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eBook Category: Mainstream
eBook Description: Shy, unassuming Opal grows ever stronger through trial, love, and loss experienced between 1910 and 1981. This poignant saga depicts family dynamics and ten life-stages in the 20th Century's era of changing values. Opal demonstrates that life's knocks teach us to let go of material things and cherish our own spirit and our loved ones. If greatness lies in survival of each challenge with personal integrity intact, this woman is indeed great.

eBook Publisher: The Fiction Works, Published: Fiction Works, 2004
Fictionwise Release Date: January 2004

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Available eBook Formats [MultiFormat - What's this?]: eReader (PDB) [195 KB] , ePub (EPUB) [171 KB] , Rocket/REB1100 (RB) [163 KB] , Adobe Acrobat (PDF) [579 KB] , Palm Doc (PDB) [181 KB] , Microsoft Reader (LIT) [164 KB] , Franklin eBookMan (FUB) [216 KB] , hiebook (KML) [424 KB] , Sony Reader (LRF) [272 KB] , iSilo (PDB) [150 KB] , Mobipocket (PRC) [188 KB] , Kindle Compatible (MOBI) [43 KB] , OEBFF Format (IMP) [248 KB]
Words: 54000
Reading time: 154-216 min.
Microsoft Reader (LIT) Format: Printing DISABLED, Read-Aloud ENABLED
Adobe Acrobat (PDF) Format:  Printing DISABLED, Read-Aloud DISABLED
All Other formats: Printing DISABLED, Read-aloud DISABLED

Letting Go of Sacred Things is more than mainstream; it's finely crafted literature. So subtle is the writing that the first time you read it, you want more: more pages, more about the characters. But as you reflect and think about the story, you realize there was more already; what first seems sparse becomes rich. Layers seeped into the subconscious that only rise with reflection, perhaps discussion and definitely another reading (or two)."--Midwest Review

Winter 1910

Age 9

Opal Marley plinked the rim of the glass lamp chimney with her forefinger then glanced over her shoulder. Her mother did not appear. The nine year old sighed. A crevice of sunlight from the kitchen window struck the chimney's curve. Momentarily she couldn't see her hand or its cleaning rag inside the chimney. A breeze fluttered the curtain, blocking the brightness. There was her hand, still waiting, surrounded by glass. Again she sighed and gently pulled her hand free.

After inspecting the chimney, Opal set it alongside the others. Nine. Today's nine done. And not one cracked. Of course, she had chosen a smaller rag this time and had not hurried. She had been just as careful as Calvin or Aggie or Royce. Probably more so.

She mentally checked off her completed chores. The breakfast dishes. Tinder box. Chamber pots. Laundry collected, all except Aggie's. She was not to snoop in her sister's things. Bed linens folded back to air. Last night's Gazette added to the pantry pile. Flour sifted for her mother's morning baking. And the chimneys. She couldn't think of anything left to do.

Quietly she moved from room to room, replacing the chimneys, grateful that Royce had trimmed the wicks and filled the lamps. She always seemed to spill the smelly kerosene and could never clean it up enough to escape her mother's reprimand.

Opal stopped before the hat rack mirror in the hall. She arched her neck, wrinkled her nose, shook her finger at her reflection, and silently mimicked her mother's "Waste not, want not!" A smile died as she examined the girl before her. Frizzy brown hair protesting the tie-back. Never cut and yet not even below her shoulder blades. And big brown eyes, too big and staring. She squinted then glared. Faint crow's feet already traced the corners of her eyes, and shadows hung under her eyes, as if she was sick all the time. Her nose appeared narrow, straight, snippy. And just look at the thin lips and pointed chin! Ugly--

"Will you stop admiring yourself and get busy, young lady!"

Opal whirled, staring at her mother descending the steep staircase. The line of the woman's ankle-length split skirt and high-necked white blouse emphasized her height and elegance. The folds of a blue work shirt fell from a mending hoop in her hand.

"I'm-I'm done, Mama."

"All those chimneys sparkling clean?"

"Yes'm."

"I won't have to replace any, will I?"

"No, ma'am."

"Everything else I told you to do at breakfast?"

"Yes'm. The flour's in your big bowl with a towel over it--"

"Oh, dear! It is getting on toward dinner, isn't it." Her mother looked at the shirt tear she had been reweaving. "Well, I suppose you can go outside. For a little while. Just stay out properly clean for once."

Opal headed for the door, hearing her mother mumble something about "if she could only learn to cook."

After easing the screendoor closed behind her, the girl skipped down the wide porch stairs. Just as she rounded the evergreen at the porch corner, she stopped to look up at her sister's bedroom window. "Yeah, learn to cook like Aggie," she whispered and stuck out her tongue. Then she flipped her head back and flounced a few steps, mimicking her sister's tantrum of the night before. "If I acted like that, Miss Priss, I'd get a whippin', sixteen or no," Opal told the window. She tried to picture her mother then her solemn father turning Aggie across a knee. The image wouldn't appear.

Wagon wheels creaked and horses feet thudded on the lane from the fields. Opal ran down the sloping farmyard to the water trough at the base of the barn's windmill. She pulled at the pump handle, straining with the stiffness of the thing. A warning gurgle preceded an eruption of water, sending muddy droplets onto her apron, stockings, and high-topped shoes. She resignedly sighed and kept pumping.

The trough was nearly full when Calvin leaned back on the reins stopping the bay team before her. A whisper of wind carried forward the scent of the manure spreader. She wriggled her nose then bit her lip and stopped pumping.

"Where's Royce?"

Calvin wrapped the reins around the brake handle and climbed to the ground ignoring her. He pulled a faded bandana from his pocket and dipped it into the trough. Opal leaned against the pump handle, wanting to stick out her tongue at her oldest brother. Behind the tall, thin fifteen year old she noticed the team shaking their heads and stretching their necks against the harness toward the water. Calvin finally looked at her.

"You been watchin' the pigs?" He pointed at her apron. "Ma'll tan your hide."

Opal shrugged. "I was tryin' to help with the horses. Royce lets me."

"Well, I ain't my little brother!" He hesitated, squinting one eye at her. "But ... if you can reach them reins to loosen'em and can lead those horses over here, I'll let you water 'em."

She looked from her grinning brother to the wide-backed, towering workhorses. Her eyes blurred. She turned and walked stiffly toward the house. Calvin's laugh bounced off her back.

Wearing her only other apron, Opal carried bowls of boiled potatoes and pickled cucumbers and platters of fried ham and sliced tomatoes to the dinner table. Her mother fretted and directed. The three male Marleys sat down, immediately reaching for the food. Opal and her mother joined them only after cutting the fresh cherry pies.

Opal saw her father's fork and knife come to rest. Jerome Marley looked around the table with steady gray eyes.

"Where's Aggie?"

"She's not feeling well," his wife answered. "Pass the ham, please, Royce."

"Yeah, her chewin' out last night put her on her deathbed."

"I didn't ask you, Calvin, did I?"

"No, sir.

Long moments passed, interrupted only by the sounds of clinking forks. Opal concentrated on cleaning her plate. Her father broke the silence.

"I'll be going to town about two, Mother. You'll have to send your list with Opal since Aggie's sick."

She blinked in disbelief. Her mother stiffened. "Oh, Jerome! Don't you think Calvin or Royce--"

"I said I'll take Opal. The boys have their work."

Opal glanced at her brothers. Calvin stabbed at his meat. Royce winked at her. His little smile made him seem older than Calvin.

The ride into town meant enduring three miles of bouncing on a hard wagon seat. Opal didn't mind. She held her right hand over her apron pocket where the shopping list nestled. Her mother had rewritten the list three times, explaining her notes and preferences, then simplifying them. Opal had recited her instructions perfectly, then kept mentally repeating them enroute. Caught up in his grownup thoughts, her father had not interrupted her rote exercise.

Little puffs of dust rose around the horses' feet as they trotted down the wide, quiet main street of Guthrie Center, Iowa. A window groaned as it was opened. Opal looked up at the second story of the Cafe-Hotel and saw a pale arm beating a dust rag against the windowsill. The only other movement was the tail of a saddle horse dozing at a hitch rail farther up the street.

Her father stopped before the green-striped awning of Baker's Store. Opal thought of the green-striped peppermint sticks inside and smiled. She wondered if Mr. Baker had bought the awning to go with his peppermint or the peppermint to go--

"Well, are you going to sit here all day? I've got business at the bank."

Opal bit her lip and quickly scrambled to the ground. She didn't look up or even wave as her father went on his way. Suddenly confronted with actually attending to family business, she cautiously stepped onto the wooden walk and into the shade of the awning. Her hand fumbled for the list as she passed through the open doorway of the mercantile.

Her eyes slowly adjusted to the store's darker interior. She drew a deep, deeper breath to savor the smells of the place. New cloth, bolts of it. Perfumed soap. Denim overalls. Vinegar from the pickle barrel. And the oil and saddle soap of new leather. She tripped over something stacked on the floor and sprawled forward, her feet tangled in leather straps.

Mortification produced an unladylike groan. Almost immediately, big, gentle hands turned her over. "Are you all right, little one?"

Opal quickly nodded, aware of the deep heat in her face creeping, spreading down over her body. She flitted the briefest of glances into the face of her rescuer, the young Dr. Tom Bartlett. She managed a tiny "Thank you, sir" and bent forward to pull the offending leather straps from around her ankles. A moment later Dr. Bartlett pulled her to her feet and brushed the dust off her skirt.

"My list!"

Opal dropped back to her knees searching frantically for the folded paper. Without hesitation, Dr. Barlett joined her.

"Here it is." He picked up the scrap of paper and held it out to her.

Opal's stomach shriveled until she thought she would choke with the pain. She snatched the list and held it against her chest as they stood facing one another.

Mr. Baker's footsteps echoed in the confines of the store. "Here's that special shaving soap, Tom. This won't make your neck itch, I'm sure."

The young man patted Opal's shoulder and turned to the storekeeper. Opal thought about taking the list to her father for him to take care of, but then she remembered her mother's expectations. She hoped Dr. Bartlett would just pay for his soap and leave. Instead, he thumbed through some magazines on the counter, chose one, and seated himself on a nearby keg to scan its pages.

"Did you need something, Opal?" Mr. Baker's voice lost its friendliness when he spoke to her. Opal just nodded and handed him the list as he rounded the counter. His lips moved as he read the list to himself. He tapped it with a knowing finger. "Okay. Yes, all except this ribbon." And he wandered off behind the counter, scratching his bald spot and talking to himself.

Opal stood alone with Dr. Bartlett. She shifted from one foot to the other, clasped and unclasped her hands. She studied the wide shade pulled half-way down the store's big front window. As if really interested, she bent and squinted at the glare of the empty afternoon street.

"Here it is!" Dr. Bartlett held up the magazine.

Opal jumped. "Pardon me?"

Tom Bartlett looked up. "Oh, I'm sorry, Opal. I-I guess I was talking to myself."

Opal dropped her gaze to the floor. She bit her lip and tried to keep the heat from her cheeks. The young doctor leaned forward and tilted her chin up with one finger until she looked at him.

"Didn't mean to embarrass you. Um, can you keep a secret?" he asked.

Opal's uncertain frown faded the pink of her cheeks. She looked at his red hair flowing neatly into full side-burns, the sprinkling of freckles across his nose and cheeks, the crystal blue of his eyes, totally focused on her. His lips broadened in a half smile.

"I guess I can."

He stretched to look over his shoulder where the merchant had disappeared into the back room then dramatically waved her closer. Opal stepped nearer the counter and looked over his shoulder at the magazine page he was pointing to, a picture, a life-like drawing of one of those new automobiles.

"An automobile," she whispered, liking the sound of the word.

"Isn't it a beauty?" Dr. Bartlett whispered back.

They both admired the picture a moment more before he closed the magazine. "Now, you promise not to tell a soul?"

Opal nodded solemnly.

"I'm going to get one of those!"

Opal gasped. "You really, really are?"

"Sh-h-h! I just ordered it a couple of weeks ago. The people in Council Bluffs said they could drive it out just before Christmas."

"They'll bring it right here?"

"And teach me how to drive it! What do you think of that?"

Opal grinned and clapped her hands. "A real automobile right here!"

"Couldn't believe what I read about them. Had to go see one. Opal, you wouldn't believe how fast they get you from one place to another. Bad weather will be nothing. Time will be nothing. And time, now, time is what is important to a doctor, to anyone I guess." He stopped himself and winked at her. "But you can't tell anybody. You're the only one in town to know."

Opal's eyes widened with her own wonder and his enthusiasm. "Oh, I promise I won't tell. Not even Royce."

Mr. Baker emerged from the back room carrying a crate laden with packages and small tins and canned goods. Dr. Bartlett threw a quick wink at Opal and stood to put the magazine back on the counter. He bid the store owner good-day and shoved his hands in his pocket and exited the door humming.

Mr. Baker handed the list back to Opal. Just as her mother had instructed, she began checking off the things in the box. Her father's heavy tread stopped her.

"Howdy, Simon. Got her all fixed up?" He laid a possessive hand on his daughter's small shoulder.

"Sure do. And I got that large box of harness goods all ready to go, if you're set."

Opal had never seen her father so cheerful and talkative, not even when his brother came to visit. Calvin had told her that was the best time to ask for something, out in the barn, after the men had visited for an hour or so while sampling the progress of the corn mash still. Opal had never tested the advice, though she often wondered what happened out there to change him from solemn to laughing. Her father had always returned to the house cheerful yet subdued, like a young horse trained to walk but wanting to run. Now he looked like he had just had that run.

"Yep, I'm all set." He pulled a small roll of money from his pocket. "Got an advance on my corn. Just a little so I could get started."

Mr. Baker took the money and counted out most of it. Her father looked from the dollar he got back to the end of the counter where several glass jars stood in a neat row.

"I don't suppose you'd like a peppermint stick or two?" he asked Opal.

Opal licked and crunched the heady sweetness all the way home. The closer they got to their lane, the more solemn her father's expression. Opal noticed he kept glancing at her as if he were trying to make up his mind.

"You got all the things your Mama wanted?"

Opal almost dropped her candy stub. "Yes, sir." She squirmed on the hard seat and waited politely.

"Um, Opal, I don't want you to say anything about me going to the bank, I mean to either your mother ... or anyone else."

"Yes, sir." She popped the stub into her mouth and sucked hard.

"Or about that big box I paid for at the store."

Opal looked over her shoulder at the large wooden box her father had heaved onto the wagon bed. She nodded but her father didn't seem to notice. He concentrated on the reins bouncing lightly on the backs of the team. Regretfully she finished chewing the precious candy so she could properly respond.

"All right, Papa. I won't say anything."

"It's not like lying. Saying nothing, that is. This is like a secret. A surprise."

"Oh, just like Dr.--" She caught herself before revealing the first secret shared that day. Her smile changed to seriousness. "Yes, sir. I understand." She sat up straighter and pushed her shoulders back. A tiny tightness pricked her neck.

The fall crops had been in for two weeks before Opal found out what her father was doing with the box of leather goods he had carried into the woodshed.

Every night since that mid-summer trip to town he had left the house for an hour or two after his supper pipe. He walked to the woodshed, unlocked it, and disappeared inside with the bolted door keeping his secret. Calvin told Royce and Opal he solved the mystery because he had pried the door hinges, looked around, and fixed everything back in place so the old man would be none the wiser. After fingering the well-seated hinges, Opal concluded he lied.

When Calvin told them he saw Uncle Ned and their father moving their corn makin's from the barn to the shed, Opal giggled uncontrollably. Every night as she watched her father putting out his pipe preparing to go out to his evening's work, she giggled, remembering.

Never one to miss an opportunity to complain or criticize, Aggie glared at her little sister. "Mama, instead of helping clear away dishes, Opal keeps glancing at Papa and laughing."

"And why are you laughing at your father, young lady?" The woman's voice cut into the cozy silence of the kitchen like an ax splitting wood.

Opal looked from her mother to her puzzled father. She flinched at the shadow in his eyes. "No-o-o. I wasn't laughing at you, Papa. I-I..."

"Then what? Laughing over your chores? You think they're silly?"

"No, ma'am. It-it was a joke I heard at school."

Miriam Marley rolled her eyes in disgust. "Oh, well, I don't want to hear--"

"I want to hear it, Opal." Opal's eyes widened as she met with her father's gaze. "But outside, Miriam. Opal can tell me while she is helping me with some work, instead of helping you two. Everyone needs a break from their routine chores once in a while."

Opal bit her lip to keep from smiling at her mother's stunned expression. But the moment of humor gave way to confusion on the way to the shed. Even in school, she had never been a good storyteller and her father expected to hear something funny.

Standing outside the shed as her father opened the door, Opal wrung her hands. She didn't want to tell on Calvin and get him in trouble, but not one joke came to mind, either.

They stepped into the shed and her father motioned for Opal to close the door as he lit the lamp. Strips and pieces of raw leather lay strewn about a long, narrow, hand hewn workbench in the center of the 12 x 14 room. Leather and dye smells mingled with the pine and walnut woods waiting for winter fires. Two shiny, black horse collars hung side by side from pegs on one wall. Her father took one down and straddled the bench. Opal's mouth dropped open.

"Well?" he asked.

"Ah, I-I can't remember exactly how the joke--"

"No, no. I don't care about that. I mean, how do you like the harness so far?"

Opal's shoulders slumped with relief. Then it dawned on her that her father had asked for her opinion. He wanted her to make a judgment of his handiwork. She pulled herself up proudly and stared hard at the harness. A warmth blossomed in her chest.

"Well?"

"Oh, Papa! I didn't know you could do something like this." She stretched out her hand and stroked the shiny curve of the nearest collar.

"I guess I never told you youngins that my grandpa made saddles and such back in Vermont. That's how he made his living. I got to help a little before he died." For a long moment, her father studied the collar for some defect, though he blinked his eyes too much to really see anything. "I made up my mind that this year I was goin' to make somethin' he had talked about but never got to do. And I need your help to get on with it."

The shed was cold enough to see their breaths, but the rest of the evening Opal felt cozy warm from the inside out. Her father showed her how he wanted to finish off the underside of the collars, the inside of the curve that rested on the horse's shoulders. The collar would actually end up hollow. Only her little hand could possibly fit into the hollow space to work the leather needle through and insert it into the next tiny hole-punch of the leather's seam. Opal eagerly sat down before him and reached for the collar to get started.

"Wait a minute. First things first. Don't you want to know what the collar"s hollow space is for?"

"Oh. I guess so."

"That's the best part, daughter!" Laying the collar on the bench, he leaned over to take up a foot-square box. He set the box down in the middle of the collar's oval and carefully pulled the box lid up and off. A layer of coarse cotton padding hid the contents. Gently, almost reverently, he lifted the padding. Nestled in more padding were five bells, three inches in diameter, their yellow brass catching the lamp's dancing light.

"Oh-h-h-h, sleigh bells!"

"Yep. Ten bells for each collar. For the inside of each collar. You'll be sewin' them inside the collar. See? See where I punched holes for the stitchin'? They'll rest in that hollow space and the opening will rest against the horse's neck. Every time the horse steps, the collar bounces and jingles fill the air. BUT ... no one sees any bells. This'll be the finest harness in the county and the most talked about. Your mother will be able to hold her head high, for sure!"

"Oh, Papa! And no one will ever guess how we did it!"

"We won't tell, either. Our secret, yours and mine. Right?"

"Right!"

The snows filtered down and blew away all through November. Opal and Jerome Marley finished the sleigh harness before Thanksgiving. Both of them had sore and punctured fingers. Opal's quickly healed. The middle finger on her father's right hand remained swollen and tender. Then it grew a little stiff. He became angry when his wife reprimanded him for carelessly hurting himself and endangering their very livelihood if he couldn't work his land.

Opal tried not to look at his hands, especially the sore one. It was hard not to think about how he had earned the pain he stubbornly ignored. She wondered if she could have done more of the sewing. Yet, something very grown up inside her understood how proud he was of his own handiwork, as well as her part in it.

Every day he stood at the barn doors, waiting for her as she trudged up the lane after school. Together they studied the sky. He speculated on the weather; she would watch the waving of his bandaged hand.

Half way up the lane one day, she missed him at his station. Dr. Bartlett's sleek, light buggy and patient horse stood before the house. A heavy darkness threatened her mind and squeezed her chest as she ran forward. Out of breath and terrified, she slammed the kitchen door behind her. Her mother jerked up from pouring tea for the young man. Surprise, embarrassment, then anger washed across the woman's face.

"My goodness, Opal, you would make a guest think you were an uncivilized Indian, bursting in the house that way. Please excuse yourself."

Opal bit her lip and tried to appear smaller. "I'm--I'm sorry, sir."

"That's quite all right, Opal. You look excited to be home. Were you expecting some surprise?"

"Yes ... I mean ... Is Papa--"

"Dr. Bartlett came to check your sister, not your father!" Her mother turned to the stove to place the teapot atop the warming oven.

Dr. Bartlett's smile faded. He spoke to her mother, but kept his eyes on Opal's face, "Is something wrong with Mr. Marley?"

"His finger--" Opal tried.

Her mother cut her off with an icy stare. "He sustained a small cut on his finger, but with soaking and some ointment, it is coming along nicely, thank you."

"Some farm cuts can get nasty--"

"Dr. Bartlett, it is a rare farmer who cannot treat his own little injuries. I am sure you have more substantial concerns to spend your time and energy on."

Opal envisioned her sister stretched out on her bed upstairs with an afghan over her lap and a cool cloth on her forehead. Then she pictured her father's stiff and reddened hand.

"Yes, time is valuable, for anyone, not just a doctor. Right, Opal?" He was smiling again.

"Oh ... yes, it is, Dr. Bartlett." He winked at her and Opal felt warm and drawn to him as she had on that summer afternoon. Her smile disappeared, however, when she saw her mother's arched eyebrows.

On the second Monday in December it began to snow, seriously, serenely. It stayed on the ground. Wednesday night and Thursday more came down, heavy, wet, packed. Jerome Marley whispered to his daughter that Saturday would be the big day.

At breakfast on Saturday Opal couldn't eat much. Finally her father announced they would all be going to town at ten o'clock sharp, with everyone in their Sunday best, no questions asked. He told Opal she was to be ready "quick smart" and help him with the horses, instead of the boys. Finally, he ordered everyone, but Opal, to stay in the house until called.

Adamantly refusing to answer his wife's questions, the head of the household went upstairs to quickly get ready himself. He hurried out of the house before the dishes were done.

By the time Opal reached the barn, the big box sleigh had been pulled into place before the great doors. Inside she found her father fumbling with the new harness, chiding himself for over polishing the troublesome buckles. Opal tried not to notice. She laid out the leathers on the barn floor after her father led the bay draft horses into place, then tossing the shiny leathers and chain across their backs for the first time. A wink from her father made her heart race. The matched draft horses stomped and unseen bells filled the crisp air. For a moment, father and daughter stood back and just looked. Opal hated the thought of horse sweat and frosted horse breath collecting on and dulling the hand-formed leather and metal.

The bells tinkled again and Jerome Marley laughed outright. Opal closed her eyes to memorize the two sounds. In her mind she saw the hidden bells forever brass bright within the collars. A big hand lightly squeezed her shoulder. She opened her eyes on the bandaged hand.

"Get to the house, daughter, and tell the rest of the Marleys, we're going to town in style!"

Confused feelings swirled in her as she ran back to the house. Why should she feel cheated, sad, and frightened all at one time? Mounting the porch steps, she saw the parlor curtains rustle. She clamped her jaw to force back her silly tears just before the front door opened.

Within moments the family members picked their way across the snow toward the sleigh. The boys helped their mother and sisters into the sleigh box, then climbed in to nestle into the blankets and fresh hay. With a jerk, the team started forward. A melodious jingle drifted around them. Everyone but the smug Opal sat up, leaned over the side or tried to stand enough to see over the seat where the head of the household was perched.

"Jerome, that's a new harness," his wife pulled at her husband's coat tail.

"That it is, Miriam," he called over his shoulder.

"It must've cost--"

"Hardly nothin', Miriam. Made it myself using a little corn money!"

"But, Papa, where are the bells?" Aggie was awed.

"We'll never tell. Will we, Opal? The Marleys will be famous, our names on everyone's lips! Just sit back and enjoy it!"

Christmas shoppers scurried everywhere along the main street of town, but slowed or stopped to look as the Marleys and their hidden bells passed. When Jerome pulled to a stop, a small crowd quickly formed. He jumped down and kept the curiosity seekers back, good naturedly saying he "didn't want his horses spooked." A couple of his neighbors tried to edge close but bowed to his friendly threats and banter. Miriam Marley beamed at the crowd, her children, her husband. She formally announced the family had better get on with their shopping and asked her husband to give her a hand down. When everyone was all out, Jerome agreed to join his friends at the pool hall. He waved Opal over and asked her to stay with the horses "to guard the secret." Within a few moments she was alone with her proud charge. Just as she was struggling to swing a blanket onto the near lead horse, a familiar voice greeted her.

"You Marleys know how to stir up curiosity, I'll say that for you!" Dr. Bartlett took the blanket and swept it onto the bay's back.

"Papa and I had the best time making it all. Isn't it a beauty?"

"Seems to me, I said something like that about my you-know-what last summer. I guess I couldn't say less about all this."

"Thank you." She grinned broadly.

"It does beat all, though. How did you make it?"

Opal bit her lip then looked him right in the eye. "Papa made me promise not to tell anybody."

"Well, I shared my secret with you." He feigned hurt feelings.

"Well ... I-I haven't told a soul, honest I haven't." She cocked her head. "This is kind of like that, don't you think?"

His laugh sent a puff of frozen breath into the air. "How about when I get my you-know-what, I come out and show it to you. Would you tell me then?"

Opal's eyes grew round. "You would really bring it right to our farm?"

"I'd even give you a ride! But only if you promise to tell me about the bells."

Two Saturdays later, Opal was slowly, slowly filling the kerosene lamps at the sink sideboard when the back door slammed.

"Opal, run quick and get some blankets!" Royce shouted, his chest heaving with ragged breaths.

"What--"

"It's Doc Bartlett. He got a new fangled auto ... and ... he was comin' up Fraser's hill ... Pa an' me saw it start to roll backwards ... It hit that big oak at the bottom, an' ... an' made an awful loud crash. Pa said to run ... for the sleigh ... an' to bring blankets."

Opal turned cold then numb. Her mouth dropped open. "He was comin' to show me--"

Royce gave her a shove. "Get the blankets!" And he ran back out the kitchen door.

Royce and Calvin were just hooking the bays to the sleigh when Opal arrived at the barn, her coat flapping, her arms loaded with quilts. Their rushing and yelling at one another had the horses prancing. A merry jingle drowned out the boys' words. Opal stared at the fancy gear. Why had they grabbed that instead of the work harness.

"Get out of the way!" Calvin scooped the quilts out of her arms and tossed them into the sleigh. Two steps up and he was on the narrow seat beside Royce, taking up the reins. She scrambled into the box without their excited notice. A slap of the reins later, the agitated horses jerked the sleigh forward. Within a few strides they managed an awkward run down the slick, snow-packed lane toward the road, the sleigh easily gliding behind. The winter air whipped across Opal's face making her eyes tear. She didn't mind as she knelt against the box side, clutching the edge, leaning out to see but terrified of what waited.

Calvin sawed on the reins to slow the team as they crested Fraser's hill. Royce worked the brake. They eased down the slope. As if forced to look, Opal stood up and braced herself against the seat so she could get a better view.

Beyond the horses' heads a shiny black and silver car faced them. Her father sat on the running board of the driver's side, his hat in his hand. He stood slowly as they stopped. Opal followed on her brother's heels as they jumped into the snow and stumbled forward.

"You made good time, boys, but there was no need," Jerome pushed the words out. "He was gone when I got here."

Opal stared from her father's down-cast eyes to the wide glass of the automobile's windshield. A quiet closed around them, then one of the team shook and the bells jingled. She started forward. "He didn't go anywhere, Papa. He's sitting right there."

"Yes, daughter, but--"

She slipped around his outstretched hand and stopped beside the car door. Through the glass window she could see Tom Bartlett. His hat had fallen off his head freeing his neatly combed red hair, several strands sticking straight out over his brow. She wondered why he didn't sweep it back up in place. Then she realized his chin jutted to the side, his mouth hung open, his eyes looked like dull marbles.

"He's dead, Opal. He couldn't stop this contraption and it broke his neck." Jerome Marley spoke gently.