A skate on strange ice....

It's story number 24, page 91 from 

Tales Unleashed.

A Skate on Strange Ice

At age nine, Julie van Buren loved playing in the shallow McHenry Creek, just behind her house in Lancaster, Pennsylvania. She would sit on the bank of the creek with her mother and toss stones into the water; on occasion they would launch a paper boat, set it in the water and watch intently it as it slowly made its way southward. 

Winter time was just as much fun. Her mom would let her skate unattended on the very shallow creek which had a few pools of water less than ten feet across and less than nine inches in depth. It was a safe and gleeful place that had entertained many families over the years. 

Today was a beautiful sunny day in February of 1954. Julie laced up her skates and shoved off from the bank onto the frozen surface of McHenry Creek, its ice lightly covered with fresh snow from the night before. Julie’s smile was ear to ear as she pushed herself around the frozen pool. The scarf wrapped around her neck barely kept the cold air from creeping under her collar. As Julie completed her fourth or fifth trip around the ice, she dropped a glove and quickly turned to retrieve it. She didn’t know why she even had the gloves with her today—it was cold, but the sun was warm, and they were tucked in her coat and out of the way. Julie arrived at the spot where the glove laid, and as she reached down to pick it up, something beneath the ice caught her attention.

She sat down, moved the glove, and brushed away the light snow with her left hand. As she peered down through the ice Julie was startled to see a young girl’s face just below the surface. It was a young face, perhaps about her same age: rounded, highlighted by chin-length blond hair with curls on the forehead. The eyes were closed, and Julie thought it resembled a Halloween mask. The face was pale with no color and no movement whatsoever.

Julie was startled and tried to get up quickly, but lost her balance and fell back to the ice. She struggled to get away from the face that she had just seen. She made her way quickly to the back door and went to the kitchen to report to her mom of her ghostly encounter. Her mother assured her that it was just her imagination, but she persisted and the two returned to the creek and the spot that Julie had told her about. They found nothing.

The next few days passed with little being said about the incident by Julie or her mother. On the fifth day, her mother’s curiosity had gotten the best of her, and while Julie was at school, she went to the local library to do some research.

Finding some Lancaster history books she started thumbing through the pages of gathered materials looking for anything out of the ordinary. One story in particular jumped off the page at her. The headline from 1928 read: Lancaster girl Ruth O’Brien still missing.

Reading on she discovered that the young gal had disappeared in February of that year while playing in light snow. A total search of the area, including local waterways, had shed no clue. Along with the article was a pencil sketch of what Ruth looked like at the time of her going missing. Julie’s mother copied the article and the sketch and took it home, it was something she wanted to study further as time allowed her. 

Three days later young Julie discovered the article and the pencil drawing at her mother’s desk. Picking up the picture and going to the kitchen, Julie said to her mother, “Mom, where did you get this drawing? This is the girl that I saw in the creek last week. Remember me telling you?”

“I’m sure it’s just coincidence, honey,” said her mother. “That little girl lived here a long time ago.”

Julie’s mom decided to call the sheriff the next day, just to report what Julie had seen. The sheriff, getting on in years, chuckled and said, “There have been numerous other sightings over the years of young Ruth, but nothing has ever come of them.”

And so, Julie’s sighting in McHenry Creek would be the latest to be lodged with the local authorities.   The girl Ruth, who had vanished almost three decades ago during the month of February, had just made another brief stop near Lancaster.   

A Beagle in church....

I haven't posted here very much in the last few weeks... things have been

way TOO crazy as you all know. The calamity which has been strangling

us for months on-end has been difficult for everyone...and we can all pray

that as the next weeks and months pass, we will be given some relief from

it all.

It is in such serious times as these, that we must take some time to smile,

frolic a bit...tell a funny story...anything to lighten up the atmosphere which

seems to smother us daily. With that in mind, I'd thought I'd re-post this

story from my first book Undertakings. Every time I think of the day this

even happened, I have to laugh out loud... it was a day I shall not forget..

and I hope you get a kick out of it as well.  So, prepare to smile, whether

or not you are a dog owner....it will make you smile.... and

do something this week for yourself.....something to mentally lift your

spirit. God wants us to enjoy our selves and those around us... no matter

how trying times may become. Stay strong.

A Beagle in Church (Day of the Beagle)

    My assistant and I arrived at the Methodist Church in plenty of time for the scheduled 1:00 pm memorial service.  We unloaded the five floral pieces and placed them appropriately around the alter and the riser in front of where I would be seating the family.

   The gentleman who had passed just three days earlier had been cremated, and his lovely wife, also getting on in years, had decided she would like his service at their church where they had been married some forty- five

years earlier.  This is truly the full circle of life, being baptized at a church, perhaps being married at the same altar a couple of decades later, and finally having your mortal remains taken to the same facility for a final goodbye.  What would transpire at that altar less than an hour from now was another of those “it will never happen again” moments, a moment indeed worth writing about.

   The church members started to arrive within twenty minutes of the appointed hour, and I briskly assisted them at the register book, handing them a service bulletin and directing them to a seat.  One elderly lady with a rough looking fox wrapped about her neck whispered in my ear as she passed, "Do you fellows have Mrs. Billings who passed away last night? She was a dear and I must know where she will be laid out."

   Having no knowledge of the woman's death, I remarked back to her, "I'm so sorry, but no, our firm has not been notified of her passing.  Perhaps one of the other firms in town has her."

   "Oh quite so" she uttered back.  "Although, your firm does such a lovely job, can't see anyone wanting to go elsewhere."

   Before I could suggest she look at the evening newspaper, she had quickly left my left ear and had made her way through the double doors at the back of the church.  She was heading for one of the nearby ancient wood pews, which had no padding, just a straight back and a most uncomfortable contour. I had figured out years ago why so many churches built a century ago configured them as such. It would be very difficult, if not impossible, to fall asleep in one of these pews.  Even if a man or woman of the cloth were to go on for an hour, or more, you most assuredly would have to be constantly manipulating your back and limbs to keep from seizing up.  This surely would keep you awake through the majority of the sermon delivery!

   Within twenty minutes , we had almost seventy people in church.  The pastor winked at me on his way in and said,"Good day young man. I'll try to be brief today."  Now when a Pastor says that, be prepared. What that means is that you will be there for the duration.  In fact, you might miss your first child’s birth.

    Soon, the pastor was at his post, and the organist had sounded the official opening with his rendition of “The Old Rugged Cross”. To my left, came two very young and distinguished looking members of the U.S. Navy. The deceased had been a Veteran of the Navy, and these folks were here to present the flag to his wife who now sat in the first pew on the right. I instructed them on where the wife was seated, what she was wearing etc..  They stretched their necks to make sure they had her in sight and nodded in the affirmative to me.  I thanked them in advance for their service and they said in return to me, "You're welcome Sir.  We are honored to be here today."

    The pastor had finished his sermon and from the pulpit announced that military honors would now be accorded before the final blessings given.  The two service people walked slowly in step up the middle aisle of the church.  Their actions together, almost forming one person.  Military honors were always moving, seeing the flag unfolded, refolded and handed to a loved one, thanking them for the veteran's service to the nation. But today, there would be a little icing on the cake.

    As the service attendants held the flag fully unfolded and prepared for the re-fold, out of a secondary parallel aisle to the left came running the unmistakable brown, black and white dog body of a small Beagle. He hit the main aisle, made a sharp left turn and bolted for the front of the church.  As he passed three rows of pews, several in attendance started to laugh, a sharp contrast to the seriousness of the two Navy personnel who looked on, trying to keep their composure.  As the Beagle passed the eighth and ninth aisles, a gentleman on the very inside reached down, grabbed the Beagle and gingerly pulled him up on the pew, putting to an end to his uninvited presence at this most solemn occasion.

   I believe the widow never knew what happened behind her, and the flag presentation was completed with all its dignity that could be mustered.  We never did find out who the dog belonged to, but everyone in attendance had a smile on their face as they left.  I’m sure many were thinking that this was not an accident, but rather planned by a "Higher Up" authority to lessen the pain of those in attendance. If it was HIS will, it worked.  After all, who couldn't love a Beagle in church.