Keeper of the Patch: A Woody & Winter Adventure

By C. M. Ruffin and B. F. Ruffin

WOODY T. CLARK HATES HER NEW PET. Whoever said you were supposed to love your pet hadn't met Winter, the rabbit. At least ten-year-old Woody thinks he's a rabbit. She has her suspicions. Since Dad brought him home to teach her responsibility, the abnormal-sized creature has been more trouble than he's worth, and Woody is over it!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Writing Cane Books
• Release date: Nov 5, 2021
• ISBN: 9780996140539

C. M. Ruffin

C. M. Ruffin is an up-and-coming author of children's books. A proud native of East Cleveland, Ohio, she first discovered her love of writing as a young girl, sharing her stories with her stuffed animals. When she finally grew up, she received her B.A. in English from Bennett College, became an elementary school teacher (after exploring a few other fun ventures) and eventually, left the classroom to focus on her own two children. As a stay-at-home mom, her old passion for writing resurfaced, and now, she enjoys writing fun stories for children of all ages. C. M. Ruffin resides in Central Florida with her true inspirations - her husband, two sons, Chewy, the dog, and Smokey, the rabbit.

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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without permission from the publisher, except as permitted by U. S. Copyright law. For permissions contact: [e-mail]

Keeper of the Patch: A Woody & Winter Adventure by C. M. Ruffin Published by Writing Cane Books, P. O. Box 622192, Oviedo, FL 32762

www.CandaceRuffin.com

Text and illustrations copyright © 2021 by C. M. Ruffin

Illustrations by B. F. Ruffin

Edited by Racquel Henry

ISBN: (paperback) 978-0-9961405-4-6

ISBN-13: (eBook) 978-0-9961405-3-9

Printed in U.S.A.

First edition, October 2021

To my boys, the keepers of our hoppen.

Contents

Chapter One: Dead Ms. Cora

Chapter Two: No Big Deal

Chapter Three: Woody

Chapter Four: Cyclone

Chapter Five: Cloak Bush

Chapter Six: Beyond the Bush

Chapter Seven: The Hazy Gorge

Chapter Eight: White Moon

Chapter Nine: Secret Passage

Chapter Ten: Phantom Way

Chapter Eleven: Essence

Chapter Twelve: Seeds

Chapter Thirteen: Battle for the Patch

Chapter Fourteen: The Core

Chapter Fifteen: Home

Acknowledgments

About the Author

About the Illustrator

Whoever decided that watering a dead lady’s plants made any sense was a bad parent and shouldn’t have had kids. Woody stared at the front door of Dead-Ms. Cora’s house clinging to the watering canister in deep thought about her chore. Water rippled inside the can, sprinkling droplets on her jittering hand.

It won’t open itself Woody, she gasped at the deep whisper in her ear. Marlon chuckled. 

Don’t do that! You scared me half to death! she grabbed her chest then slapped the back of his neck.

What are you afraid of? You’ve been in there like a million times, he rubbed his neck while balancing his bike between his legs.

"Yeah. But she died, Marlon," Woody said the word ‘died’ a little too loud to actually be a whisper.

So, he shrugged.

Then, come with me since you’re so tough, she taunted, resting her free hand on her hip. Marlon kicked his back tire with his heel.

Can’t. I — uh — gotta go! he said and pedaled up the street, kicking up dirt as he pedaled away.

Some best friend you are — wuss, she muttered.

Ms. Cora’s front door still stood, practically haunting Woody. How was it her job to water the plants anyway?

JoJo! Woody thought to herself, gripping the canister tighter.

This was JoJo’s fault. If it weren’t for him breaking his stupid arm with his stupid friends, doing stupid teenage boy stuff, she wouldn’t have to water Dead-Ms. Cora’s plants. He should’ve been doing it. Thanks to him, she had to do both their chores until he got his stupid cast off — and on Winter Break at that!

Woody sighed as she took a step toward the entrance. With a shaky hand, the key chinked into the lock. But Woody’s nerves got the best of her and she snatched it right back out again and ran next door to the comfort of her own house. She forced the door closed with her butt as she doubled over to catch her breath.

I’ll just water them later, she promised herself. She had more important things to worry about than watering dead neighbor’s plants anyway.

Woody marked an ‘x’ through Friday on her wall calendar, grateful the day was almost over. The last day of school before the official start of winter break had been the worst yet. What should be two weeks of playing outside, gaming, and staying up all night was turning into a nightmare of hiding her school problems from her parents, double-duty chores and creeping around Dead-Ms. Cora’s house to water the plants.

Not only had her teacher, Evil-eyed-Mrs. Wade, made her sit out and miss the class party, but she’d given Woody a C on her report card. If Mama found out, she’d be grounded for sure and Marlon would never let her hear the end of it. Woody just needed to make sure Mama didn’t find out anything until after the break, which wouldn’t be easy.

Mama had barely believed her when she got home and told her she’d forgotten her report card at school. Actually, Woody hid it in the back of her closet inside her back pack. Now, she just needed to intercept Evil-eyed-Wade’s email to Mama. That was way more important than stupid plants. Marlon tried to convince her that it wouldn’t be so bad if Woody told her parents the truth. But her C was in Reading, her best subject, and there was no way Mama would understand that. Plus, Woody couldn’t participate in the class party because she’d fallen asleep in class too many times. If Evil-eyed-Wade told Mama that, Woody would be grounded until Spring Break! Woody had to protect Mama from being stressed out by Evil-eyed Wade.

Unplugging the Wi-Fi router in Dad’s office was the easy part. JoJo showed her how one time when one of her online games stopped working. Without the Wi-Fi connected, Mama wouldn’t be able to check her email, at least for a while anyway. With her little school problem solved, she could focus on getting the chores done — sort of.

Woody peeked out the window. The light of dusk meant it would be getting dark soon. The sooner she could finish the chores the sooner she could play outside with Marlon. If she skipped the least important chores (JoJo’s) and just a few of her own, there would be plenty of time left to play. It was time to put her brilliant plan into action.

She checked off sweeping the floor on her chore list (even though she hadn’t actually done it), then tossed the list onto her already messy desk. She shoved the partially sorted laundry under her bed and tossed the rest in the machine. She smeared the bathroom mirror to make it look as if she cleaned it. Then she emptied half of the trashcans. All that remained was watering the plants — those half-dead plants — JoJo’s one chore that couldn’t be avoided.

A light breeze through her open window blew the curtains open just enough to see clear into the window next door — Dead-Ms. Cora’s house. Her heart fluttered. Between the squeak of her swivel chair and the dark, emptiness of her old neighbor’s house, Woody got the distinct feeling of being trapped in a scary movie.

For some reason, Ms. Cora had left her house to Woody’s family after she died. Apparently, the poor old woman didn’t have any family of her own. No one came to visit and Dad hadn’t found any phone numbers to call after she’d passed away. For the past few weekends they had been trying to clean and pack her things up. But they made very little progress.

Woody missed the old woman. She had become like family to them. Woody would stop over to do things for her after school sometimes. Ms. Cora would either give her fresh baked cookies or something special from her cluttered collection of bobbles. Perhaps that was why she’d left her house to them. She’d died the day after Thanksgiving, which was the last time Woody spoke with her.

Woody remembered that day like it just happened. Of course, back then she was just Ms. Cora, not Dead-Ms. Cora. The old woman had prepared Thanksgiving dinner for Woody’s family. Afterwards, she’d given Woody the last special gift she’d ever get from her — a small wooden box full of pretty little hair charms just like the ones Ms. Cora wore in her long, gray locks.

You must protect them now. Keep them, Little Core, and they’ll show you the way, she’d said, stroking Woody’s hair twist with her wrinkled hand. Ms. Cora’s pet name for Woody was Little Core. Woody figured she reminded Ms. Cora of herself when she was a young girl. But, she could never figure out why the old woman didn’t just call her Little Cora, instead. Fewer syllables, she guessed.

I can’t accept these, Ms. Cora, Woody had said, mesmerized by the little charms.

You must. You’ll see, Little Core. Promise me, she’d said, which Woody thought kind of weird at the time. Woody hesitated. Ms. Cora wasn’t making any sense. But her intense, gray-brown eyes penetrated through Woody, making her feel as if she had to accept the box.

Okay, I promise, Woody found herself saying without meaning to. She remembered how radiant Ms. Cora looked when she agreed to accept her gift. It was as if she were glowing. The next day Ms. Cora was gone — dead.

Now, the box set on her cluttered desk in front of the breezy window. For a moment, she forgot about playing outside or watering the plants. A lump swelled in her throat thinking about Ms. Cora. She had so many questions for her now. If only she had asked while she were still here. An irresistible urge to open the box came over her. Woody swallowed the lump in her throat and eased the creaky lid open on the box. A soft glow illuminated from inside.

It was beautiful. An endless pattern of vines decorated the wooden shell of the box. Etched into the inside-lid was a tear-drop shape, dotted with a small starburst at its tip. A tiny, pink jewel glistened at the center of the starburst. Pillowy, pink fabric cushioned the delicate hair jewelry that was crafted in the same scrolling pattern as the box. An oval-shaped, glistening jewel set within the center of each charm as if held in place by the vines themselves. Woody hadn’t seen hair jewelry quite like it before.

She clamped one charm onto one of her two long hair twists that framed her face, then