Don’t be quick-tempered, for anger is the friend of fools.” –Ecclesiastes 7:9 (NLT)
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What is that arguing? Well, it’s not really an argument, just a whiny, shrieking voice simmering over a command given to him. I’m lost, I don’t understand. Then I heard a scream, and I recognized the sound of that voice. It had, thankfully, been a couple of years since I had heard it. The smell came to me, causing me to retch. It was the enemy trying to take my soul one more time. Then a calmness came over me as He walked over to me. Smiling, I felt His hand on my brow, and my restlessness and ftifulness stopped.
“Papa, he’s coming to. Look, his eyelids are fluttering.”
When I opened my eyes I saw a young girl touching my forehead with a cool, soft hand. She smiled down at me. I started to sit up, but she put her other hand on my shoulder, “Shhh, rest easy. My Papa is here to take care of you.”
I tried to lick my lips, I was so thirsty, but couldn’t. Slowly I lifted my hand to touch my lips with my fingers, hoping she could see the pleading in my eyes.
“Britta,” I heard a husky voice speak to her. “He is thirsty, fetch him some water. I will watch over him.”
The hand left my brow, which I disliked, then I looked upward to see a stout man with a light-colored yet full beard, and intense blue eyes looking down at me. “Ja, good, you are awake. Hurry, child, he is thirsty, I’m a-betting.”
I tried to lift my head and the pain hit me in a swirl. I had to grit my teeth trying hard not to pass out. I wanted that water. “Easy, easy, you have a nasty wound on your huvud.” He moved behind me then to lift me from my shoulders while the young girl brought a cup to my lips. I slobbered at it trying to get it all in my mouth at one time.
“No!” she ordered. “Drink slowly or I will give it to you in a spoon.”
I smiled and winked, causing her to smile. She brought the cup back to my lips. This time I did what she told me. I didn’t want her to remove that refreshing liquid from my mouth.
A sigh came from me when I emptied the cup. “I will get you some more in a minute,” she said in a tender manner, the smile never leaving her face. It was then I saw the same deep blue eyes that were on the man.
“Where am I?” I asked in a low sounding voice.
The man had put a rolled up blanket behind my shoulders to keep me sitting up. He then moved the girl aside. “I am Anders Jorgensen. My son, Axel, and I were returning from town when we heard a shot. Coming over the rise we saw a body lying on the ground next to a horse,” he stopped to smile, then continued. “That body was you. There was a man on horseback aiming a rifle at you. Axel shot in the air, the man looked our direction then turned his horse in a gallop to the west.”
“Did you see what he looked like?”
“No, there was only a glimpse of his face, and he was in a heavy coat. Only thing was that he was riding a fine palomino,” came his reply. “You rest, my hustra, uh, my wife is preparing some soup. You will eat soon, then we talk some more. Britta, some more water.”
After drinking another cup, I was feeling much better but I had a severe headache. “Mor cleaned your wound, it was bleeding quite badly.” She chuckled, “Mor said you must have a hard huvud–head.”
I smiled, “That and the good Lord was lookin’ after me.”
Her eyes widened…