“Oh, Father, but I’ve pushed all my family away, the only family I’ve ever known.” Rebekah lifted her skirt and began to jog. “I wish I had taken the short way home.” She swept along the path, breathing in the air that had taken on a chill. Her covering strings flounced about. “Please forgive me, Father. I am sorry for having acted selfishly.”
She slowed her running and dropped to her knees. Clasping her hands together at her chin, Rebekah closed her eyes. “I ask for forgiveness in Jesus’ name. Please give me the words to apologize to my parents. I love them so and never meant to hurt them. And to Joseph. Amen.”
The peaceful voice was there again. Never forget who you are, Rebekah Stoll. Go forth and show my love in your actions, in your words, and in your thoughts.
Tears of humble gratitude shimmered on her lashes. “Thank you, Father.”
Rebekah rose and hurried along the path, but a foreign sound distracted her. In the understory, something was struggled, shaking the leaves on a low shrub. Whatever it was whimpered.
Rebekah knelt and pulled back a limber branch with one hand. There, with a snare around its paw, stood a large porcupine. She released the branch and scurried backward.
“Pa says not to go near porcupine,” she told the stuck creature from the safety of the other side of the leaves. “Those quills will hurt.”
It whimpered again, soft and helpless.
Two little shadows emerged from under the bush.
“Oh!” Rebekah let her eyes adjust to the falling darkness. “Are these your babies?”
Two tiny quilled creatures milled about and didn’t stray far from their mother. The porcupine whimpered again.
“The English must have set snares, though I can’t figure why. Pa mentioned people called trappers once, but I’ve never seen one.” Gingerly, she pulled the branch back again. The animal tugged at the snare. She succeeded only in making it tighter.
Show my love in your actions to all my creatures.
Rebekah crouched and held the branch back with her body, while taking care not to squash any baby porcupines. “All right, mama, I’m talk to you while I set you free from that snare.”
The large porcupine stood motionless, her dark eyes studying Rebekah’s every move.
God, help me.
She eased her hands forward. “Now, mama, I’ll lift you up so I can loosen that snare. Don’t be scared, though. I’m scared enough for both of us.”
Cautiously, she slid her hands beneath the prickly animal.
“Good job, mama.” Shifting her weight, she held the hefty animal against her side with one hand and worked the snare free from her paw with the other. “Now, we’re almost done, and you’ll be free to go on your way with your family.”
Family.
Rebekah ignored the sheen of sweat that had formed on her neck and eased the heavy animal back to the ground. “All done.”
The mother porcupine’s large nostrils flared as she breathed in the human’s scent. Her babies still meandered around, oblivious to the goings on. Pressing her flat face against Rebekah’s hand, the animal made a whuff before she turned away.
She sucked in her lower lip, waiting for any quills to fly. They didn’t. The large porcupine, who weighed about as much as Beanie, lumbered into the woods with her babies trailing behind her.
Through me, all things are possible.
“Even coming back from this mess is possible,” Rebekah reasoned aloud. “If I can free a wild animal from a trap, I can get over being human.”
Enthusiasm filled her mind, replacing the emptiness, fear, and resentment that had threatened to consume her. Suddenly eager to get home, Rebekah jerked the snare from the ground and stuffed it into her dress pocket. Two more sat nearby, undisturbed. She snatched those free, too.
“Thank you, Father,” she prayed aloud. Her steps quickened to a run. “Thank you!”
Chapter Ten
The house was dark when Rebekah sprinted into the familiar clearing. The moon, high and bright, gave plenty of light to find her way home. Rebekah crept through the back door.
Please don’t let me wake anybody up.
The doorframe boasting all the measurements of the Stoll children seemed to stare at her; an impassible obstacle that had to be defeated before she could make her final decision.
Taking a deep breath, Rebekah straightened her covering and marched to the marked wall. “I’m blessed to have been included in this family,” she told the wall. “And I’ll be thankful forever that I have been.”
That task completed, she crept up the stairs and took care to step over the squeaky one that Samuel kept intending to fix. Instead of slipping into the safety of her hand-hewn quilts that were stacked neatly atop her bed, she slipped into her quilting room.
There, her quilting bag lay haphazardly where she’d left it after when she’d become irritated with her irregular stitching. Her quilt section lay across it, untouched, beside her rocking chair. Rebekah strode across the room and flung the curtains back. The silvery moonbeams cascaded in, giving her ample light by which to quilt. “I will finish this project tonight. It has dragged on long enough.”
She plopped into her rocking chair and snatched up the quilt piece with newfound fervor. This one was a gift from Katie Knepp she thought as she reached into her bag and pulled out a square.
“I must love Katie as I love myself, even if she is sweet on Joseph. All those feelings are gone; this new and improved Rebekah Stoll is here to stay.”
***
When the silvery moonlight gave way to the soft-hued rays of the sun, Rebekah was putting the finishing touches on her long-awaited quilt. She hadn’t slept, but she’d never felt more awake in all her twenty years.
She rose wide-eyed from the rocker with the finished quilt displayed before her at arm’s length.
Perfectly imperfect.
