The cold rain that beat against the window at her back somehow seemed to match the mood of the day.
Leora curled up on the window seat a little tighter and pulled the afghan up higher. She rocked herself. In the silence, the old manor house seemed to take on its own voice, the old boards creaking and the eaves sighing with the weight of the rain. She could almost imagine it with its own despair. The unnerving feeling of being alone made her heart beat quicker. The housekeeper and maid had taken to their own homes and her uncle had not yet returned from his trip. She prayed he would arrive soon.
It was hard enough being an only child and sent out of the country to live with her uncle on the Scottish moors due to the bombings in London. But the loneliness made it all that much harder. She glanced out the window again, peering through the rain with the faint hope of catching sight of her uncle’s carriage making its way through the mud in the drive.
He was an old man and set in his ways. He stoutly refused to get a automobile on the grounds that it wouldn’t be useful in the rough roads of the Scottish moor. He was right. An auto car would have drowned in the mud that covered the drive. Even a carriage or wagon could get stuck in that mire. Fear clutched her heart. Perhaps that is what had happened. The idea of her uncle stuck somewhere in this terrible down-pour made her frightened for him.
She gasped and jerked as a sudden flash of lightning blinded her eyes. The loud clap of thunder that shortly followed sent her off of the window seat and flying towards the table that rested in the middle of the attic room. She crouched beneath it, pulling the blanket over her shoulders. She quivered with fear. When the next lightning flash and thunder clap shook the old house, she sobbed and pulled the blanket over her head.
The memory of the bombs and the night she had spent in the shelter made her shudder. The bright flashes of light, the sound of the explosions that shook the ground and the knowledge that one might explode over you any second made her gasp for breath. The knowledge that Mummy still lived in that and furthermore the awareness that her father was one of the men at the front lines made her want to die of despair.
Fear made her limbs quake and her head pound with it’s blinding force.
“God please,” ripped from her throat.
I will never leave you nor forsake you.
Even when thy father and thy mother forsake you, I the Lord will take care of you.
“Jesus help me.”
The Lord is good, a strength and stronghold in the day of trouble. He knows those who take refuge and trust in Him.
She quivered and settled into a ball on the floor. And when the lightning came again, she did not jump. Peace washed over her. The thunder cracking could not move her. The Lord was her stronghold. He was her strength.
The first paragraph of this story stole my hear. Who knows. Maybe someday there will be more in my future. Can you tell I have been reading some World War 2 books?
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By God’s Grace