St. Peters, Missouri
Congratulations, Donna!
Donna’s Bio:
Donna Volkenannt is thrilled to be a winner in the WOW and Seal Press Spring 2008 Flash Fiction Contest. She has learned that entering writing contests and belonging to a good critique group are the best ways to polish her work, which has appeared in: A Cup of Comfort for Women, A Cup of Comfort for Christmas, Sauce, BookReporter.com, Storyteller, The Ozarks Mountaineer, Mid Rivers Review, Mysteries of the Ozarks, Echoes of the Ozarks and Cuivre River Anthology.
She is a retired management analyst, a full-time grandmother and the website editor for Saturday Writers www.saturdaywriters.org. In her spare time she plugs away at a young adult novel set in historic St. Charles, Missouri. Through the grace of God—and with lots of caffeine—she hopes to complete a first draft by the end of the year.
In November her story, “Welcome Home,” will be included in A Cup of Comfort for Military Families. She lives in Missouri with her husband and their two grandchildren, who fill her heart with joy. Contact her at dvolkenannt[at]charter[dot]net.
Ida’s Rocking Chair
With callused hands Silas carved the wood that gave me life. My rough spots he sanded smooth until he molded me into his image—sturdy and well formed. After my last coat of varnish dried clear, I shined with pride. With knuckles red and raw Silas knocked on top of my frame.
"For good luck," he said, polishing me once more.
Christmas Eve, Ida lifted the quilt that covered me and wept tears of joy. She threw her arms around her husband's neck. "It's beautiful. I love it!"
The first time she eased herself onto my seat I filled with warmth, as Silas knelt before her and caressed the swell that held their child.
After the new year, Will was born, red-faced and screaming. Ida sang lullabies and rocked their colicky son beside the crackling fireplace while Silas toiled in the fields. Two springs later, while the scent of lilacs drifted through the windows, Susannah followed—a happy girl whose fists and feet kept time with her mama's melodies. Next came Agnes, then James, Katherine, and Basil, all nursed and cooed over by Ida as she rocked them to peaceful dreams.
Each night after supper Ida hummed while sewing dresses, mending trousers, darning socks. In a soothing voice she told bedtime stories, kissed away tears, read Scripture. With the passing seasons, my arms and seat wore smooth and tender, like Ida's heart.
Baby Joseph, born the winter the children could walk across the pond, was sickly from first breath. My peaceful glide couldn't cool his fever or calm the cough that racked his tiny chest. My steady rhythm couldn't dry the tears that flowed the night Ida clutched the blue blanket wrapped around his lifeless body.
After Silas said, "Ida, please, it's time to give Joseph back to the angels," she finally let go.
For days Ida refused to eat. She tossed her Bible across the room and rocked until I squeaked against the dry and dusty floor. Silas and the children circled her, hugged her, cried with her.
But only faith can ease the sorrow of a mother who's lost a child.
After Joseph's death, Ida's songs grew mournful; her eyes turned dark and sad.
With passing years, Ida's children grew tall and wise and brave. Will and James shipped off to war, came home quiet heroes, and helped their daddy run the farm. Basil found work in the city. Susannah, Agnes, and Katherine married farmers, grew fruitful and multiplied.
Susannah named her first-born Joseph Silas--a healthy, cheerful boy. When Susannah brought him home to visit, Ida carried the baby into the parlor. With her grandson cradled in her arms, she slipped herself onto my seat and sang sweet lullabies, recited Scripture.
"To everything there is a season…"
A peaceful smile graced Ida's weathered face. Her love filled me with joy. Her grateful heart kept cadence with my own.
***