My Ancestors Weren't As Suave and Debonair As I Am

[joeychitwood]

True story:

My mom Emily was 3 years old. It was winter on the farm. My grandmother Agnes, age 38, was home with little Emily. Her husband, older kids and hired hands were working or in school. Agnes took Emily with her and went outside to the well. While pumping water, Agnes dropped dead of a “stroke.”

Later in the afternoon, my grandfather Edwin and an older son came home to find his wife Agnes dead in the snow at the well. Little Emily was nowhere to be seen, but they saw her tiny footprints leading into a pasture. They were certain that they would find her frozen to death.

Two hired men arrived, and the group started following the little tracks in the snow. They led into the horse pasture next to the barn where the family’s huge 25 year-old plow horses were kept. As they walked, Edwin saw a set of massive horse tracks approach my mom’s tracks. He feared the worst.

As they followed the horse and toddler tracks, it became apparent that the horse was very gently nudging my three year-old mom toward the barn. A second set of horse tracks approached from the other side, and the two horses flanked her as she walked. When she started to wander off course, they could see that the horses moved in on her and nudged her back on a path toward the barn.

The men followed the tracks into the barn. They saw the two massive plow horses lying down uncharacteristically in a stall. Edwin and the others panicked, imagining the little girl crushed under the weight of the giant horses. Instead, they found her sleeping soundly between the two. The horses were awake and were keeping her toasty warm, cuddled up against them.

Though Agnes had died at 38, Emily survived thanks to the instincts of the family’s work horses. They held a funeral the next day, and life went on.