home, a worn nickel and his last letter to his mother. Robert
rubbed the coin between his fingers, flipped it in the air and it was caught
by a grizzled man in a butternut colored cap and trousers with rope suspenders.
It was, after all, war. This man could do near anything to Robert and who
would know? Having no weapon and facing a man with an old castoff rifle,
he didn't move. The man prodded Earl and stepped back. He cocked his left
eye and squinted in the darkness. He held no lantern and had not uttered
a sound! Maybe those lights were carried by friendly troops after all.
The man was picking Earl's pockets! Robert wanted to grab him around the
neck and squeeze until the sun came up. Then, he realized the man was just
hungry. He wanted him away, so he gave up the hardtack hoping that would
do it. The man ate quickly, although the biscuit made his mouth bleed.
He opened his canteen, which was just an old gourd with a stopper, looked
at Robert and passed it over. He hadn't realized how thirsty he was as
he drank heavily from the gourd. His thirst slaked, he returned it to it's
owner. The man squinted hard and pointed at the letter in Robert's other
hand. He passed it slowly over and watched the man disappear into the darkness.
Robert could barely see the brightness of the lamps, but knew they were
getting closer. His eyes closed and he drifted off thinking of the water
and the man, never to know who sent Earl and him home to Pennsylvania.
May there be a conclusion in this section...
Connections to the written word