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Annie's Truth

By Beth Shriver

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Prologue

The bright moon illuminated the velvet sky. Shafts of corn swayed in the soft, warm breeze as if alive, dancing a waltz in the huge ten-acre field. The cries from a pack of coyotes erupted through the nearby hills surrounding the Shenandoah Valley.
Amos Beiler made his way through the rows of ripe corn as the pups howled an off-kilter tune along with the group. Amos followed a different cry—that of a human babe, the sobs weak and intermittent, nearly drowned out by the louder yelp of the coyotes.
He used his shotgun to slash his way through the six-foot stalks in a maze of never-ending rows until a small whimper close by made him stop. He turned to his right and looked down a stretch of dirt that led to his farmhouse a good mile away. He’d come to protect his livestock from the coyotes, but finding their prey was his new goal.
Another sputter from the next line over caught his attention. He moved quickly, not wanting to lose sight of the area where the sound came from. Cornstalks shadowed the dirt path that led him closer to the child. Now in bouts of darkness, he listened with an attentive ear to any tiny sound. A frog croaked. The wind rustled through the corn leaves. Another curt howl sounded. All made him pause, listen, and discern.
Another wail from the babe made him step quickly, running through the dark aisle of soil. Finally he caught a glimpse of movement; something white flashed from the ground. As he neared he saw a colorless blanket. He unwrapped it to find a newborn inside. As he lifted the small bundle to his chest a sense of urgency stirred up in him. The need for protection set him into action.
The coyotes’ song ended. They were on the hunt now, looking for the prize he’d found. They were downwind of him, sure to have his scent and that of the child.
Carrying the gun with one hand and the babe close to his shoulder, he cradled its head in his palm and hurried toward the house. He looked behind him only once and saw motion out of the corner of his eye. The wind played tricks on him that he dared not allow to fool him. The faster he walked, the farther away the house seemed.
When Amos finally reached a window on the side of the house, he lifted the gun and banged one time, hard. He dropped to his knee and scanned the field. One, two, four pairs of yellow eyes fell upon him. He set the crying babe on the ground behind him. Then he steadied his gun.

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