Chapter 1
This is the story of a young girl named Abigail. Abigail was 10 years old and lived with her Mom and Dad and little brother, Stephen, in a big house in the middle of Chicopee, Massachusetts. This area was filled with historic landmarks and homes that were built way back in the 17 to 1800's! Abigail loved her big home, with the rich wood floors, tin ceilings and big bay windows that she could sit in and look out into the garden that she and her Dad had worked so hard to put in.
They had started it two years ago, with the digging and pulling, picking and planting,
And for the last two years Abigail and her Dad had worked side by side to nourish the garden and now it was beautiful!
Every evening when Abigail's Dad came home from work they would sit down to the big oak table and eat the fine dinner that her Mom had prepared. Her dad would talk about everything that had happened at work, he was a lawyer in small law firm, her mom would tell about the days events around the house, her little brother would shift and squirm in his seat and make little rude noises trying to be funny. Abigail's mom would look at Stephen and give a little shake to her head and Stephen would straighten up and try to act as good as he could for a four year old. Abigail would sit quietly, eating her meal and soaking up her family and wait... for that time when her Dad would stand up and say, "Well I guess we should go take a look at how our garden is doing today"! Then she would jump up and take her dishes to the kitchen and wait for her dad at the back door.
The garden in the evening was probably the most peaceful place in the world, Abigail would think as she walked the narrow paths on the stepping stones. Next to her the flowers waved in the breeze welcoming her into their home. She would lift her face towards the warm sun and the gentle breeze would bring all the sweet smells from the flowers to her. As she walked she would check in between the flowers and pull the stray weed, or remove the dead flowers so new ones could grow in. Abigail and her Dad would talk as they took care of the garden, he understood her quiet nature and didn‘t mind when she would wander off in the garden by herself often finding her in the swing by the fountain writing in her journal. Abigail was a dreamer, and a writer. For her last birthday her mom and dad had gotten her a guitar, and her Aunt Diane was teaching her how to play.
Abigail heard the water squirt through the end of the hose, as her Dad started to mist the flowers. A kid laughed from the backyard of a house a few doors down, then a dog barked. She listened to the faint tinkle of dishes as her mom cleaned up the dinner they had all just shared, while her brother pounded loudly on the poor piano and tried to sing the latest nursery rhyme he had learnt.
Slowly, Abigail made her way to the center of the garden, the oasis, the heaven in the middle of Eden. There the oak tree stood tall and strong, it branches spreading out over a part of the garden, offering shade during the hot days. A small waterfall trickled in the little pond where tiny Koi swam in circles and nibbled at your fingers when she would feed them. A wooden swing her dad had built, over many weekends, for her mom swung under the tree, and this is where Abigail headed. She lifted the cushion and found the journal she kept out there.
She loved writing. Forming thoughts, putting them down on paper, watching her young stories be created. Now she wanted to try her hand at writing music lyrics for her guitar.
The guitar had opened up a whole new world for her writing and Abigail couldn't wait to explore it!
Chapter 2
The winter had seemed to drag on for longer than usual, Abigail thought, as she wiped her breath off the window pane again, peering into the late winter evening trying to catch a glimpse of her dad's headlights as he came home. The sky was turning dark, he was running late tonight. Tiny stray snowflakes floated lazily down from heaven, dancing in front of the window before blowing away in the night.
Her eyes drifted down into the sad looking garden. Blankets of snow had covered everything in white, the leaves all stripped from the proud oak tree. A tarp covered the pond for the winter, the fish haven been moved inside till spring came again. The snow formed a mound over the tarp making hills on the flat ground.
