Gospel Story Finder

I remember reading several years ago of a man who had gone into the wilderness area of the state of Montana with a companion on a big game hunt. The hunters came upon a grizzly bear at rather close range, and one of the men fired at the bear and wounded it. In a rage the huge animal charged the hunters. One of them, in panic and in a desperate attempt to save himself, climbed into the lower branches of a small tree close by. The tree was not large enough to support the man’s weight and hold him beyond the reach of the bear’s powerful claws and jaws. Before his companion could destroy the bear, it had inflicted such serious injuries on the treed hunter that it was necessary to amputate both his legs in order to save his life.

I smile a little bit when I hear that now, because there is a fellow about my age that works up at the Church office near me, and he is trying to keep himself physically as well as spiritually fit. So every day he slips over to the Deseret Gym and the other day while he was working out by playing handball—and he is a very vigorous competitor—he reached for a ball that bounced out of the court, trying so hard to recover it that he snapped a hamstring muscle in his right leg. You know that that smarts a little bit.

Grabbing his leg, he hobbled back to the dressing room, showered, and then limped back to Church headquarters in excruciating pain. An elevator arrived, and who but President Kimball should get off? Seeing my friend nursing his limpy leg, he asked, “What’s the matter?”
My friend is kind of quick on the draw, and he replied, “President, I just snapped my hamstring muscle trying to lengthen my stride.” There is a lot to that.

When my grandpa became sick, I travelled to Antsirabe to be with him. The missionaries visited his home several times. Grandpa and I were not members of the Church, but he liked visiting with the missionaries. One night, they gave grandpa a blessing, and after a family home evening, they handed us the Book of Mormon.
“Please read this book and ask God if it is true,” they said.
When I returned to Sarodroa, I didn’t want to read the Book of Mormon because I thought it was not true. Then, one day I became so sick that I was stuck in my house for several days. As I looked for something to do, I found the Book of Mormon and started to read.
Later, I returned to Antsirabe and met the missionaries. They taught me more about the Book of Mormon and about the Prophet Joseph Smith. I told them that we didn’t need prophets and that there was no prophet today. The missionaries asked me to pray to God and ask if there is a prophet now. They promised that God would answer me. I prayed and felt that what the missionaries said was true.
I wanted to attend church, but I had no money for the bus. I talked to my friend, Razafindravaonasolo, and she said we could ride my bike. We rode two hours one way from Sarodroa to Antsirabe every Sunday. When I would get tired of pedaling, I would ride on the back and she would start pedaling. Then when she got tired, we would switch places again.
Eventually, Razafindravaonasolo’s family and I joined the Church. We attended church in Antsirabe until a branch opened in Sarodroa. We were so happy when we could attend church in our own village!
Razafindravaonasolo’s father was called as the branch president. One day he met with me and encouraged me to prepare for a mission. I didn’t think I could serve, but he reassured me that I could. I accepted the call to serve in the Madagascar Antananarivo Mission. I am married now and I have two kids. I am grateful for my family, and I have had more experiences than I can share that have helped me know that this Church is true.

Katie Patterson, 12, and Ingrid Millard, 13, were buddies to Kathy. She, too, is wheelchair bound with cerebral palsy and severe retardation. A lack of vital brain chemicals causes her to bite herself. For this reason, her arms were strapped to boards.
“I was scared at first,” said Katie Patterson. “But after I pushed her around for a while I wasn’t scared anymore. She’s nice.”
Ingrid Millard agreed. “We take her to see everything.”
What does Kathy think? Well, she had a big smile, which is her way of telling the world she’s happy.

When I was a student at Brigham Young University, I lived in a house with several young men. My roommate, Bruce, was the most optimistic person I have ever known. We never once heard him say anything negative about any person or any circumstance, and it was impossible not to feel buoyed up in his presence. His good cheer flowed from an abiding trust in the Savior and in His gospel.

One cold, wintry day, another friend of mine, Tom, was walking across the university campus. It was only 7:00 in the morning, and the campus was deserted and dark. Heavy snow was falling, with a brisk wind. “What miserable weather,” Tom thought. He walked farther, and out in the darkness and snow, he heard someone singing.

Sure enough, through the driving snow came our ever-optimistic friend, Bruce. With his arms outstretched to the sky, he was singing a number from the Broadway musical Oklahoma: “Oh, what a beautiful morning! Oh, what a beautiful day! I’ve got a beautiful feeling, everything’s going my way” (see Richard Rodgers and Oscar Hammerstein II, “Oh, What a Beautiful Mornin’” [1943]).

In the intervening years, that bright voice in a dark storm has become for me a symbol of what faith and hope are all about. Even in a darkening world, we as Latter-day Saints may sing with joy, knowing that the powers of heaven are with God’s Church and people. We may rejoice in the knowledge that a beautiful morning lies ahead—the dawn of the millennial day, when the Son of God shall rise in the East and reign again on the earth.

Not long ago I received a telephone call from a remarkable woman named Jean who asked if she and her daughter could visit me.
More than four decades ago, I had baptized Jean. As we discussed the gospel lessons in 1956, Jean’s four-year-old daughter, Sherrie, sat on her mother’s knee. Now, Sherrie is grown with five sons. All have served missions. Jean and Sherrie told me that at least 67 people have joined The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints because of Jean’s conversion.
I labored for 10 months in Decatur, Illinois, having five companions during that time. We were quite discouraged in 1956 when with all our efforts, only Jean’s baptism resulted. She joined the Church with this remark: “I have been waiting for many years to find the faith that explains how everyone who ever lived, or will live, can have the chance to be saved in God’s kingdom. No other church could do it. I know you have the true Church.”
“How grateful I am,” said her daughter, Sherrie, “that you stopped by and taught my mother the true gospel of Jesus Christ.”
Suddenly, all the doors I knocked on during my 10-month stay in Decatur were worth it.

I once asked Elder Bednar with his busy schedule how he stays close to his family and how he teaches them. He is very intentional about it. In July, when he has time off they gather together at a beach house on the East Coast of the United States. There they play together and bond with each other. He asks the adults to come with their gospel questions and their parenting concerns, so that when the little ones go to sleep the adults can discuss their questions and help one another learn and grow. He asks the children to come with a goal to be achieved in the coming year. They remember and review last year’s goals and then proceed to new ones. His time with them is short, but purposeful.

Thick, sticky, golden, gooey, sweet honey. It’s called “le miel” in French-speaking Canada, where you find boxlike beehives clustered in the green fields of a countryside sprinkled with blue cornflowers, purple thistle, and the delicate white blossoms of Queen Anne’s lace.
In that same countryside, in the little town of Sainte Brigide d’Iberville, about 33 miles from Montreal, you’ll see corn fields, barns, and silos—and teenage boys working around the blue and white beehives of Monsieur Marcotte, the beekeeper, who speaks only French.
The boys are helping gather and process honey, and each is paid a bucket of honey for a day’s work. It’s a gooey salary, but they put it to good use. With the help of the other young people in the LeMoyne Ward, they package and sell the honey, then put the money into a fund for their upcoming trip to the Washington D.C. Temple, 12 hours away by car.
“This way I don’t have to ask my mother and father for money for the temple trip,” says Samuel Maltere, 14, of the LeMoyne Ward. “I’m really looking forward to going to the temple. Working with honey is sticky, and you get dirty doing it, but it’s worth the effort. And after learning how honey gets to our dinner table, I appreciate it a lot more now.”
How did the young people get involved with honeycombs, bees, and Monsieur Marcotte?
“It first started when we talked to our teenagers about going on a temple trip,” says Bishop Joseph Wilfred Serges Limoges. “Everybody wanted to go, but nobody was financially ready. Our ward clerk works with beehives and knows Monsieur Marcotte, so he suggested this project, and each young man and woman I interviewed wanted to do it.”
Monsieur Marcotte has 83 beehives in four locations around Sainte Brigide. Each beehive is made up of five square honeycomb frames stacked on top of each other, with about 100,000 cells of honey on each side of each frame.
Monsieur Marcotte taught the boys from the ward how to gather the honey and process it. “You can read books about beekeeping, but you learn by practice. You need experience in beekeeping to get a good product,” he says.
How do Sam Maltere, Mark Pelchat, and other ward volunteers harvest the honey?
“First, sawdust is burned by the hive to create smoke when we go to gather the frames, because the smoke tranquilizes the bees and makes them less likely to sting,” says Mark, 14. (It’s a good idea to encourage as many bees as possible to fly off when the boys are gathering honey.) The boys dress in protective clothing when working by the hives, but occasionally they do get stung.
“It’s fun working with the bees, but the only thing I don’t like about it is getting stung,” adds Mark. “I’ve only been stung three or four times.”
The boys carry the honeycomb boxes from the hives to a special hut used for processing the honey. The honey is harvested twice a summer.
“We close the doors of the hut so the bees don’t smell the honey inside, and we put sawdust on the floor because it’s easier to clean up all the honey drips that way,” says Mark. “Then we use electric knives to remove a thick coat of wax from off the top of each honeycomb frame, and put the frame in an extractor, which looks like a large stainless steel kettle. The frames are spun around in the extractor, and the honey is forced out. We drain the honey into buckets, then pour it through a screen to strain it.”
When the boys take their pay (buckets of honey) home, the other young people from the ward help pour the sticky stuff into smaller containers. Then it’s sold to friends, or to customers outside a health food store owned by a Church member in Montreal.
“We tell the people who walk by our stand that we’re raising money for a trip to our temple. We show them a picture of the temple and tell them what it means to us,” says Frankie Belot, 17.
Bishop Limoges is out in front of the health food store with his young men and young women, cornering potential customers. He’s as involved in the fund-raising project as the kids are. “It’s important for these young people to go to the temple,” he says. “We have ten of them going on this trip, and only three have been to the temple to do baptisms before. I feel that’s a real success for our ward.”
Going to the temple is an event that the young people really look forward to. “We want to be baptized for those people who’ve died without being introduced to the Church,” says Sonya Roy, 15.
“We’ve been selling honey outside the store today for about six hours,” says Phillippe Cazeau, 16.
“We feel that if we go to the temple, we need to work for it.”

Several years ago I was running early in the morning on the day before Thanksgiving with a group of women. We called it our Thanksgiving run, and as we ran we called out things for which we were thankful. I had just finished saying that I was thankful for a strong, healthy body when I slipped and fell on a patch of black ice on the road. As I tried to get up, I realized that I was badly hurt. I knew I had broken my leg just above the ankle—and I won’t say how I knew or I could faint right here on the spot. My husband said that if I had been an NFL football player, I would have made the highlight films that night.

As I lay there in the road in the shadows of the early morning light, waiting for help to arrive, I saw the lights of a car come speeding down the road right toward where I lay. The car screeched to a stop, and a man jumped out. He said he had thought I was a garbage bag in the road and almost kept going. I asked if he were a member of the Church, and he replied that he was. I asked if he could give me a blessing because the pain was so severe I didn’t know how long I could stay in that condition. He paused and then said: “I can’t. You better wait for your husband to do that.” Then he got in his car and drove away.

When I arrived at the hospital, I was wheeled into a little cubicle in the emergency room where I waited to be taken into surgery. As they moved the curtains to the side, there were my husband and all five of our sons. As they encircled me and laid their hands on my head, I felt their purity, their power, and their strength. Young men, priesthood men, keep yourselves pure so that you may be able to use your priesthood power at a moment’s notice. That day I was blessed by their priesthood power, which they exercised in virtue and holiness.

When I was 16 years old, my oldest brother, Ivan, who was 22 at that time, came home one day and shared some news with the family. He had decided to get baptized in The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Our parents looked at him somewhat skeptically, and I remember not completely understanding what was going on. A year or so later, he gave us more surprising news: he had decided to serve as a missionary of the Church, which meant that we were not going to see him for two years. My parents were not thrilled with this news; however, I saw in him a clear determination that increased my admiration for him and the decision he had made.

When I was serving as a mission president, a man called me to ask permission to baptize his mother in his ward rather than his mother’s ward. I asked “Why?” He responded, “Because I do not like her bishop and I will never forgive him for what he did.” When I heard those words, “never forgive him,” my concern shifted from his mother’s salvation to his, and I told him that. I shared the scripture about forgiveness in the Doctrine and Covenants that I just mentioned and asked him to ponder and pray about his request. He called a few days later and told me that he had been a member most of his life, and had read those scripture passages many times, but that somehow in his circumstance he had felt justified in not forgiving. He had finally realized that the commandment to forgive all men, meant all men and he forgave the bishop and felt the joy of forgiveness.

Let me share a story that happened right here on this campus not long ago, that not only brought others to the gospel, but brought happiness to all who know Indy.

I met Indy three years ago, when she was involved in the Desi Association here at BYU-Idaho. Indy grew up in Sri Lanka and moved to Maryland during the 8th grade. Indy became very close to two friends at school, one was a member of our faith and the other was not. Indy was Buddhist. She loved these friends and after high school reunited with them one evening only to discover that her non-member friend had joined the Church. Those good friends invited her to visit the visitor center at the Washington DC Temple with them. She felt the spirit there and accepted the opportunity to hear the missionary lessons. About this time, President Monson had just been called as the prophet. She said that she heard President Monson bear testimony of the Savior and it was so powerful. Those two experiences really helped her. She decided to join the Church. This was tough on her family, especially her parents. They love Indy very much and had traditional plans for her. Indy bore her testimony to her mother and said that she knew the church is true and needed to be baptized. Her parents really struggled. Indy chose to come to BYU-Idaho. She took her baptismal covenants seriously and served in the gospel. She tried to be an example to her two sisters, which eventually followed her out here to school and attend here now. Her parents began to soften, as they saw the joy and goodness the gospel brought to their daughter. Through Indy's example, and others, her sisters have joined the church. Indy started to date Josh (I am proud to have had a hand in that). They decided to get married. I remember how nervous she was to tell her parents. It was hard, but now they love Josh and their new little granddaughter. Because Indy chose to come into the fold of God, and be one of His people, she has found joy and happiness with an eternal family. Because of Indy's commitment to the covenants she made, she has also helped others find the gospel.

During general conference in 2001, President Gordon B. Hinckley introduced the Perpetual Education Fund. I needed the opportunities that such a program offered so I could lift myself economically, but I wondered whether I could meet the program’s requirements.
During sacrament meeting a few months later, our stake president spoke about the program. To my great surprise, I learned that I might qualify after all. I thought to myself, “This is my last chance. I can’t pass it up.”
I then began to consider the responsibilities the program would require of me, and I feared that I would fail and once again fall short in Heavenly Father’s eyes. But I overcame these thoughts, and gathering information from the local institute director, I applied. Considering my past, I had little hope that I would be accepted. I felt that I did not deserve such a blessing even though I had repented and returned to church.
When I received a positive response from Church headquarters, my family and I rejoiced. The amount granted was not enough for the entire academic year, but I went ahead and registered for a major in computer programming. I received high grades and earned a scholarship that paid for the rest of my schooling.
Since then I have done everything in my power to show my gratitude. I work hard, I study hard, and I fulfill my responsibilities in the Church. I attend institute classes to try to make up for the years I missed and to learn what the Lord expects of me.
The most important thing I know is that I have been forgiven for all the bad things I did in the past. All of my plans for the future are based on this knowledge. I will continue to help my family, but now I will be able to do so in a better manner.

1 In April 1832 Joseph Smith went to Jackson County a second time. A general council of the Church was called, and Joseph was sustained as President of the High Priesthood.
2 The Prophet received a revelation in which the Lord said that the Saints were to work hard and share all that they had with each other.
3 Goods of all kinds were to be taken to the Church storehouse to be distributed according to the bishop’s orders.
4 Four days later Joseph received another revelation: If widows, orphans, or any other members were needy, they were to be provided for through the Church storehouse.
5 The revelation also said that husbands are to love and care for their wives, and parents are to love and care for their children.
6 In May, Sidney Rigdon, Newel K. Whitney, and the Prophet Joseph started back to Kirtland, Ohio. Near New Albany, Indiana, the horses pulling their wagon became frightened and bolted.
7 Joseph jumped out of the wagon unhurt, but Bishop Whitney caught his foot in a wheel and broke his leg and foot in several places.
8 Sidney Rigdon went on to Kirtland, but the Prophet stayed with Bishop Whitney for four weeks while he recuperated.
9 One day during that time, Joseph Smith ate something poisonous. When Bishop Whitney gave him a blessing of health, the Prophet was instantly healed. Soon they, too, continued on to Kirtland.

A year ago our thoughts turned to the celebration of the sesquicentennial of the arrival of the pioneers in the valley of the Great Salt Lake in 1847. What was Christmas like that year?
From an entry in the diary of Mrs. Rebecca Riter, dated 25 December 1847, we read: “The winter was cold. Christmas came and the children were hungry. I had brought a peck of wheat across the plains and hid it under a pile of wood. I thought I would cook a handful of wheat for the baby. Then I thought how we would need wheat for seed in the spring, so I left it alone.”

One of the most serious deterrents to any success is that we spend too much time practicing those things that we don’t want to be. We might learn a great many important lessons from the story told many years ago by Dr. Harry Emerson Fosdick entitled “On the Wrong Bus.” It tells of a man who got on a bus with the intention and desire of going to Detroit. But when he arrived at the end of a long trip, he found himself in Kansas City. At first he would not believe it. When he asked for Woodward Avenue and was told there was no Woodward Avenue, he was indignant—he knew there was. It was some time before he could face the fact that in spite of his good intentions and his earnest desire, he was not in Detroit at all but in Kansas City. Everything was fine except for one little detail; he had just caught the wrong bus.

I had the same problem of trying to get away from friends who smoked and used foul language. I soon realized that if I didn’t stop hanging around them, they might influence me to be like them. I got into youth groups, did service projects, and talked to other people. By doing this, people realized how friendly I was and wanted to become friends with me. My old friends seemed mad at me and called me a traitor. I told them what my beliefs were and why I didn’t want to be with them. Surprisingly, they understood and respected me for it. I think you need to understand who you are, and if you stay around these people who do things you don’t like, the only one you’re offending is yourself.
Sarah Sansom, 15Hilbert, Wisconsin

Composite photo illustration by Mike Boyland/iStock/Thinkstock and Oleksiy Fedorov/Hemera/Thinkstock
At the age of 23, I was called as a Relief Society president in our married student ward. I remember the inadequacies I felt, coupled with the desire to do my best. I was eager and excited to serve but doubted my ability to be a good leader.
After a few months as the Relief Society president, I felt that I wasn’t doing enough. I wanted to be able to connect with the sisters and be in tune with their individual needs, but I felt that I was coming up short.
I talked with my bishop and expressed my concerns. I explained how I just couldn’t reach all of the sisters I wanted to. I described how I wished that I had five of me to get the job done the way I thought it should be. I tried to keep my concerns light and humorous, but my eyes quickly filled with tears of discouragement. He smiled and offered some of the best leadership advice I have ever received.
“Are you familiar with the story of the shepherd who, upon losing one of his flock, left ‘the ninety and nine’ to find it?” he asked (see Luke 15:4–7). I nodded.
“There seems to be so much wisdom in that parable,” he continued. “The shepherd knew that the ninety and nine would be all right if he left them to look for the one lost sheep.”
Then my bishop offered the following advice:
“You see, the ninety and nine have a great way of looking after each other when you’re gone. They will buoy each other up and hold together very well. I suggest that you concentrate on the ones who seem lost. The rest will be OK.”
I felt a strong witness that what he had told me was true and that I didn’t need to worry about the entire flock all at once. My purpose was to find those who were lost and to invite them back into the fold. In that way, Heavenly Father’s purposes could be brought to pass, and I could be a tool in His hands.
As I heeded the bishop’s counsel, I felt a greater measure of understanding of how the Lord would have me serve in His kingdom. I also received spiritual fulfillment that strengthened me in my calling because I was serving as the Savior had instructed. Through the power of the Holy Ghost, my bishop had given me a great gift of understanding and insight.
I testify that as we pray and seek inspiration from our priesthood leaders, they will be inspired to show us how to lead in righteous ways.

Our season was ending, and we had one more race in Spartanburg, South Carolina. We stayed at a Marriott hotel, which had a Book of Mormon in every room. I found a teammate reading a copy. When I asked her why she was reading it, she replied that she was interested in what it was about. Excited, I bore my testimony to her of its truthfulness. Many of the other girls on the team had joined us in the room, and they asked me questions about the Book of Mormon.

When we got home I invited my best friend on the team, Rosa, to go to church with me. She enjoyed the meetings and felt peaceful there. After that, Rosa came to church almost every week. It was so wonderful to see the gospel touch her life.

About a month later I received an unexpected phone call from a young man on the men’s cross-country team, Brendan. He told me that he had taken the missionary lessons and was getting baptized in a week! I was so happy and thrilled for him. Both Rosa and I attended Brendan’s baptism. Rosa also took the missionary lessons and later chose to be baptized.

Looking back on these wonderful experiences, I am amazed that so many blessings resulted from joining my college cross-country team. I learned you don’t have to be set apart or wear a badge to be an instrument for Heavenly Father. Through my actions and living the gospel, my teammates wanted to know more about the gospel, which led them to baptism. I found that truly “by small and simple things are great things brought to pass” (Alma 37:6).

The snows stayed late in the highlands that spring and gave Jamie great cause to worry. Fiona, his very own ewe, would probably need help with the birthing of her first lamb. What would happen if she stayed too long in the highlands and became trapped by the sudden fury of a late storm? She and her lamb might die.
“Grandfather,” Jamie began over breakfast, “I’ll carry feed to the sheep today. There’s time before school this morning.”
Grandfather poured milk onto his porridge. “We’ll not be carrying feed up the hill any more this spring,” he said. “There’s work to do below—the fields must be readied for sowing.”
“But, Grandfather, the sheep could go hungry, especially …”
“Especially those heavy with lambs,” Grandfather finished. He wiped his gray mustache with a thick cloth. “I know that’s what you’re thinkin’, lad. But they’ve only to scratch through the snow and find spring timothy grass for food now. It’s in their nature to know these things.”
“But Fiona …”
“Jamie, if she gets caught in the hills when her time comes, she’ll take shelter and give birth the way it’s always been done. When you’ve learned more about crofting (farming), you’ll find that it’s hard, hard work. There’s no room for soft feelings for just one sheep.”
Jamie opened his mouth to speak again but stopped at Grandfather’s look. His eyes were the shivery blue of a November sunrise, his face a craggy reminder of Aberdeen’s moors. Jamie could not speak again, not in the face of Grandfather’s wintry look.
Had Grandfather never felt the warmth of the work he was doing? Would he, Jamie, lose the tender feelings he now held for all the living, breathing things on the croft? Would he, one day, become like Grandfather? Once, he wanted to be just like him. Now he wasn’t so sure.
“Take up your books now, lad,” Grandfather said. “I’ll take up my plow.”
Jamie hurried through the soft fields that were waiting for the seeds of oats and barley. They were the staple of life for those on this land. Without them Grandfather could not keep his croft. So Jamie knew that the planting must be done on time and that the sheep must look after themselves.
But Fiona … Fiona was different. Jamie knew that too. He paused and looked to the low hills beyond the meadows. This summer they would be covered with the lavender glow of wild heather, but now they were dull with patches of spiny gorse (a shrub) and dirty snow. Fiona was up there somewhere, waiting.
At school, Jamie’s books lay open to the thoughts of Robbie Burns and the deeds of past Highlanders. But his mind stayed with Fiona and with remembrances of past lambing snows. It was during the lambing snows two years ago when he’d first seen her trembling legs take a step towards him and he’d touched her still-damp wool. Her mother had died with milk sickness, so Jamie had bottle-fed Fiona until she could join the other spring lambs dancing in the fields.
But she always remembered him and waited for his visit. Then she cavorted around and around on sturdy legs as they traveled the craggy paths together. And she still hurried over to him when he managed to find chores to take him her way.
The day was as gray as slabs of cold porridge when school ended. Jamie hurried along the pathways, eager to be home. Despite Grandfather’s words, surely he would give Jamie time to carry a basket of feed to Fiona. Surely there would be time for that much.
But the milking had to be done, the hens fed, and the fires tended in the cooking stove. And then it was dark and a cold wind blew. Before they’d finished supper, rain clawed at the windows with sharp, scraping sounds.
Sometime in the night Jamie awoke to a great silence. The storm had moved up to the highlands, and he knew that when he looked in the morning, he would see new scarves of snow tossed over the hills. Fiona was up there, waiting for him to come.
At first light Jamie dressed in his thickest woollies and set out for the feed shed. He filled a basket with grazing supplements and began the long walk to the hills. As he climbed, he burrowed deeper into his mackintosh and hood, glad for the Wellingtons that kept his feet warm and dry.
Soon he saw the sheep lying in the snow in soft, lumpy clutches. Fiona was not among them.
“Fiona,” Jamie called.
The wind carried his voice away from the hills toward Grandfather’s house below, where a light now shone in the kitchen window. Jamie hurried on, his heart cold with what he might find. He called again: “Fiona.”
He stopped where the snow drifted against the stone fence. Should he follow the fence line or climb over it? Every moment counted. Decide quickly, he told himself.
Fiona, in her heaviness, could not climb over the fence, he knew, so she would stay on this side. But which way had she gone? There were no prints in the snow, nothing to show that she’d ever been here. There were only the drifts, as smooth as the icing on the tea cakes in Mrs. MacCrae’s bakeshop window—except for that one small place where the snow mounded in a small, round hump.
“Fiona!” He ran, dropped on his knees, and pawed away the snow until he found her lying still and quiet. Was there breath left in her? There’d not be much air under the snow.
Then he saw and understood. Her small muzzle was tucked into a crack between the stones in the fence. There she’d found air to keep her alive.
She pulled her soft, woolly face away from the fence, and something stirred against her. Jamie saw then that her lamb had only just come, looking as trembly and damp as Fiona had when she’d been born in the lambing snows. Bent beneath the lamb were tender shoots of timothy grass. Air and food. Fiona had known just what to do after all.
Jamie looked up to see Grandfather standing next to him. “You were right, Grandfather. She doesn’t need me any more.”
“But I do,” Grandfather said, “to remind me about the way of crofting that I’d almost forgotten.” His eyes had lost their shivery blueness and were warm and caring.
Grandfather carried Fiona, and Jamie carried her lamb down to the warmth of the house below.