The Legend of Butterfield Farm

Chapter Nine

HENNA’S LIFELESS LEGS stuck out from a section of tree wreckage. They were nestled in a bunch of ferns with no sign of the rest of her. 

Holly frantically looked to see where the rest of her could be. “Gordon, come quick! I found part of Henna. Poor Henna. Poor, poor Henna. It’s all my fault for not keeping a closer eye on her.”

“What do you mean ‘part of Henna’?” shouted Gordon as he moved toward her.

“I mean I found her bottom half right here.”                               

Gordon arrived on the scene, and he and Holly stood there for the longest time, staring at the purple tennis shoes, speechless.

Holly’s eyes welled up; her bottom lip quivered.  

Gordon sniffed a couple times, wiped his eyes with his sleeve, and said through gritted teeth, “Somebody’s gonna pay for this and pay for it good.” 

 “I’m all for it,” said Holly. “But first, let’s find her upper half.  

And just as they started their somber search, chunks of bark and pieces of tree began flying out of the thick vegetation.

“My upper half is right here.” Henna cast off more rubble and spread the ferns apart to reveal the rest of her. After spitting out some sawdust, she added, “It’s good to be in one piece.” 

“Oh, thank goodness, Sis,” said Holly, with a big smile.

“You are one tough hombre,” said Gordon.

“Estoy uno duro chica,” said Henna, correcting him.

“What she said,” Gordon added with a wink.

Henna struggled to get up. “Could you guys give me a hand? I’m really feeling stiff.  I can’t move very well.”

After helping her to her feet, Gordon and Holly began giggling.

“What’s so funny?” asked Henna.  

Gordon and Holly looked at each other, then at Henna, before laughing even more.

Henna followed their gaze and looked at herself. The crash had freed her from the tree, but not completely. She was still stuck in a sheath of it. From above her belly to below her knees, she was wearing part of the tree. It resembled a wooden skirt.

Henna joined in on the giggling and said, “Do you like my new outfit?”  The log held her legs so snugly she could barely move them.  Nevertheless, she took little baby steps and twirled around as best she could, as if she were modeling it in a fashion show. “It’s not a miniskirt; it’s a woodiskirt,” she said, pretending to be the announcer. “You, too, can be the envy of the forest. Plus, you won’t need a trunk to keep it in. It is a trunk.”

They all laughed some more. When their laughter died down, Holly barely heard the moaning.            

“Help me,” said the moaner. 

Gordon must have heard it, too, because he spun around and aimed his rifle in the direction of the cry for help. It seemed to be coming from the other side of the glen, farther downstream. “Who goes there?” he shouted. 

Henna reached out and pushed the barrel of his rifle toward the ground. “No, Gordie, that must be—”

Gordon moved away from Henna and interrupted her. “The Fiendish Foe took us captive, and now he must pay for his dastardly deed.” He twisted his face into his version of a fierce warrior, raised his gun in a menacing pose, and charged the enemy’s position.