Chapter 1

Chapter 1

“…stood at the foot of the mountain …”

Deuteronomy 4:11

Agatha Tabitha Freegrace slowly woke at the base of the big tall oak tree in the small woods behind her family farm. She pulled the old diary she had fallen asleep reading off her chest and took a breath of the warm summer air. She slowly lifter herself off the ground, wiping off all the leaves and dirt that had collected on her long calico dress. She moved towards the clearing in the trees that lead to a small outcropping over a valley where Agatha could see her family’s land and the surrounding landscape. Agatha began to stare into the distance, the wind blowing her wispy blonde hair, her mind adrift.

She was surprised to see how low the sun hung in the sky. How long had she been dozing at the foot of the old oak, her place of escape. Fortunately, Agatha lived in a picturesque place that she could stare wistfully at while reflecting on God and her future spouse, whoever he might be. Just past the family farm, a range of mountains seemed to stand guard over the Freegrace family—Agatha took comfort in their large stony bodies and the expanse of prairie underneath. Agatha’s grandfather, A.T. Freegrace, had first brought his wife and three children out to Oregon to plant a church for all the new settlers. She clutched his old diary tighter in her hands thinking about the wise man that she had never knew. Back at the house, her Grandmother’s quilt lay at the foot of her bed; her Papa had given it to her for her 10^th birthday along with the journal, and they had been treasures ever since. She always thought the quilt meant something, about God and faith, but she had never been able to find out the secret message in its colorful pattern.

Agatha remembered that birthday long ago—Momma, the most beautiful woman in Sunshine Salvation Valley, beaming with pride as Papa brought the package out of the cellar. This was the last birthday Momma had been there, before the horse accident. A solitary tear fell down Agatha’s cheek as she remembered her mother. Everyone in Abundance County said she looked just like her Momma—the same blonde wispy hair, the porcelain skin, and her constant smile. Even as Agatha cried, she realized that the ends of her mouth still curved into her characteristic perma-smile. Come to mention it, her face kind of hurt from smiling all the time, and she was developing an eye headache from staring into the distance for so long. Yes, she had continued to stare at a fixed point in the distance this whole time. Oh well, she continued to look to the mountains and think about the past. Agatha reached for her mother’s locket that hung around her neck, but quickly turned this sad moment into a more optimistic one. She could live by Momma’s example and be a beautiful, wonderful wife to someone like Papa some day. She started to pray:

Dear God, thank you that any time I want to pray, all I have to do is go into italics. Please make me just like Momma, except, let me keep my blue eyes that I inherited from Papa, I don’t want Momma’s brown eyes. But in every other way, let me be a wonderful wife someday to a strong, brawny, Godly, smart, funny, but not too funny, serious, but not too serious, maybe plays the fiddle and calls our future children by affectionate nicknames, good at farming, likes to run through the prairie, fond of drawn out romantic moments, just enough rebellion to make him interesting, and more, man. Sigh.

Her mind wondered back to her tenth birthday. Clark was there. She remembered stretching the quilt across two chairs and playing church with Clark in their fort. She played the part of pastor, and Clark made all the showings of a loud conversion, like the ones her Papa would tell them about at the dinner table. Apparently, her grandfather had converted more people in Sunshine Salvation Valley, and in Abundance County on the whole, than just about anyone else that ever lived—second only to Jesus and maybe Paul. But anyway, she and Clark had spent hours of fun together, inseparable. He used to call her Aggie, which simultaneously drove her nuts, but also made her think that she might fall in love with him when they were older.

She hadn’t seen Clark in 7 years, since he’d left his abusive father and poor mother behind and ran away, probably East, North or South, as there wasn’t much room to go West. She wondered where he was now. Did he remember her and their childhood games? Had he kept his faith? How tall was he? Did he like beef stew? Agatha treasured all these things in her heart. Man, her legs were getting tired from standing and staring in the distance. Fortunately the loud, but tender, voice of her father awoke her out of her reverie, “AGATHA! AGATHA! Come in side, its getting late. We don’t want the Cy-otes to get ya!”

“Coming dearest Papa!” Agatha took one last fleeting glance at the tall mountains.

Oh Clark, wherever you are tonight, come back, I miss you. (Note, these italics aren’t for you God, but while I’m at it, Dear God, please bring Clarky back. Amen)