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    Whispers in the Willows
    Whispers in the Willows
    Whispers in the Willows
    Ebook151 pages2 hours

    Whispers in the Willows

    By L.C. Markland and Leslie Matheny

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    About this ebook

    Whispers in the Willows is about people who exaggerate the truth without truly exploring the truth. Jesus clearly declares to His followers to “Judge not, that you be not judged. For with what judgment you judge, you will be judged; and with the measure you use, it will be measured back to you.” (Matthew 7:1-2 NKJV) Based on this sim

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherURLink Print & Media, LLC
    Release dateJul 11, 2019
    ISBN9781643675763
    Whispers in the Willows
    Author

    L.C. Markland

    L.C. Markland is a local author. He and Judy, his wife, reside in North Canton, OH. He graduated from the Akron East High School, the University of Akron, and Malone University of Canton OH. Before writing novels, Paul served two pastorates in the Akron/Canton area and directed a non-profit organization. Health issues led to an early retirement in 2014. Since then, he has written several works, "Whispers in the Willows" is among them. He uses the pen name L. C. Markland in memory of his father. His other books are "All Things Work Together for Good," "Winds of Change," "Killing Me Softly," "Hard to Say I'm Sorry," "No Holds Barred: No Holding, Back," "The Whispering Woods," "The Widows Web," "The Widows Web Unwoven," "I Existed," and "The Widow's Web Unwoven: The Mitchells' Mystery."

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      Book preview

      Whispers in the Willows - L.C. Markland

      Whispers in the Willows

      Copyright © 2019 by L. C. Markland & Leslie A. Matheny. All rights reserved.

      No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any way by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording or otherwise without the prior permission of the author except as provided by USA copyright law.

      This novel is a work of fiction. Names, descriptions, entities, and incidents included in the story are products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, events, and entities is entirely coincidental.

      The opinions expressed by the author are not necessarily those of URLink Print and Media.

      1603 Capitol Ave., Suite 310 Cheyenne, Wyoming USA 82001

      1-888-980-6523 | [email protected]

      URLink Print and Media is committed to excellence in the publishing industry.

      Book design copyright © 2019 by URLink Print and Media. All rights reserved.

      Published in the United States of America

      ISBN 978-1-64367-577-0 (Paperback)

      ISBN 978-1-64367-576-3 (Digital)

      07.06.19

      CONTENTS

      Preface

      Chapter 1: The Weeping House

      Chapter 2: Weeping Woody

      Chapter 3: Park River, North Dakota

      Chapter 4: Done Deal

      Chapter 5: At First Glance

      Chapter 6: Do Not Make a Promise You Cannot Keep

      Chapter 7: A Figure Staring Out the Window

      Chapter 8: The Job Offer

      Chapter 9: Daddy’s Home

      Chapter 10: Operation Woody

      Chapter 11: Operation Woody – Part 2

      Chapter 12: The Storm, The Stare, and the Saying

      Chapter 13: Sacred Ground

      Chapter 14: An Invitation to Dinner

      Chapter 15: A Table for Four

      Chapter 16: So Woody?

      Chapter 17: Walking Behind Weeping Woody’s

      Chapter 18: Weeping Woody: Who Are You?

      Chapter 19: Where Might I Find Mr. Miller?

      Chapter 20: Need Some Help

      Chapter 21: A Wife and Daughter Whisked Away

      Chapter 22: Charlie, Is That You?

      Chapter 23: I Owe You an Apology

      Chapter 24: Where to Begin?

      Chapter 25: Rainy Day Fund Revived

      Chapter 26: Woody Found Weeping

      Chapter 27: Where are We Going?

      Chapter 28: A New Day Begins

      Chapter 29: Jonah and The Whale

      Chapter 30: Why?

      Chapter 31: Divine Intervention

      Chapter 32: Woody Is Off to the Woods

      Chapter 33: Charley, Here We Come

      Chapter 34: You Got to be Kidding

      Chapter 35: Woody by the Weeping Willow

      Chapter 36: A Care Package

      Chapter 37: Here We Go Again!

      Chapter 38: Charley’s Coming Home

      Chapter 39: Charley Honored

      Chapter 40: You Were Never Alone.

      Chapter 41: What in Tarnation?

      Chapter 42: New School, Old House, And Town Gossip

      Chapter 43: Companion Plants Create Harmony.

      PREFACE

      Over the past several months I have been privileged to write three novels with my fellow coauthor Leslie A. Matheny. When we sat down to discuss what we should work on and write next,

      We decided to write a book describing how people tend to exaggerate the truth about another without exploring the truth. Jesus clearly declares to: "Judge not, that you be not judged.  For with what judgment you judge, you will be judged; and with the measure you use, it will be measured back to you (Matthew 7:1-2; NKJV).

      Whispers in the Willows is based on this simple statement. The people of a small Midwest town are so ensnared on spreading rumors about an elderly gentleman living at the end of a dead-end street, they never honestly take the time learn the history of this old man.

      It is not until a young couple moves into an old farmhouse to this old-timer, Woody, that they begin to unearth the secrets and pains of his past. In the process, they, as well as the rest of the townspeople, come to appreciate Woody for all that he contributed to the community, as well as, coming to comprehend the pain he has kept buried for so long.

      In the end, the rumors cease, the townspeople rejoice, and Woody’s purpose to live is renewed and revived.

      CHAPTER 1

      The Weeping House

      In a small town somewhere in the plains of the Northwest region of the United States stood a long lonely road that led to nowhere. It was a dead end: Weeping Willows It’s name bore the signature of the Weeping Willows that once adorned the street and the house situated on the street’s outer most edge.

      It was difficult to see it from a distance, but upon careful observation, a person could make out the house that now stood silent and neglected. The house had surrendered and succumbed to the many years of solitude. It was smothered and swallowed by the bushes that once laced its perimeter.. The white picket fence was so worn and weathered that it wasn’t even suitable for kindling.

      Beyond the house were a ramshackle shed and a small summer cottage. Both buildings were in various stages of disrepair.

      In the driveway, buried beneath the brush, sat an automobile. In its heyday, it was considered a sign of wealth. Now it just sat there reminiscing days of old. Its major element to be found on the periodic table for metals was rust. The yard was overflowing with waves of grass that would blow to and fro during a strong wind. So high were some shafts that a person could literally disappear behind its blades. To add to this home that cried for attention were little crosses that littered the lawn: fifty of them to be exact. No one truly understood the purpose for these simple reminders of a tragic event that happened some two thousand years ago, and unbelievably, no one bothered to ask.

      In the backyard of this tattered and torn home was a garden. It was simple but of all things, it was kept up. Every year vegetables were seen sprouting from the soil below. Broccoli, cucumbers, cauliflower, green beans, and corn came up during the summer months along with tomatoes.

      The house that years ago stood as a testimony of prosperity and joy was nothing more that a tattered shell of a structure. Parts of its roof gave way and caved in to the elements of nature.

      The windows that shielded the inside from driving rain, sleet and snow were shattered. They were boarded up with pieces of wood siding that once served as an exterior blanket. Though they afforded some sense of security and protection, they did very little to adequately seal the interior. The plumbing was just as much as issue as the interior. Over the years, water lines succumbed and snapped to the constant freeze and thaw. The only value that the toilet and tub served was for its cast iron. Outside of that, they did absolutely nothing but remind people of past advancements in septic and sewer.

      A person had to be extremely cautious and careful on entering this house of tears. The hardwood floors were so rotten in some areas, it was a hazard for anyone to exit one room and enter another. Pieces of plaster spewed across the floors as if they were remnants of carpet of long ago. The electrical system was outdated and no longer functioned to its full capacity.

      People from this remote area called this residence the The Weeping House. Throughout the years, urban legends ran rampant as people spread one rumor after another regarding both the residence and the person who resided in such an estate of affairs.

      Some people speculated that the old man of this house went ballistic having returned home from the battles he fought during the second world war. Others hypothesized that the crosses that lined his yard represented the many soldiers he killed during his time in Europe. While others believed they came to symbolize the many rodents that took residence in this Weeping House. He killed such animals to sustain his very survival. They were his form of nutrition, the townspeople would laugh aloud. But then again, there were those who believed this old man was nothing more than folklore.

      Along this long stretch of road that was nothing more than a dead-end, lived a man’s whose life had ended. Sadly, no one ever took the time to discover the truth: to dig for the truth. Most people where either content on spreading the fuel to the flames pertaining to the urban legends that spread like a forest fire, or never did they bother to get to know this old man. There he lived alone along this long and desolate road that ultimately died. And many people truly wished that fate would fall him. That is, they prayed his life would end like the road his house sat upon.

      CHAPTER 2

      Weeping Woody

      For decades, Woodrow Elliott, known as Woody by his fellow soldiers of past, lived alone on that long road that ultimately died at the end of his property. He was an older man and the only time people ever saw him was when he stepped out to check his mail, or when he was in his garden salvaging whatever vegetables that spouted from the soil, or when he would annually walk out into his yard to plot and plant another cross along with a glass jar.

      He was a quiet and shy man who learned to live life based on simplicity and solitude. His stature was average and his frame was slender. He had long gray hair with a beard that was of equal length. His eyes were as blue as the sky on a crystal clear day. Regardless of their brilliance, they were also sullen and sunken. The years of seclusion took their toll on Woodrow. His eyes were laced with sadness and lined with sorrow. Though he was considered to be a living soul by the standards of medicine, his spirit had died many decades ago.

      He even became accustomed to some of the rumors that spread through the town. At times, he laughed at what people thought of him and about him. There were, other times, he sat by his lonesome and wept. How he yearned to have a friend or two. But, then again, it is hard to dispel one’s own legend: especially when it was firmly rooted on a seed planted deep within the hearts of others and watered over the years.

      To add to his eccentric reputation were the reports of children. They added to Woody’s claim to fame by stating how they heard the sounds of weeping during certain calendar events: Thanksgiving, Christmas, Easter, as well as other dates that did not necessarily coincide with any typical or traditional days. Most notably, the day he walked out to his to stake his claim to the world by plotting another cross in the ground while burying a glass jar by its side. It was from such days and dates that Woodrow would eventually be dubbed Weeping Woody.

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