Somewhere I Belong by
Glenna Jenkins
SYNOPSIS
![](https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0EXpyPZe2fmOZUFXkrw_nkhg8b4V9EBfGFdBEQ2K11nNCkPS6a-AIi5gzpP7zzeUi-faEnCyevSB2myz0iToLMCuoV2GSmyH-QwsO6x-THNduhAVfdDckYUXvVqjJwdK_j1VF/s320/somewhere.jpg)
A letter
arrives from Aunt Mayme announcing a Babe Ruth charity baseball game in the old
neighbourhood. But Ma won’t let him go. P.J is devastated. The weeks pass, then
there is an accident on the farm. P.J. becomes a hero and Ma changes her mind.
He travels to Boston, sees his friends, watches Babe Ruth hit a home run, and
renews his attachment to the place. But his eagerness to return to the Island
makes him wonder where he really belongs.
This excerpt is from a scene where PJ and Uncle Jim hitch up Big Ned and go
off on a rescue mission. There has been a violent storm and the old man across
the road hasn’t been heard from in days.
From behind Uncle Jim, all I could see was
Big Ned’s huge hind end lumbering forward and show blowing all around him.
Beyond us lay a stark, freezing whiteout. I know our route headed due east. But
I wondered how we could navigate blindly and find the open gateway at the end
of the drive without the horse getting a hoof snagged in the barbed-wire fence.
Uncle
Jim guided Big Ned along what remained of the path we had dug across the yard
the day before. When the path ended, he slapped the reins and urged the horse
into deeper snow. His pace slowed, but he kept pulling us. Snow kept falling
over him, sticking to his thick, winter coat. His legs seemed to sink into it as
he pressed onward. I huddled under the blanket, my arms hugging my chest, my
head bent behind Uncle Jim, shielded
from the wind. It was like sleepwalking, it felt so directionless.
My
uncle said Big Ned’s blind obedience was the Percheron’s nature. But there was
something in the way he pushed steadily onward, in the way his ears perked
forward, his neck straining and pumping, that said there was much more to him
than that. There was a sense of urgency about him. It was as it he knew we were
on a rescue mission and he was an important part of it. I’d never before
thought of animals as being smart, but this one surely was.
Uncle
Jim and that big old horse must have made that trip a thousand times. We reached
the end of the drive, turned right onto Northbridge Road, travelled about a hundred
yards, and then took a short left turn. Soon, we found the path that connected
the old mans’ house to the road. Uncle Ed had managed to shovel it clear.
Show-laden branches of evergreens brushed us on each side. We entered a
clearing. A lone, leafless apple tree stood to the right, covered in ice. To
the left, across the yard, posts of an open gateway to Mr. White’s field poked
from a drift. Beside it, the outline of the barn was barely visible. I knew Mr.
White’s tiny, slope-roofed house was somewhere nearby, but I couldn’t see it.
The snow swirled so hard, it was difficult to tell field from sky.
PURCHASE
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
![](https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_aN5I_b5R7fKqXKLe9qBD68DZtB4hbmYsPLEAaOYWKlbxxyXguQsQ2yxuopAGLwRBDD-5LFQt8JNrhIPGX2xMpnn1ZitEGAeGRHReYy_nSXeid76CGTXf6-QTM24fyvm7RrNK/s1600/glenna.jpg)
As
a published author and fiction writer, I offer developmental writing services,
coaching, and copy editing, structural editing to emerging writers of fiction
and non-fiction in short-story, novel or book format. As an editor, I revise
scholarly works written by academics whose first language is not English and
who wish to complete their master’s theses, PhD dissertations, or publish in
English-language academic journals. I also completed an indexing course at the
University of California at Berkeley and index books on economics, politics,
history, and topics of general interest.
Brought to you by Worldwind
VBT
No comments:
Post a Comment