“Blackberry cobbler! I can already taste it,” my brother Grady said as we made our way to the field in front of our house. We were on a mission to fill the new basket swinging on his arm to the brim with ripe, juicy blackberries.
He’d admired it in town weeks ago, and so our oldest sister went out and bought it for him. The basket was his to keep, but on one condition:
“You have to fill it with berries,” she said. “I’ll whip up one of those cobblers you’re always going on about.” I quickly agreed to help–anything for a piece of that cobbler! We could hardly contain our excitement when we asked our mother if we could go out berry picking.
“Okay,” she said. “But don’t go any farther than the field in front of the house so I can keep an eye on you.”
“We won’t!” the two of us declared, and off we went. With the sun at our backs and insects buzzing around our feet we marched across the field. But the blackberry bushes were few and far between, and those we did find had already been picked clean by little sparrows and blackbirds.
“This isn’t nearly enough to make a cobbler,” Grady sighed, examining the tiny pile of berries at the bottom of the basket.
“What if we try looking in that forest past the viaduct?” I suggested. “I never see anyone there, so I bet there are loads of berries left.” Our mother had told us to keep to the field by the house, but this was kind of an emergency.
“Guess a quick trip couldn’t hurt,” Grady said. We set out for the viaduct and, after passing under its sturdy, stone archways, found ourselves in another field that led to the forest. “Let’s go!” Grady said. He sprinted through the tall grass. I ran after him, visions of cobbler in my head.
The forest was much farther away than I’d remembered. I slowed down, panting, after a few minutes of running. Maybe we should turn back.
Suddenly, Grady dropped out of sight, his head disappearing beneath the sea of waving, yellow stalks. I hurried to catch up. When I got to him, his legs were buried up to his knees, and he was waving and calling frantically for help.
Quicksand! Now it wasn’t so surprising that we never saw anyone near these woods. They were dangerous!
I reached for Grady. “I’m sinking! I can’t get out!” He grabbed my hand. In his panic he nearly pulled me in with him. I let go and looked desperately around. There wasn’t a soul in sight. Should I run for help? Try again to pull him out?
God, I prayed, what should I do?
A man appeared, striding through the field. He had a long, flowing white beard and walked at a steady, unhurried speed. I screamed for help, but the man didn’t rush his pace. I waved my arms and jumped as high as I could, but the man kept walking.
My brother had sunk into the ground up to his hips by the time the bearded man reached us. He bent down and picked up a branch from the ground. Calm as ever, he held it out for Grady to grab onto. My brother seized the end of the branch and the man hauled him easily back onto safe ground.
I ran over and swept Grady up in a hug, tears of joy running down my face. We cared little anymore about that blackberry cobbler.
The two of us turned to the man to thank him, but he had disappeared. In the distance, across the field, we could see our mother heading for us. The man was nowhere to be seen. I supposed because there hadn’t been a man there in the first place. Only an angel. As Grady is my witness.
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