Vanessa's Garden: Inspired by God's Grace

By Dale Anne Fitzgerald

The clearing in the forest of sycamore, cedar, oak, and pine trees was surrounded by a musical breeze and colors of God’s paintbrush that beautiful autumn day in 1963. Chipmunks played as squirrels gathered acorns preparing for the winter season to come. The smell of chimney smoke from the town about a half mile up the path gave assurance of warmth and memory.

Vanessa and her family lived in the small rural town that she knew all her life. The thirteen-and-a-half-year-old brown-haired girl discovered the clearing in the woods on a walk she took one day after school. Her imagination would take over as she sat on a huge rock in the middle of the peaceful clearing. Vanessa thought of herself as a princess sitting on the throne of her secret kingdom as she embraced the solace. She knew her parents and brother would discover the secret one day but never realized the heavenly legacy that the clearing held.

Vanessa knew that she changed that day and in the days to come through family, friends, picnics, school dances, destiny, and the lessons of faith. The clearing in the woods was not just a place of solace, secrets, and smiles; it truly became Vanessa’s Garden.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Covenant Books, Inc.
• Release date: Jan 6, 2022
• ISBN: 9781638850236

Book preview

Chapter 1

Sitting on a huge rock snuggled in the lap of a forest green and brown with little lavender and purple flowers all around, the little girl gave a deep sigh. There were birds chirping and the sound of rustling leaves that caused her to turn around at times with curiosity. Vanessa was adventurous at given moments; boredom was not a friend she wanted to visit all the time. The child felt at peace in the forest clearing. She knew that if her mother ever knew about her single adventures into the woods there would be a lecture. Vanessa understood venturing alone was not something to make a habit of but felt a peace she could not describe and held secretly within her heart. Alone by herself, the brown-haired adventurer felt the trees understood. She could almost hear the whispers as the wind chimed through the leaves and into her very soul.

Vanessa was within her own imagination when she heard a voice whisper into her ear, Vanessa, why are you here alone? Vanessa turned quickly almost sliding off her rock chair. She expected to see a face, maybe look for an escape. The child stood up and walked slowly backward, looking around. She didn’t see who owned the voice. Maybe it was the breeze or trees rustling, she thought and slowly sat back down on the rock. Just a few more minutes, Vanessa whispered.

Adventures are stories that tug at our hearts from the very moment the idea starts. So many possibilities and dreams surround the desire to see what we haven’t and reach even higher for what we have.

After she brushed off the leaves on the legs of her jeans and adjusted her wool cap, Vanessa picked up her backpack and headed onto the path leading to home. Getting closer she saw the roofs of houses and heard the laughter of other children as the bell on the town steeple rang its welcoming tune.

The brown-haired girl let her backpack slouch off her shoulders onto the wooden floor of her simple home. Her coat and wool cap tossed on a carved wooden bench in the foyer ignoring the coat rack beside it. She could smell soup cooking on the stove while her mother was singing a soft song. The melody and the aroma of homemade soup were enticing. Imagination struck again as Vanessa ran into the kitchen. Could it have been the soup calling her name as she sat alone in the forest? She grabbed a small warm biscuit as her mother turned and looked at her. Vanessa, where have you been? Please save the biscuits for supper. Your father will be home soon. Wash up and set the table.

Vanessa thought to herself, It’s only one biscuit. Maybe if I stayed in the woods a little bit longer the table would have already been set.

Vanessa picked up the rose-colored soap from its carved wooden soap dish, turned on the water, and began to wash her hands. As she looked up into the bathroom mirror at her reflection there was something different, though the child was not sure what it was.

Vanessa could hear her brother Jack bounding down the stairs, which was a good sign dinner was ready.

Still in her imagination, Vanessa wiped her hands on the hand towel and tossed it over the towel rack. Hungry but still thinking of adventures to come, Vanessa held onto the banister and walked down the stairs. I’ll bet Jack skipped a few stairs on the way to supper. He never seems to be full, she thought.

The dishes were safe in the small cabinet Father had carefully carved with open shelves and trim within its oak. Rounded bowls majestically carved from pine wood danced among the cups and saucers as Vanessa carefully placed them into her hands. The table set, napkins embroidered by Mama, the round trivets in the middle of the table, and the smell of soup and biscuits made the room feel warm and welcoming.

Father looked tired as he sat down at the kitchen table. Mother was serving a casserole dish and placed it on a rounded trivet with a serving spoon in front of Father. Jack was fidgeting ready to dive into his meal. Vanessa looked at her daddy and noticed the tired lines surrounding his face. She hugged her father tightly and then sat down feeling something special within her heart.

The gentle whispers of a soft sunset night,

Stars shining in the sky as those God holds tight,

Memories flight in a child’s sweet mind to sleep and dream,

Flutters of Angels’ wings as softly souls rest together they’ve seen.

Chapter 2

With rugged hands folded Father said grace, unfolded his napkin, and tucked it into his collar.

Supper looks good, thank you. Dad smiled and served the soup with a silver ladle as each family member passed their bowls in his direction. Jack piled the churned butter onto his biscuit while Vanessa gazed into her bowl of soup. She imagined that the celery leaves were leaves from the forest that floated from the sky. The gentle winds must have carried the leaves and entered Mama’s soup pot from the slight opening in the kitchen window.

Vanessa? questioned her mother, noticing her daughter was somewhere within her thoughts.

Vanessa looked up realizing she had left the table to dwell within her memory of possibilities.

Jack, tomorrow I need you to get up early. I’m building a fence for Mr. and Mrs. Luke. Their chickens seem to be venturing out of the pen and onto the lane beside the farmhouse. I told them you were an expert at whitewashing fences. Father grinned at his sixteen-year-old son while enjoying his vegetable soup.

Dad…it’s the weekend, and I was going to go to the ball field with my friends. Jack realized the moment he looked up at his dad’s face that the whitewash was going to happen regardless. Vanessa’s older brother looked over to see his sister grinning as she took a bite of a biscuit.

There is plenty of time for your friends and the ball field, son, but helping others can get lost if the moment isn’t kept. Besides, Saturday is Mrs. Luke’s baking day, and I don’t know about you, but warm oatmeal raisin cookies sound like they’re worth the paint. Father seemed to go back to a past memory as mother placed a loving hand on her husband’s shoulder.

Vanessa ate without looking up as she knew her turn at chores was on its way. Maybe if she ate her soup quietly chores would be forgotten. The one thing about looking down hoping no one will notice is that others can still see you. The brown-haired girl was hoping to visit the forest and maybe play in the sunshine with friends. Tomorrow morning I need you to help me bake bread, Mother said softly.

Jack and Vanessa cleared the wooden table as Mother washed the dishes. Father poured himself a cup of coffee and walked out onto the front porch. The autumn air was crisp, and the smell of a bonfire filled the air with the thought of marshmallows and laughter. As he sat on the porch swing, Father realized how blessed he was. The sounds of woodland creatures filled the air in a symphony of creation. Jack Sr. thought of his own father who loved to sit by a bonfire and reminisce. The times of gathering wood from the forest just down the path about a half mile and around the bend brought a smile. Helping his dad load the logs and placing them into his dad’s 1940 Ford pickup truck made him feel invincible. Stacking the wood beside the family barn knowing that his mother would have hot chocolate waiting as a reward brought tears to Vanessa’s father’s eyes.

Jack Sr. stood up from the porch swing and walked peacefully behind the house toward his own barn.

He thought of how spring would be a time for painting the barn as he walked over a few pieces of hay. The chickens were sleeping as the rooster stood guard. The man in the green plaid shirt swept his hair back from his face. He placed his hands on the hood of a special gift from his father given on his twenty-first birthday. Jack Jr. will celebrate his twenty-first birthday one day, and I hope he cherishes this truck as much as I always will, Dad. I can still feel your hand on my shoulder.

Jack Sr. walked back to the house with white smoke billowing from the brick chimney. He thought of the proud look on his father Mike’s face as the salesman at the car lot handed him the keys to his first new truck. The son remembered his mother sitting in the front seat of the truck running her hands across the dashboard. Jack Sr. knew it probably wasn’t the safest thing to do, but riding in the bed of the truck with his big brother, Pete, gave him a feeling of pride.

Jack Sr. locked the front door and put his coffee cup on the kitchen counter then walked to the living room knowing his family was waiting. His son was slouched on the couch, Mother in her stuffed armchair, and Vanessa sitting on a fluffy pillow resting on a large braided rug. Father sat in his rocker with cushions Mother had made from leftover material in her sewing room. Jack sat up on the couch and leaned forward; it was storytime. Father looked over at the four-legged member of the family, Pete, a long-haired sheepdog sleeping on his bed by the fire. Jack Sr. named Pete after his older brother, Pete, who usually waited too long for a haircut and also had bangs in his eyes.

Father opened his Bible and read the story of the prodigal son and talked