Orson Oriel looked down at four-year-old Sidney on the seat beside him, who was excited to ride in Grandpa’s old Model T Ford. It was fall of 1921 and the air was crisp after the heavy rains from the last few days. The breeze blew through Sidney’s hair. He loved riding in the old Model T and he loved his Grandpa. Orson Oriel whistled a happy tune and ruffled the top of Sidney’s head.
Orson had taken Sidney with him to take care of some business on the Hachita homestead yesterday. Now they were on their way home and Orson was looking forward to a hot meal.
The old road that went near the old Brockman Ranch had turned into a mud bog. Sidney chattered beside him, gleefully watching the mud splatter all over the car. The Model T could go 30 mph on good roads, but with this mud Orson slowed down, trying to balance the need to go fast enough to keep from getting stuck with the need to stay in control, until the mud bogged down the car for good.
“Grandpa! Why did we stop?” Sidney asked impatiently.
Orson grunted and put the car in reverse, with no luck. Putting the car in gear didn’t help either. Sighing, Orson climbed out of the car. He was going to need a shovel to get out of this mess.
Orson ran his hand through his hair and put his hat back on his head, scanning the area. He spotted a ranch house about three quarters of a mile off the road. He weighed his options.
“Sidney, I think it’s best if I walk over to that ranch house and ask if I can borrow a shovel or something to dig out the car. I need you to stay in the car. There’s a lot of dangers out here and you’ll be safest if you stay in the car.”
Sidney nodded his head solemnly, his eyes wide with concern. Orson headed off the road toward the house, hurrying so he wouldn’t have to leave Sidney alone for too long. When Orson arrived at the ranch house, there were no signs that anyone was home. Looking around, Orson spied a shovel leaning against the weathered barn. Knowing that it was necessary to dig out the car in order to get his grandson home safely, he borrowed the shovel and made the walk back to the car. He breathed a sigh of relief when he found Sidney sitting in the car, pretending to drive. Orson laughed – boys will be boys.
Quickly he set to work digging out the car. Grateful for the nice weather, he dug out around the wheels. At last the car was free. He stood, stretching his back and looked around. With no
road to the old ranch house, Orson would need to walk back to return the shovel. By now it was midday. He pulled out some bread that would be their lunch and handed it to Sidney.
I am going to walk back to the house and return this shovel. I need you to promise me Sidney that you will stay in the car. There are wild animals or you could get lost in the thick brush and I might never find you. Will you promise to stay in the car?”
Sidney nodded his head once again, but his mouth was already stuffed with bread. Orson hoped that Sidney would stay in the car as he set out once again for the ranch house. He quickened his pace as his mind conjured scenarios of a four-year-old boy chasing a rabbit into the brush. The tall brush would easily swallow up the small boy. Soon the shovel was returned and he started back to the car. Deciding that a shortcut through the brush could save at least 10 minutes, Orson changed direction.
Without warning, Orson’s feet gave way beneath him and a shout escaped his mouth as he groped for leverage. The earth had caved in beneath him, and he found himself dangling in a hole which must have been an old well. Fortunately for him, his arms had caught hold and he was hanging on with his arm pits. The rotting wood dug into his arms, but he held on for dear life.
Orson swallowed hard, reasoning through the best way to get unstuck. He swung his legs, reaching with his feet toward the side of the well, hoping to get a foothold. His feet never touched anything. He swung his leg to the side, but still no contact. Determining that he would need to push himself up and out of the well, he wiggled forward on his elbows. The ominous cracking noise that followed stopped him in cold fear. Pushing his weight onto his elbows to raise himself up, he heard more creaking sounds. Sweat was running down his back and into his eyes and he longed to wipe his forehead.
A vision of little Sidney getting bored and wandering away from the car forced his body into action. He muttered a quick prayer before inching to the left on his elbows to get closer to the side of the well so he could touch the well wall and get some leverage to push himself out. The extra weight caused the rotten board to crack. He dug in even harder with his elbows into the wooden planks that covered the opening of the well to keep from falling when the rotting boards gave way.
Orson felt cold fear snake down his back. How long had he been gone? How long until he found his way out of this mess? How long before he could expect help? It wasn’t his own life that he worried about – he worried for Sidney, all alone in wild country. What if he wandered off? He would be lost forever.
Desperately, he bowed his head and pled for help from above. Orson poured his heart out, pleading that he might be freed from this ordeal. “Heavenly Father, I need you. I have tried to free myself and cannot. I ask thee to spare my life and free me from this hole so that I might return to my grandson. I pray that thou will watch over and protect him until I can return to him.” Orson prayed and prayed for Sidney, losing all track of time – his only concern the well-being of his grandson.
Some time later, he awoke, opening his eyes against the bright late afternoon sun. His back ached and he stretched. His feet dug into earth and he froze, realization slowly dawning on him. Orson was lying on his back on the ground. Slowly he sat up, looking about him. Next to him were the broken planks of the well opening. How did he get out of the well? How long had he been lying there?
Orson crawled away from the well, worried it might continue to cave in and he would be trapped once more.
His feet ate up the remaining distance to the car, adrenaline coursing through him, making him forget the scratches on his arms and the aches and pains of his ordeal. “Dear God,” he prayed, “Let me find my grandson safe.” He broke into a half run, careful to watch his step, but the intense need to get to Sidney pushed him faster.
Stumbling toward the car, he surveyed the area around him, fearfully aware that there was no sign of Sidney. He leaned heavily on the frame of the Model T and peered inside. There, in the back seat, Sidney was curled up, fast asleep.
Orson’s knees dropped to the ground, his lips already forming the words of a prayer of thanksgiving for blessing him, delivering him out of the well and protecting his grandson so he could find him safe.
Shakily, Orson drove the car back to Duncan, Arizona. It was early evening when he arrived and found Orson James chopping wood and Ena carrying it into the house. Orson Oriel sat down heavily on a large stump and related the experience to them. Tears streamed down his face as he shared his pleading with the Lord to spare him and for Sidney’s safety. “I am a man of great faith and I’ve always known that the Lord hears and answers prayers. Today is an undeniable example of answered prayers.” Orson never wanted to speak of it again. Some things are too sacred, but he vowed to make sure his children understood that God hears and answers prayers.
