I couldn’t stop shaking as I curled up next to Father under the woolen blanket. My teeth chattered noisily, though I willed them not to over and over again. Bets and Dusty, our two faithful horses, plodded quietly along, pulling the large wagon. Father and I were heading back to our home after a visit to the sick neighbor family, whom we brought a big pot of soup to; not to mention a delicious loaf of bread as well. Mother was busy with the children, and Father wanted to spend some time with me, so I rode along. It was a windy November night, and I was thankful to be near home.
“Kind of chilly, eh?” I glanced up at Father’s face. His gentle eyes found mine as well, and I smiled. “Just a little bit, yes.” I shakily answered as Bets and Dusty turned the dark corner to our little lane. A lantern lit the small window, and as we neared, a few faces looked out in expectancy. It must not have been too late, or Mother wouldn’t have allowed the little ones to stay up. But she knew how they loved to have Father say goodnight to them and tell them a story… A cornstalk story. I smiled again thinking of it. Listening to “cornstalk stories” was one of my fondest memories, and I still enjoyed sitting before the fire and laughing at Father’s humor and imagination.
