The Angelic Occurrence by Henry K. Ripplinger

Author:Henry K. Ripplinger
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: christian, romance, historical, prairies, Saskatchewan
Publisher: Pio-Seelos Books
Published: 2013-04-10T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Rather than return to the gallery, Henry decided to drive straight home. He needed to be alone for awhile. He didn’t want to be around people and put up a cheerful front when his heart felt so heavy. Neither did he want to put others in the uncomfortable position of trying to cheer him up or of deciding what to say.

It was a beautiful hot, sunny afternoon, he’d sooner let nature do its healing work. He turned off the highway onto the shortcut back road. Heat waves shimmered over the country lane blurring a cluster of three granaries in the distance.

Henry loosened his shirt collar button and opened the roof hatch to his SUV. He pushed a button on the side of his door and the window next to him slid down. The warm air gushed through the vehicle as he sped down the soft, dirt road. It reminded him of riding his bike when he was young. Just like then, the breeze felt good against his face, it soothed him, cleared his mind, and dried the dampness clinging to his body, the harvest-time air filling his lungs. The golden tips of the tall wheat swayed and rippled like a sea of waves under the vast prairie sky. It felt as though he were in a boat, travelling in the middle of the ocean.

Almost without thinking, he slowed down and pulled over to the side of the road. He needed to just stop racing, stop time, even for just a moment. He wanted to see and feel and smell the sight before him; to let it comfort him, his life on the farm, his roots, his heritage, his parents who were no more.

He turned off the SUV and opened all the other windows, the noise of traffic barely reaching him from the highway. Bees droned around the wildflowers on the edge of the road. The meadowlark resting on the telephone lines overhead warbled to the steady hum from the cables. But it was the sound of the combine working in the field, that he wanted to hear. He bent towards the open window and strained to listen. The wind faintly carried its soothing sound towards him.

As he watched the combine cut precisely into the field of waving wheat, his mind cut deeply into the past recalling memory after memory.

The hot sun beat down on his elbow resting on the ledge of the open window. There was not a cloud in the sky, but he knew that could quickly change. Clouds and storms could rush in with very little warning on the prairies. Henry had been on the prairies long enough to know that there was always a race to get the crop off. Farmers waged a constant battle against the elements. Too much rain or too little. Hail could cut down a bumper crop just days before the harvest quicker than a hundred combines combined. Drought, early snow, late snow, low prices, high prices – there was always something.

The combine turned and approached Henry.

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