It was autumn -- when the leaves, rusted with age, began to drop down from their high perches and the wind washed over the land like the waves of a tempestuous ocean that the package came. Rachel's mother, anxious to close the door and lock out the mournful howl of the wind, earnestly accepted the package from its tiny deliverer, a youth of barely twelve years. The young boy eagerly took the small coin offered to him and, shoving his hands deep within his coat pockets, hopped down the front steps to disappear in the vast gray sea of dust and leaves.
Rachel's mother shut the door with a quick kick and regarded the unexpected package with mild curiosity. It was light, barely enough to be used as a doorstop. The box was a plain brown with a lone sticker of little dancing teddy bears to hold down the flaps. It was smooth to the touch and warm. With a dreamy sigh, Rachel's mother set the package down on the dining room table.
"Oh mother," she said softly. "What have you sent your little granddaughter now? Rachel! You have mail!"
At first there was no response. Then the gallop of small feet could be heard, the rumbling grew louder as though the head of a stampede was approaching the dining room. It moved from the downstairs to the hallway, through the living room, rising to a crescendo in the kitchen, and stopped abruptly at the foot of Rachel's mother. The thunder faded and the house ceased its shaking. Rachel looked up at her mother expectedly.
"I got a package?"
"On the table, sweetie."
Rachel climbed up to sit on her knees in her place at the table.
"Rachel," her mother began to scold.
"I know. I know," Rachel said as she reluctantly unfolded her legs from beneath her and sat properly.
With a quick rip from her hands, the box fell open to reveal a beautiful red hood and cloak. Such a cloak it was that as it spilled out of the box it was as though a fierce liquid fire had been set free from its prison. It had the red berries of summer and the crisp apples of the better part of autumn. It held the warmth of July, and Grandmother's love in its deep cardinal folds. Rachel held it close to her ten year old face and felt the soft fabric against her cheek. Oh, Rachel loved that cloak and hood so much that after her mother placed it around her and tied those long red strings around the front of her neck for the first time, Rachel was lost. She so rarely took off that beloved cloak and hood that she was soon given the nickname, "Little Red."
It was not long afterwards, in the dead of winter, when news came that Little Red's grandmother had fallen ill. The news was delivered by the same young boy who had first brought the hood. He gladly accepted another coin for his services before dashing back down the road that led through the dark woods.
"What's wrong, mother?" Little Red asked when she saw her mother walk back into the house with a sad look upon her face.
"Oh nothing much, Red. Grandmother is not feeling well. That's all."
"Why don't you give her some of the bread and hot soup you've made? She always loves that. I can bring it to her. I know the way."
"I know, Red. You're right. I'll go get a basket for you to carry them in. When you go, be sure to hurry. I don't want you to be caught in the rain."
"Yes, mother."
And with that her mother left for the kitchen and shortly returned, carrying a small basket. "Here, Red. Take this to Grandmother. Be very careful and hurry back."
"Yes, mother." Little Red gently took the basket from her mother's hands and stood still as her mother adjusted the hood and cloak around her, ensuring the strings would hold tight before sending Red on her way.
Little Red swiftly descended the front steps and hurried along the dusty path and disappeared in the dark forest, her lovely red cloak trailing behind her as though waving one final good-bye to her mother.
