Tatty's Troubles...part two

The storm raged around me until I lost all sense of time. The loud rumbling went on and on. So did the hail, lightning, and thunder. Wind howled. Rain dripped down the chimney and puddled on the fireplace floor. Something crashed outside, shaking the little cabin.

Oh, how I wished I had stayed tucked safely on the shelf in my new owners home. My arms and legs quivered from cold and fear. My head ached from all the noise. I sat, huddled in my musty, tattered, piece of quilt.

How long the storm lasted I could not know. Finally the train faded into the distance then grew quiet. The hail stopped beating the little cabin. The thunder stopped clapping, grumbling like a disgruntled man instead. Lightning still flashed but it, too, was less intense.

I breathed deeply, glad to be through the worst of the storm. The wind and rain continued but even they were less intense than they had been. The flashing of the lightning came less often, leaving the cabin in total darkness between flashes.

There wasn't enough light left to gather more wood so I couldn't feed the fire. The flames grew smaller and smaller until there was nothing but red embers left. In time, those too, faded away, dying out and leaving nothing but cold in their wake.

I passed the night there, dozing when I could, waiting and watching when I couldn't. Sometime during the long, cold night, the storm blew out and left an eerie silence in its wake. It was a long wait for the sun to finally rise.

Stiff and sore from sitting so long in one place, I rose to my feet, clutching my quilt close. My dress was wetter now than it had been when I had taken shelter in the cabin. Too many holes in the walls and too many leaks in the roof had kept it from drying.

Not willing to put the dress on until I had to, I tugged the quilt piece tighter around me and gathered little sticks to add to the fire. They were no help though because there were no embers left and the sticks were too damp to rub together to get a new fire started.

It was no use. I wasn't going to be able to get another fire going and I wasn't going to be able to dry out my dress. With great reluctance I let the quilt fall to the floor and pulled the wet, soggy dress over my head. It wouldn't do for my owner to see me without the clothes she had put on me.

The material clung to my body, hugging me close in a most unsettling way. I hadn't much cared for the fussy looking dress when my owner had put it on me but I liked it even less now. It was icy cold and added to the shivers that had plagued me since I had been caught in the rain the day before.

With a last look around the little cabin I stepped through the doorway and into the woods that had changed greatly in the wrath of the storm. Branches and limbs littered the muddy ground. Puddles stood in every dip in the dirt. Trees were broken, a few hanging precariously, threatening to fall or topple at any moment.

The gray sky and hazy sunlight did little to make the woods any more inviting. I stood on what was left of the old porch, not certain I would be able to find my way home again. Everything looked different. The leaves I had been exploring the day before still littered the ground but now they were all wet and muddy. The trees were still there but now they, too, looked different. Even if I could find my way back the way I had come, would I be able to climb over the toppled trees if I needed to?

Well, there was nothing to do but try. With a shrug, I made my way across the hole ridden porch and started the long climb down the steps. Jagged wood stood where steps had once been, leaving me nothing but a dangerous descent to the sodden ground.

I had to lay on my belly and scoot backwards until my legs dangled into thin air. I wiggled and squirmed trying to reach solid footing but could find nothing. There was only thin air. I tried to pull myself back up but my wooden arms were not the best at doing anything. Why hadn't my carver given me elbows.

I reminded myself that it really wasn't that far to the ground and the mud made great cushioning, besides wooden dolls didn't break easily, we were as strong as trees. I tried one last time to find a perch for my feet. Failing to find anything, I took a deep breath and let go.

My stomach shot straight into my throat. Air rushed past me. I tumbled head over toes. Once. Twice. The ground came up to meet me. I landed on my side with a string jarring thud that made the world around me blur.

I lay there, still, waiting. I ached to my very center but there were no sharp pains anywhere so my wood must have held fast.

My bare feet sank into the mud as I pushed myself up until I was upright and ready to continue on my way. Mud had been a new experience yesterday when the rain came. Having experienced it once though the sucking, squishing, feeling that tugged at my feet with each step was no surprise. '

I looked up at the sun, barely peeking through gray clouds. It would have been nice if it had been a bright sunny day. Instead it looked as if another storm was on its way. Not wanting to get caught by bad weather a second time, I hurried on my way.

I made my way toward what I hoped was the way I had come the day before, dodging sticks and limbs, climbing under branches, going around puddles. It was a long walk. Cold air kept me company with every step.

I knew little about tornadoes, only what my carver had told me, but I had little doubt that one had blown through the woods during the night. Pioneer Forest looked as though some giant had stomped through it, tossing trees as it went.

One foot, two feet. One in front of the other. I kept going, hoping I was going the right way, until I came to a large tree that blocked the entire path. From where I stood it appeared to be twenty dolls high and five hundred dolls long. There wasn't going to be any way around this thing without going well out of my way.

I tipped my head back, studying the rough brownish-gray bark. It had little lines in it that looked just right for my feet. If I was very careful I should be able to climb right over the tree.

I grabbed the closest little notch of bark and began to climb. It wasn't as easy as it had looked but it wasn't too hard either. The tree bowed out making it feel as if I was going to tumble off backward. I clutched harder and kept going, wishing I had been made with fingers instead of a thumb and a clump where fingers should have been.

Hadn't my carver thought I might need fingers for climbing?

Hand over hand, foot by foot, I scaled the tree trunk. Huffing and puffing, I finally reached the top. My heart leaped. Just ahead was my home. It wasn't much bigger than the little cabin and I couldn't say it was much fancier, but it was home. The only thing lying between me and it was a lot more torn up forest and a mud puddle too big to walk around.

Nothing to it.

I sank into a sitting position and slowly slid over the side of the tree. At least I tried to slide slowly. That was my intention but there was no sliding on the curved tree. I had to inch my way over the edge until-

I dropped right off the side. Down, down, I fell. I rolled in the air. Right side up. Left side up. I twisted and tumbled.

Thud.

I hit the ground head first. Dazed, I lay there, staring up at tree branches and a gray sky. It did not appear that I was very good at getting down from anything. Three times I had tried to get down, and three times I had fallen into a heap. And that was if I didn't count the drop from the porch on my home. I hadn't fallen that time, not exactly. I had just sort of...jumped.

Oh well. Falling did not appear to be too dangerous to small dolls and it did seem as if it might be the quickest way down.

I picked myself up, rubbed at the mud caking my dress and continued on my way. It was easy going until I came to the mud puddle. Thick mud and pools of water blocked the entire path. I stepped into the dark goo and took small steps. My feet slid a bit but I managed to stay upright.

Step by step I inched my way across the mud, tugging hard when my feet sank too deeply. The pools of water were the easiest to avoid, I just skirted them, but the mud was the worst close to them.

It was with great relief that I finally reached the other side. Tugging my feet free of the mud, I stepped onto solid ground, now able to see my home clearly. No longer did the forest separate me from the house.

My legs ached with all the effort it had taken to get this far but my heart sang with happiness at the sight of home. I hurried as fast as my wooden legs, without knees, would move. I wish I could say my running was graceful and befitting of a tiny doll but I looked more like a disjointed, mini lumberjack, lumbering along with two broken legs. At least that's what I felt like.

If I had carved me, I would have given me knees and elbows, fingers and toes. And if I had chosen my own clothes I would not have picked a cumbersome dress. Pants and a shirt with a warm coat would have been nice.

I stopped at the base of the porch steps and looked up at the top of them, or what I knew to be the top of them, as I could see nothing beyond the bottom step.

One last mountain to scale.

This one wasn't going to be as easy as the tree had been. There was no bark to hold on to. No handholds. No ladder. Not even a rope.

I tried to grab hold of the slick wood surface but could not catch hold. There was nothing to grab onto. I jumped as high as I could but could not reach the edge of the step. How was I to get back inside if I could not climb the steps?

I sat on the muddy ground and studied those horrid steps. Being a tiny doll in a giant world had its advantages, there was lots to explore, plenty to enjoy, but it had its disadvantages too.

A loud bang alerted me to the front door closing just in time for me to topple to the ground. My owner stepped into view. I lay there on the ground, hoping she would not notice me.

But I couldn't be that lucky. As if she knew I was laying there, she spotted me right away.

"How did you get out here?" Her feet clomped on the steps as she ran to me. "Oh, Tatty. Just look at you."

She lifted me in her hands as if I was made of spun glass, turned me all around and exclaimed over my condition. At long last she carried me inside, fussing all the way.

I couldn't have said I was happy to be fussed over but it was nice to be inside again and hopefully safe from any more troubles.

Tatty's Troubles...part one

A loud clap of thunder shook the little cabin. Hail beat on the roof competing with the steady drumming of the rain. I sat before the fireplace, huddled in a piece of an old quilt that smelled of dust and mouse droppings, trying to soak up some of the warmth the fire was giving off.

"How do I get myself into these things?" I muttered, swiping at a stray red hair that was refusing to be confined in the braids that hung down from both sides of my head. Why my carver had insisted on giving me a loose strand of hair I will never understand. Thankfully, there was no mirror around to see myself in. If there had been I'm certain I would have seen the mud I could feel drying on both cheeks, right where the dreaded freckles liked to cluster, and if I wasn't mistaken there was ore mud on my forehead.

'Oh, well, at least it covers my freckles'. I shrugged my shoulders and turned my attention from my own miseries and the raging storm to the dilapidated cabin that had been the only shelter I could find when the rain had started. Having long since been abandoned, probably left behind by one of the early settlers that had once made their home here, it sat smack in the middle of Pioneer Forest.

It was small, only one room, with gaps in the walls, the chinking having long since crumbled away so that light and rain came in between the logs. In the dreary bit of daylight that was finding its way inside I could not see into all the corners but could, thankfully, just make out the main parts of the cabin.

It was empty except for a few stray bits of old cloth, a couple of tin cans sitting on a shelf that looked like it might fall off the wall at any minute, and an old rocking chair that was missing one entire side.

The chair was laying on its broken side next to the only window in the little cabin. From where I sat it looked to me like that poor chair had once been placed there so whoever sat in it could watch out the window while they rocked but it had now been there so long that it had rotted to the point of collapse, falling in front of that dirty, soot covered, broken window.

It might have once been a homey cabin, inviting all that entered to sit a spell. Maybe it had belonged to an old man that liked to trap and fish, or a grandma that would sit at that window, rocking babies and telling stories, or perhaps it had belonged to a young couple and had been packed to the rafters with kids. Whoever had once lived here had long since moved on to other things, leaving behind a cabin that could attest to the lives they once lived here in these woods.

Now the only thing homey about it was the small fire in the fireplace, made from sticks and other debris that had been on the cabin floor and my rumpled dress draped over a rung in the back of the chair.

The tattered little scrap of a quilt would have been warm and welcoming had it not smelled so bad. At least it kept me covered while my dress dried and helped to ward off the chill in the cabin.

A loud clap of thunder made me nearly jump from my skin and reminded me of the storm around me. Fires and storms were not good things to be in when you were but a doll of six and a quarter inches tall. The woman that carved me had told me over and over again to avoid both water and fire but had I listened? No.

And look where it got me. In trouble. Again.

I had been told lots of things during those days when I had stayed safe in the wood shop being ever so slowly carved from a hunk of boring old firewood into a doll. Listening to my carver as she shaved bits of wood away, one small stroke at a time, I had come to the understanding that dolls were boring. We were meant for the sole purpose of our owners entertainment. To sit on a shelf and look pretty until my person decided to take me down and dress me up. I was lucky, she had said, if my owner would let me travel along with her and pose me for pictures in front of some place or the other that we might visit.

Hah.

How little these people, both my carver and my new owner, knew. Dolls might have been meant to be playthings for people but was the most boring life I could imagine. There was no way I was going to sit around and wait on some person to decide to come play with me. There was too much to see, too much to do.

Which is exactly what got me into trouble, I reminded myself

Take this horrible storm, I had simply grown tired of sitting on the shelf in the living room where my new owner had placed me just yesterday, after removing me from the box I had traveled through the mail in, a dark, stuffy experience that had been the result of my explorations in the wood shop. It was an experience I did not care to repeat.

After I was removed from that horrible little box, I had been oohed and ahhed over, changed into a 'pretty little dress' that was 'just right for Christmas' because it had little candy canes on a black background, given the most dreadful name of Tatiana, which had quickly been shortened to Tatty, a name that was much more to my liking. I had been told the history behind Pioneer Forest, which was to be my new home, and placed on a shelf next to the other little dolly's.

I suppose I had been expected to stay there, to stand on that shelf, all prettied up and waiting for what, I did not know, but I had quickly grown tired of standing there and had escaped by climbing down the shelf, using the books and other things on the lower shelves to make my escape.

At least that had been my intention and it had been what I was doing until I had lost my grip and tumbled to the floor. A bit shook up from the hard landing, I had slipped out the front door and wandered off into the woods where I had been happily studying fallen leaves when this storm had come upon me.

Now here I sat before a fire that I'm sure people would laugh at the size of, wet to the strings that held my arms and head securely on my body, and smeared in mud.

This most definitely wasn't boring but I'm not sure I didn't envy those other dolls that were still sitting safe and dry on the shelf.

I stuck another log on the fire. Sparks shot into the air in a pretty little show that was over all too soon., Heat warmed my face and seeped through the quilt.

A loud noise, like the train that had rumbled past my carvers home, filled the little cabin. The walls shook. The broken window rattled. The stone floor of the fireplace felt as though it was coming alive beneath me. Something slammed into the side of the cabin. The tin roof threatened to blow away, pulling away from the cabin at the corners. Thunder rumbled and grumbled till it gave way to great claps. Lightning flashed, filling the cabin with bursts of bright lights that came and went in a steady flashing that never ended.

I hunkered down, wishing I had stayed on my shelf. Hail beat the little cabin till I was certain what there was of it would come crashing down around me. Pressure built, squeezing me till my ears popped. And still the train rumbled on.

Only I had seen no train tracks in the woods.

I struggled to find and explanation for this worsening of the storm. I could think of only one thing that might explain it but that made no sense. Tornadoes did not happen the day before Christmas. I had been told tornadoes came in the spring but that had been at my home in Oklahoma where I had been carved. This was Louisiana.

And there were no tornadoes in Louisiana.

Were there?

To be continued.....

Merry Christmas...something different

The Hitty's have graciously agreed to let me, one of their big people post on their blog. I have been working on a project that is a bit different from the normal posts the Hitty's make. I don't want to give anything away but wanted to give a short explanation for the post that will be posted tomorrow.

A dear friend in the Hitty world found out that I can write stories and asked me if I would consider writing a story about a Hitty sized doll. The first part of the story will hit the blog at midnight tonight, central time. Ideally I will post a new story every Sunday but I do not live in an ideal world. I have a home and a family that keep me very busy in real life so please bear with me if I fall behind in the stories or fail to post one in a timely manner.

Merry Christmas to all my doll loving friends and to all those that I may not know but who might stumble on this blog and find the story that will post tomorrow. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.

A welcome addition

We have had some new additions to the pioneer Hitty family this summer. Real life has gotten in the way of letting our big people help us keep our blog updated, so here we are running behind but happily announcing what we did this summer.

                                      

Hitty Mama was an unexpected surprise to all of us. She was carved by Wanda Harrigan and joined our family at a time when we were most distracted with real life. Much to our delight, as soon as Hitty Mama waddled...er, that is, climbed...out of her packing box that took her safely through the mail system, we discovered that she was in a most delicate condition. never having had an expecting hitty in our home before we were ill prepared for the soon to arrive blessing of joy.

                                    Hitty Mama quickly made herself at home, sorting through all of our belongings, collecting the things she would need for the baby. She even made cloth diapers from some cloth she found. Boy, did that get us to thinking about what it would mean to have a baby in the house. 

                                      
On a day that we least expected it, the new baby made his appearance. Hitty Baby arrived safe and sound. Mama and baby are both doing well.

Hitty Husband and Hitty Mama happily welcomed Hitty Baby.

Now that Mama and Baby are recuperated they spend their days at home, bonding and exploring the woods.

Hitty Baby loves to be carried in his sling, which is good because Hitty Mama never wants to put him down.