Deep in the Well of Prayers Part 1

This is the first part of a story entry I did for the most recent Okefenokee Heritage Center's Writing Contest.  No, it was not a winning entry.  But our 89-year-old writing superstar, Grace K Lee, loved it, and what could be more important than that?

Deep in the Well of Prayers

 

Grandma Lockhart:

Dear Lord God, I hate to bother ya, but it’s an hour past lunch time, and little Timmy is nowhere to be found.  His dog, who follows him ever where, is back here, but Timmy is not.  Please guide him home afore I hafta throw out this grilled cheese sammich ‘n’ tamater soup. Amen.

Lassie inched her way towards the opening, just a tiny circle in the grass.  Her paws neared the edge, and dirt started to crumble underneath them.  She whined a bit and backed up a fraction.  She cocked her beautiful collie’s head, and was unsure as to what to do.  Then she heard her boy’s voice, coming from deep within the hole.  How did he get down there?  The opening was too small for her, much less her boy.

What was he saying?  She understood few words, mostly going by tone and non-verbals.  Well, she couldn’t see Timmy, but his voice sounded frantic, scared.  What did Timmy want her to do?  Was it the tone to fetch something?  Was it time to eat? 

Lassie was too scared to get closer. She inched back again, but was unsure what to do.  She barked impulsively, anxiously and she thought Timmy was making those strange sounds where his face would get wet.

Finally, Lassie got up to go back to the house, leaving poor Timmy down alone at the bottom of the well.

            Angela Cartwright

Okay, God.  We haven’t talked much, but I need to know, big time.  I promise to do better if you just listen.  Where’s my son, Timmy?  Can you help us find him?  Please, help this dumb dog lead us to him.  If he’s just over at a friend’s house without telling us, so be it.  I won’t get mad; I will just be grateful.  And, yes, I’ll take him to church.  Even if it’s Grandma’s Holy Roller, I will bite the bullet and do it.  You have my word.  Amen.

            Timmy’s Dad went out to look at the woods in back of Grandma Lockhart’s farmhouse.  He took Lassie, but the dog seemed more interested in chasing down squirrels.  The farm bordered on swamp lands, and he shuddered to think of Timmy out there.  It wasn’t likely that a gator would come around here, but it wasn’t impossible, either.

            Benjamin Cartwright:

Please, God.  Let me find my boy. 

            Three hours had passed, and noon had stretched to mid-afternoon.  The family had not stood still. They had combed the neighborhood and gotten everyone stirred up.  They had contacted all the friends they knew Timmy had.  Many were out looking, calling Timmy’s name.  Some had joined Benjamin, Timmy’s Dad.

Sheriff Alan Steel:

Jesus, I need to bring you in on this one.  Forget about the twenty-four hour wait for missing persons.  This is a little boy, and I am deploying all the resources the county has, and with your love and guidance, we will find Timmy and return him to the arms of his loving family.

Deputy Davis Gorland, a man too obese to be on active duty, but nevertheless someone Sheriff Steel always wanted by his side, brought in the bloodhounds, having sniffed some of Timmy’s unwashed shirts, and were set to find him, baying and howling a storm.  Lassie happily tagged along after them.

Grandma’s prayer circle, at the Lockhart farm:

Dear lord God in heaven.  Sweet Jesus who guides us in your love, we beseech and pray to you to reveal the whereabouts of our beloved Timmy, and return him to the arms of his family.

The news spread far and wide, and more and more prayed.

When the bloodhounds reached a meadow, not too far away from the Lockhart’s property, one near an abandoned home that was mostly collapsed in on itself, they found that Lassie had stopped in the middle of it, her head resting near a small hole of some kind.

Deputy Gorland came near enough to call out and was delighted to hear an answer back.  “Please help me,” cried out a distant voice.  “I been bad and I sorry.  I don’t want to be down here no more!”  Davis Gorland moved closer, only to find the ground crumbling near the hole.  He backed off, for fear he would create an avalanche of dirt that would bury the boy.