When the timber snapped, the beams shattered and the house was torn apart, the blast from a stray shell killed the entire Harper family, but baby Elliot was found unharmed in the very centre of the explosion. The village elders still talk about how they had to painstakingly collect the remains, while Elliot emerged with only soot blackening his skin and a faint cross etched on his bare chest. When the cross was removed, the scar faded. He was about five years old at the time.
A distant relative, his greataunt Agnes, took him in. Ten years later, long after the war, a terrible fire broke out in the village when a bolt of lightning struck the electricity substations lightning rod. The houses on the right side of Main Street ignited and the flames devoured everything. People fled, but the livestock and outbuildings were lost almost everywhere.
Firefighters arrived and managed to hold the blaze, yet half the street was reduced to ash. After the last sparks were smothered, the men in the fire brigade rolled up their hoses and packed them away, puzzled. How could all the houses in a row be burnt to the ground except that one low, squat cottage? they wondered. Maybe its shape kept the fire away?
The locals were not satisfied with that explanation. The cottage belonged to greataunt Agnes, where the young Elliot still lived. Rumour spread through the village that Elliot was cursed.
Agnes was a devout old woman who taught the boy to pray. Hidden behind heavy curtains were icons in the corner of the cottage, and the prayers she whispered were secret and rarely heard. She baked scones for the parish church in the neighbouring hamlet and went there often, with Elliot in tow. The church gave her a small stipend for her work, and that was how they survived, along with a pet chicken they kept for eggs.
Elliot was sent to the village school, but he stayed only a short while; he seemed unable to learn. He would sit motionless at the back desk, eyes wide, smiling as if watching a private show, yet he never completed his assignments, heard the teachers words, or retained any lesson. He was lighthaired, with a striking tuft of hair on the crown. Agnes used to joke that God kept an eye on him through that tuft.
One summer the whole village gathered for a river fête. A halfbuilt raft, overloaded with five boys, broke away. Mothers screamed from the bank while the men tried to halt the drifting craft and rescue the children. Agnes rushed to the sceneElliot was on the raft.
Your idiot son let that raft go! shouted one mother at Agnes.
Quiet, Helen, Agnes warned. Pray instead, and be glad Elliot is there. God will save him and take care of you.
The raft capsized. As Elliot began to sink, a vision of his mother appeared, smiling and reaching out his hand; he clutched it and was pulled to safety along with the other boys.
Agnes died young. Elliot remained in the village, first working as a shepherd and a nightwatchman. He spent his wages quickly, buying sweets and loaves at the shop and handing them out to anyone who asked. He visited the sick and the elderly, buying them anything they wanted and often adding his own share. When asked what he would eat himself, he replied, God will provide. I shall not go hungry. And indeed, God seemed to provide. Neighbours constantly offered him food, and he repaid them by helping wherever he could.
Eventually his pay was only partly given; the village clerk would buy groceries for him and hand them over gradually, but Elliot continued to give most of them away. He performed his duties with zeal. When he lay on his back in a field, eyes closed to the sun, he again saw his mothers apparition, saying, You shall not be killed nor maimed, Elliot. You will be a joy to the people.
People in the village were a mixed lot, but they recognized Elliots unwavering, generous spirit. The local farm manager, Mr. Whitaker, hired him to help build his new house, promising food as payment. He gave Elliot the heaviest tasks. Elliot grew gaunt, his skin darkened, and he hunched over. The villagers raised alarms, but Whitaker kept insisting, Ill pay later; he wants the work.
Then Elliot vanished. When the village constable was brought in by Mrs. Nora, they found Elliot collapsed, illlooking, and a ambulance was called. Whitaker shouted he wasnt responsible, claiming he had almost cured him himself. Elliots condition turned out to be peritonitis; surgeons saved his life by a miracle.
A few weeks later, Whitaker tried to repair a jammed combine while it was still running and was pulled into the machinery. He survived only as a lifelong invalid.
Another incident involved Colin, the village drunk, who tried to give Elliot a drink for a laugh. Despite everyones pleas not to, Colin persisted, and eventually drowned in his own drunkenness.
Elliot kept working as a nightwatchman. One spring, when the winter wheat had turned into a rolling sea of green, a delegation from the county agricultural board arrived. Elliot, anxious, waved his stick, knocked on a truck, and a quarrel erupted. The director of the collective farm was furious.
This is enough! he snapped. Hes a fool and a fool hell stay. Ill enter the watchmans post in the competition.
His deputy, Valentina Curved, tried to intervene, Maybe we shouldnt, Mr. Harris? Hes cursed. Since he started watching the fields, our yields have been recordbreaking for four years. The growth is obvious!
The man is dismissed! the director roared. Fire the lot!
Elliot lost his job. A sudden frost that night killed the winter crops, leaving him without work. The villagers told the parish vicar, Reverend Thomas, about the boy. Thomas was restoring a halfruined chapel in the neighbouring village and invited Elliot for confession and penance. He then appointed Elliot as his assistant. He declared to everyone that Elliot is as pure as a newborn child.
At first Elliot was assigned to odd jobs in the building crew, but when the chapel was nearly finished he took charge of cleaning. He scrubbed the walls, polished the stairs, and shone the stone floor until it gleamed like a mirror. Reverend Thomas could not have been happier; such cleanliness had not graced the chapel since its consecration.
Elliot prayed with such sincerity that parishioners watched him, eyes wide, whispering his prayers. His deft hands moved like flitting doves, and even his restless tuft seemed to bow in reverence. Word of his saintlike reputation spread to nearby villages. People claimed that anyone who wronged him would soon regret it, that he was almost holy. Pilgrims came to see Saint Elliot, to touch his hand or even be christened by him. Wealthy ladies visited, philanthropists sent donations, and the chapel grew in fame. It was restored, heated, lit, an avenue was laid before it, the grounds were landscaped, and a car park was erected. The chapel was unrecognisable.
A television crew arrived to film a piece. Reverend Thomas thanked the camera, and the journalist asked if Saint Elliot could say a few words. What saint? he replied modestly. Just a man of God, not much of a talker. The reporter persisted, and the crew followed Elliot to a flowerbed he was tending.
Elliot, say something for the listeners, the journalist prompted.
He stared at the camera, a bewildered smile on his sunbleached hair, his oncebright tuft now a silver strand. He pointed to the garden and said loudly, Im planting lilies here; theyll grow and bring joy to everyone. Then he returned to his work, his hands digging into the earth.
His mothers voice lingered in his mind, You will be a joy to the people, Elliot. He lived that truth every day, sharing what he had, helping without expectation, and finding purpose in simple acts of kindness.
In the end, Elliots life taught the village that true wealth is not measured in coin or stature, but in the generosity one offers and the light one brings to others.
