A Stitch and a Prayer by Eva Gibson

Author:Eva Gibson
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Abingdon Fiction
Published: 2014-04-01T00:00:00+00:00

The evening twilight came, lowering a dusky blanket of peace over the lofty firs and the little cabin snuggled beneath their sheltering branches. Florence, standing at the window, turned as Aunt Amelia came into the front room.

“I think I’ll go out for a little while, if you don’t need my help right now,” she said. “It’s been a long time since I waited outside for the coming of the first star.”

“You go on ahead, take Vaughn with you,” her aunt encouraged. “I’ve done everything needs doin’ in the kitchen.” She settled herself into the sofa drawn close to the fireplace and opened the basket with her sewing. “I’d almost like a fire in the fireplace, but no, there’s plenty of warmth comin’ in from the kitchen stove. I’ll be goin’ to bed in a bit, anyway.”

“Me, too,” Florence replied. But when she went looking for Vaughn, she found him stretched out sound asleep beneath the table. She explained to her aunt she hadn’t the heart to wake him, then she grabbed up a shawl from the back of the sofa and headed out the door.

As she walked toward the chicken shed, she noted the sound of birds chirping in the underbrush as they settled down to sleep. Anticipating the first star, she rehearsed the lines she had heard from her brother’s wife while she lived with them. “Star light, star bright, first star I see tonight. I wish I may, I wish I might . . .”

The sound of chickens suddenly rousted from their perches startled her. She froze. Was there a predator in the chicken house?

She started to run toward them and stopped abruptly. A huge mountain lion clutching her favorite red rooster between his jaws stood directly in her path. They both stood as though paralyzed, face to face, not more than ten feet from each other. She looked into the lion’s amber eyes and heard the sound of Little Red’s wings beating against the thick golden-brown fur on the cat’s massive chest.

Stay calm, stand your ground, raise your voice, and speak loudly. It was something her father had told her when she was child. Except she had never seen a mountain lion before; she was seeing one now.

She lifted her chin high, and knew her eyes blazed fury with the anger pulsating through her. “Go home,” she commanded. “Don’t come back. Ever.”

Even as she spoke, the mountain lion turned and faded into the bushes. The only noise she heard was the sound of the surviving hens frantically cackling out their fears to one another. There was no other sound. Or if there was, she didn’t hear it.

Though terror still held her in its grasp, she knew she had to do something to calm the frightened hens. She went into the lean-to in the back and dipped out some barley. As she scattered the grain, they calmed down immediately. She watched them for a few minutes, then returned to the cabin.

Aunt Amelia looked up as Florence opened the door.

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