Previous Challenge Entry (Level 4 – Masters)
Topic: Write a Coming OF AGE short story (11/20/14)
-
TITLE: Tender Embraces | Previous Challenge Entry
By Milly Born
11/27/14 -
LEAVE COMMENT ON ARTICLE
SEND A PRIVATE COMMENT
ADD TO MY FAVORITES
"Sorry, Emmy. Two of Sean’s bay dogs are ill—we need her for today’s battue of wild boar. See you tonight." Charles grabbed his rifle, whistled to the dog, and left.
Fourteen-year-old Emily bit her lip. She had been looking forward to a hike in the woods with Daisy. Had her mother still been alive, they would have spent the Sunday cooking and chatting. They would have mulled over the possible origin of the little baskets of wild strawberries that had mysteriously appeared outside her bedroom window this summer. Mom would have put her arms around Emily and gently rocked her. How she missed those tender embraces.
Her father thought she had made the baskets herself. “Quit that romantic nonsense, Emmy.”
Admittedly, she had woven a dream around the strawberries baskets—a dream about a boy from the village, Joey, who disappeared when he was ten, after he saw Bill, his father, kill his mother. Bill was caught; Joey was never found. At six, Emily had been too young to understand but lately, the story had been stirring her imagination. What if Joey was still living in the woods, made baskets, and brought her strawberries?
She changed her slippers for sturdy shoes. "Today, I'll unravel the mystery."
Wisps of fog transformed the woods into an enchanted forest. Trusting that sunlight would soon dapple her path, Emily set out for her quest. As the trees closed in on her, the distant howls of hunting dogs gave way to the twittering of birds. She treaded carefully. Maybe she would even spot a rabbit, a fox, or even a deer; she adored the delicate, graceful deer.
Crack. Snap.
Emily froze.
Stomp, stomp.
Must be a large animal. She ducked behind a trunk. A man carrying a rifle. Who is he? Where’s he going? During battue season, men weren’t likely to hunt on their own.
With featherlight steps, Emily followed the hunter, who strode across the greenery. The thrill of the pursuit warmed her, despite the drizzle that had replaced the fog.
The man stopped abruptly. Emily gasped. Before him was a deer, her head raised, her moist nose twitching.
Aghast, Emily watched as the man lifted the rifle to his shoulder.
"No!" She lunged at him, pushing the weapon aside. His shot hit air, and Emily tumbled to the ground.
The deer fled in long, leaping bounds. The man pointed again, pulled the trigger—and missed.
Emily’s relief turned to horror when his bloodshot eyes stared at her bare legs. She struggled to get up, but he groped her shirt and pulled her up against his body. She bit his arm—hard. He grunted and slapped her face. As they wrestled, he slipped and dragged her with him. Suddenly, out of the corner of her eyes, she caught sight of another man. Then her head hit a stone and all went black.
Rustling leaves. The woodsy smell of damp soil. Darkness. Where am I? As she tried to sit up, an arm pushed her gently down again.
"Hush, rest." A warm voice.
"Who are you?" Her head throbbed as she struggled to understand.
"Don’t worry, it's all right. You’re safe."
Strong arms embraced her, rocked her. Reassured, she slid back into a deep slumber.
Something warm and wet stroked her face. A high-pitched bark. Daisy?
"Charles! She’s here!"
Emily recognized Sean's voice and opened her eyes, squinting in the light of a lantern.
"Thank God." Her father picked her up from under the sheltering rock. "I was worried sick when I heard Bill escaped from jail—and you were gone.”
Her legs trembled as he put her on her feet.
“Charles, look who we’ve got here.” Sean’s lantern revealed the lone hunter, squirming in the ropes that tied him to a tree.
“Bill!” Her father pivoted to face her. “What happened, Emmy?"
She strained her brain to recompose the day’s events from fragments of memories. "Dad, wait—isn’t there someone else, under the rock?"
He crouched down and swung his lantern. “No, there’s nothing here—except…this." He pulled out a little basket of wild strawberries. “Picking berries again, weren’t you?”
As Emily goggled at the tiny fruits, gradually, a memory took shape—a memory of security and a tender embrace. She shut her eyes, and her heart soared far beyond the darkness.
The opinions expressed by authors may not necessarily reflect the opinion of FaithWriters.com.
Accept Jesus as Your Lord and Savior Right Now - CLICK HERE
JOIN US at FaithWriters for Free. Grow as a Writer and Spread the Gospel.


God bless~
and make it read like it all makes complete sense. I loved this!
God bless~