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A Grave Too Small

49 pages44 minutes


Coming out of his reverie Olav, with tears in his eyes finally went down the steps to look at his poor misshapen daughter sprawled in a heap at the foot of the steps.

He went to the shed and picked up his shovel, paced back and forth in front of the house unmindful of the snow that was falling, covering him and the little house. Finally he went to the water's edge and looked at the river, but there was no comfort there either. At last he went to the small apple tree he planted that fall and started to dig a hole.

They found me under the apple tree.

I was lying on top of the patch of ground that wouldn't grow any flowers. Even though it was snowing, you could see where I tried to dig a hole with my bare hands.

I couldn't remember what happened, especially why I would be trying to dig a hole under the tree in winter.

Jim took me off to our new doctor in Delta on the south side of the Fraser River. He recommended bed rest. No Christmas hassle, just sleep.

The kids helped but they still needed direction and I couldn't hear from upstairs so I brought my quilt and pillow and settled myself on the living room couch. Everything was still heading towards a wonderful Christmas.

The next day dawned bright and sunny, it was a wonderful Christmas day. That was the end of bed rest; I got up and made buttermilk waffles, our special Christmas treat. Jim even made the coffee. The kids laughing and teasing set the breakfast table. The wonderful smell of Christmas coffee seeped into my nostrils as I sat at the kitchen table savoring a steaming cup of coffee when I happened to glance out the kitchen window.

There was a man digging under the apple tree. I got up and went out to the porch and called to him, he didn't listen. He just kept digging.

The kids found me outside.

Under the apple tree.


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