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(Note: Does a 50 percent edit help or harm the story? One version contains 900 words, and the other is edited to 450 words.)

(900 words)
It was early spring when Fiddling Freddie finally decided to leave his home near the city. He sold his house and car and used the money to buy a pickup truck and a mountain cabin near a lake. He loaded everything he owned into the back of his truck, placed his fiddle on the seat beside him, and drove away. As his former life disappeared in the rear-view mirror, he felt totally free for the first time in several years.

At the cabin, Freddie carefully arranged his comfortable rocking chair in front of the fireplace, set up a small but sturdy bed in the corner, hung his clothes in the closet, and filled the tiny kitchen with plates, pans, and utensils. He placed an oak table and two chairs beside the window. His fiddle case rested on top a wooden book case filled with his favorite novels and magazines. The only other room was a tiny bathroom with a toilet, sink, and tub. Water came from a stream flowing beside the cabin, and stacks of firewood were ready for the stove and fireplace. Several kerosene lanterns and candles provided necessary light.

On the log walls, he hung a calendar, a poster of himself fiddling on stage, a faded photograph of a young couple holding a baby girl, and a picture of his dear departed wife. Freddie stood in the doorway, inspected his new home, and nodded with approval. He was so happy he took his fiddle, sat on the porch, and played until sunset.

The next day, Freddie traveled to a general store in the nearby village and purchased food supplies, including flour, coffee, butter, and eggs. He also bought seeds and tools to make a garden. He prepared the land next to the cabin and planted potatoes, corn, and tomatoes. He cut a small canal from the stream to water the crops. The garden would provide food to sustain him through the winter.

One morning after working in the garden, Freddie sat on the porch to play his fiddle. A child’s voice startled him.

“I like your music, Mister.”

Fiddler looked up to see a boy standing on the dirt road beside the cabin. “Thank you,” he replied. “Folks call me Fiddling Freddie. Who are you?”

The boy walked over, introduced himself as Steven Cartwright, and said he lived with his family just around the bend. The boy asked the old man how he learned to play music. Freddie told the tale about traveling the country and playing at fairs, barn dances, and town celebrations. At one show, he met a beautiful young singer, fell in love, and they were married more than 40 years before she got sick and passed away.

“Do you have kids?” The boy asked.

“We had a daughter. She’s grown and has children of her own. They moved away and don’t have time for me anymore,” Fiddler said. “They don’t care about my stories.”

“I like your stories,” the boy said. “Can I come back tomorrow and bring some friends?”

Freddie agreed. He was surprised the next day when five children walked into his yard. He picked up the fiddle, tucked it under his chin, and began a top-tapping selection of songs from bluegrass to country to Irish folk tunes. Then he told stories about his adventures on the road playing in isolated saloons, big city jazz bars, and ending at the Grand Ole Opry in Nashville, Tennessee.

“More stories! More stories!” The children begged. Soon more children came to hear his music and stories.

Fiddling Freddie regaled them with tall tales of playing for the Queen of England. That story may have been an exaggeration. He explained how his fiddle once stopped a bullet from a wild cowboy at a boisterous party in Montana. That story, also, may have been embellished. His favorite story was how he got lost in the Idaho mountains and played his fiddle until a magic, flying horse appeared and flew him home. The children clapped and begged for more.

The summer rolled into autumn, and Freddie harvested the crops from his garden. He fixed baskets of produce to trade at the general store in exchange for supplies. The rest of the vegetables were dried and stored for winter.

The children continued to visit to hear his music and stories. One day the boy, Steven, asked Freddie if he could come to their home for Sunday afternoon dinner. He obliged and took his fiddle and a sack of potatoes. Steven’s parents and five siblings welcomed Freddie and gave him the “company chair” at the meal. He shared more stories and played some tunes.

When it was time to go, he thanked the family. Steven’s mother handed him a homemade pie and a loaf of bread. “Do come back often,” she said. “We’ve heard so much about you, and we decided you’re part of the family.”

Fiddling Freddie drove to his cabin as the sun was setting behind the mountain. He lit a lamp, sat on the porch, and gazed at the night sky as the stars began to appear. He felt gratitude for his life and for his new family. Suddenly he thought about an original tale he would tell the children. The story would describe the time he was fiddling on the roof and a stong wind blew him into an enchanted meadow of singing gnomes. He smiled.

The Fiddler Finds a Family

(450 words)
Fiddling Freddie lived in a cozy cabin in the mountains. To celebrate his simple, happy life, he often sat on the front porch and played his fiddle in a spirited medley of songs from bluegrass to country to Irish folk tunes.

One morning after working in his garden, Freddie sat to play. A child’s voice startled him.

“I like your music, Mister.”

Fiddler looked up to see a boy and four other children standing on the dirt road beside the cabin. “Thank you,” he replied. “Folks call me Fiddling Freddie. Who are you?”

The boy walked over, introduced himself as Steven, and said he lived with his family just around the bend. The boy asked the old man how he learned to play music. Freddie told how he traveled the country and played at fairs, barn dances, and town celebrations. He told stories about his adventures on the road playing in isolated saloons, big city jazz bars, and ending at the Grand Ole Opry in Nashville, Tennessee.

“I like your stories,” Steven said. The other children agreed.

Soon more children came to hear his music and stories. Fiddling Freddie regaled them with tall tales of playing for the Queen of England. That story may have been an exaggeration. He explained how his fiddle once stopped a bullet from a wild cowboy at a boisterous party in Montana. That story, also, may have been embellished. His favorite story was how he got lost in the Idaho mountains and played his fiddle until a magic, flying horse appeared and flew him home. The children clapped and begged for more.

One day Steven asked Freddie if he could come to their home for Sunday dinner. He obliged and took his fiddle and a sack of potatoes from his garden. Steven’s parents and five siblings welcomed Freddie and gave him the “company chair” at the meal. He shared more stories and played some tunes.

When it was time to go, he thanked the family and left the potatoes. Steven’s mother handed him a homemade pie and a loaf of bread. “Do come back often,” she said. “We’ve heard so much about you, and we consider you part of the family.”

Fiddling Freddie drove to his cabin as the sun was setting behind the mountain. He lit a lamp, sat on the porch, and gazed at the night sky as the stars began to appear. He felt gratitude for his life and for his new family. Suddenly he thought about an original tale he would tell the children. The story would describe the time he was fiddling on the roof and a stong wind blew him into an enchanted meadow of singing gnomes. He smiled.

©ElaineAmbrose

(Illustrations are from the award-winning book Gaters & Taters – A Week of Bedtime Stories.)