A Sunny Afternoon
by Sheri Marion
Christina loved the banks of the Wolf River. She spent free time from her chores dallying in spring flowers. Blossoms of blue and gold popped up like mischievous children in the lush green of new grass. The peace and solitude had become indispensable to her young soul.
"How beautiful you are," she told them. "You make me want to dance," and she did, spinning over their newness.
Her home-spun dress was made to fit loosely by her mother.
“Modesty is a virtue,” her mother said. Her only jewelry was a small cross her mother had given her on her thirteenth birthday.
She was becoming a woman. Her budding breasts amazed and frightened her with their promise of a future she couldn’t imagine. Her body seemed to be softer, ripening like the pears on the tree behind the house. Now she longed for something she could only catch a glimpse of in recurring dreams. A set of lips like velvet that brushed her mouth, a sigh, hands that touched her body and brought her awake with new feelings that coursed through her young body.
A shadow brushed across the sun, breaking her out of her reverie and leaving a chill in the air. Ahead lay the copse of trees she loved to sit in. The returning sun flushed the tips of the trees with crimson and for an instant, it appeared as though a fire had broken out inside the deep woods. She could feel the sudden force of heat and smell the burning of small creatures as they lost their race with the flames. She froze, not understanding what she sensed. She felt a dark presence reach out for her and fear grew in her belly. Then, just as suddenly, everything was as it should be. The trees were only tipped with the warmth of the sun; there was no fire, no frantic animals, no feeling of danger.
She half-turned, ready to flee, to escape she thought, and then wondered what she had to escape from. Reason slowed her thoughts; her heart began to stop its frantic pounding, Still, an uneasiness grew inside as she made her way towards the thicket of ancient hardwoods. “Don’t be such a silly goose; there’s nothing here to harm you,” she said aloud to herself,
A gentle breeze rippled the surface of the Wolf River as she settled on a fallen oak tree near the water. Leaning back against its old, weather-roughened trunk, she watched the play of squirrels racing through the forest and listened to the call of cardinals and blue-jays as they swept the sky with red and blue wings. Nothing to be afraid of, she reassured herself, and felt the tension drain from her body.
He appeared as suddenly as a hawk swooping down to grasp a helpless rabbit in deadly claws. Christina gasped, pulling herself up to run from the fear that ripped into her soul. But the young man merely sat on the grass and smiled at her. Hesitating, she asked, "Who are you, what do you want?
“I’ve walked from the last town and will continue to the next. Surely you won’t begrudge me a small time beside this lovely water, a chance to cool my thirst and refresh my tired body.
“Why do you walk so far?”
“Oh, I’ve been walking for many miles, and have many miles to go,” he replied enigmatically.
She thought she should run while she could, and then felt bewildered as she wondered where such a troubled thought had come from. He looked harmless. He was tall and slender, with dark hair spread across his shoulders. His hands were white and soft and she considered he might be a wandering preacher.
“Are you a traveling minister?”
He chuckled, seeming to be amused by her innocent question.
“Well, no, you couldn’t really say that,” he answered. “Although you could say God is on my mind a lot.”
The sky began to darken and Christina felt a sensation of terrible cold nipping at her ankles. She began to rise; wanting to be away from this place. I’m not safe here anymore, she thought, and a terrible sadness filled her heart.
“There now, I’ve said something to upset you,” he said. “Don’t leave just yet, Christina, there is so much we need to talk about.”
“How do you know my name,” she asked as curiosity and dread mingled in her mind. “We’ve never met before.”
“Not in your memory, perhaps, but we have met,” he replied. “Perhaps in a dream, when your lips yearn for things you have not yet experienced? Perhaps in that quiet time before dawn, when your body fills with heat and your thighs become damp.” His voice became deeper, rougher. He laughed again, something dark and terrible beneath the surface.
“Take off that abomination,” he roared, “Throw it away. I would make you mine now, Christina.”
She fell to her knees, trembling, Abomination, she thought? There was only her cross, and as she thought that, she understood who she was facing. She clasped her hands in front of her, a prayer torn from her soul.
“Help me,” she screamed, “ my God, please, save me, please.”
The sky turned black and lightening flashed from the cloudless sky. She heard a voice terrible in its glory slashing through trees bent in supplication, although no wind blew. Christina fell on her face and felt the ground tremble Lightening crackled and wind began to howl. Then, one harsh scream tore through the chaos, and silence returned.
She knelt and prayed. Her voice rose in thanksgiving, clear and sweet as the meadow lark. She didn’t understand all that had transpired, but she knew that she had been saved from a hideous fate. She knew that she was safe now and forever, as long as she remembered to whom she truly belonged.
