Meleah's Western - Part 45

A Wonderful Western Wednesday to all of you!
Here
it is, Wednesday once again. At least this time it actually feels like
it really might be Wednesday. Probably because I got the last Wednesday
post done on Sunday. I have been writing since we got home. You Western
fans will be delighted to know that I'm working on Part 50 right now so
the Western Wednesdays will continue. I'm working on trying to figure
out how I'm going to publish this book. (I know, I still have to finish
writing it first.) I'm thinking of trying a new publisher this time.
We'll see.

Part 45

“Sally,” Ty’s voice was low and feeble. He looked over at her as she
sat beside his bed.
Gently she placed a finger over his lips. “Hush, Ty. You know Jack said
you were to sleep an’ not talk now. Rest.” She spoke softly but there
was a hint of stubbornness in her tone which Ty knew.
He gave a slight smile and his eyes closed once more.
A shadow fell across the bed and Sally looked up. Jack stood on the
other side of the bed. His expression was a pleased one and after
placing soft fingers on Ty’s wrist, he turned towards the door,
motioning Sally to follow.
She did so with a light heart. Ty was getting better. The fever and
loss of blood from his shoulder wound had left him weak, but each day
he seemed to gain more strength. The wound was healing nicely and Jack
said only yesterday that his arm would be as good as ever in a few
weeks.
Out of the sick room, Jack turned to Sally and instructed, “Go out and
get some fresh air. Ty should sleep for a while and I’ll be here if he
needs anything.”
Sally nodded. Only a week or so ago, she would have stubbornly insisted
on staying by Ty, but now all was right. “Where is everyone?” she
asked, pausing before the door.
“Well, I think Carson and Jed are out with Pa looking for some stray
cattle. Ma is out in the garden and Joe is around somewhere. More than
likely, he’s out with the horses.”
The warm summer sun shone brightly out from a deep blue sky dotted here
and there with cotton ball clouds. Loosening her hair, Sally let the
breeze blow it about her face while she drew in deep breaths of the
fresh air. Slowly she meandered across the yard towards the barn and
garden, stopping now and then to look at and admire a flower blooming
in the grass. A bright butterfly flitted by and Sally paused to watch
it; the delicate little insect flying from flower to flower, enjoying
the sunshine, fluttering its colorful wings and mounting up, up into
the vast expanse of sky above, it disappeared at last from view. Sally,
who had watched until it vanished, lost in her own thoughts, was
brought back to earth by a voice.
“Don’t trip, Sally,” it warned.
Sally looked down and smiling, walked around the pile of stones. Mrs.
Fields was watching her from the garden.
“Did you come out to get some sunshine?” she asked pleasantly.
“Yes,” Sally replied simply, adding, “Oh, let me help. I ain’t had--”
she broke off quickly, blushing and then started again. “I never had a
garden. Not a real one. Pa, Ty an’ I lived in the woods an’ there jest
weren’t no-- I mean there wasn’t any place for one.” In the weeks since
Carson, Ty and Sally had dropped in on the Fields so unexpectedly,
Sally had noticed how differently she talked from the others. Never
before had she had the daily influence of a woman like Mrs. Jim Fields.
Slowly, with persistence and much encouragement, Sally was beginning to
learn those fine arts which only a true woman can teach. So subtly were
the changes coming to her that she scarcely noticed them except in her
speech which she was quite conscious of.
In the weeks that followed Ty’s start on the road to recovery, while
Sally was learning from Mrs. Fields, Carson was learning about cattle
ranching. Always one to try his hand at something new, Mr. Fields soon
found him a valuable assistant especially in tracking down missing
cattle. In this Carson was an expert. Having trapped nearly all his
life, learning to read sign from the Indians and with a keen eye and
quick memory for the tiniest details, he found tracking cattle to be
much like tracking anything else. Jed Fields, fascinated by Carson’s
skill, went with him everywhere and learned much from the older man.
These two, Carson and Sally, each busy in their own way, were content
to stay on where they were for months if need be. Sally had the
companionship she had unknowingly craved, and Carson was out in the
great world, his world of nature, always occupied. It was Ty who was
growing restless. The idleness which his illness had forced upon him
was, to him, a great affliction. Never had Ty remembered being so weak.
He fretted at staying in bed.
He wanted to be up, to ride out with Carson, to stroll across the
fields with Sally and have one of their long talks such as they used to
have when they were growing up. Now he found that he couldn’t stay
awake and talk without growing tired. Sometimes he felt as though he
wasn’t improving and would lie moody and silent, becoming gruff and
even impatient with his sister or with anyone who happened to be with
him at the time.
Even if Ty could see no improvement, Jack could and was encouraged by
his patient’s rapid improvement, for Ty’s strong constitution stood him
in good stead now as he struggled to regain his former strength. As he
grew stronger, Jack first allowed him to sit up, then, with help from
Joe, Carson or Jed and carefully watched by Sally and Mrs. Fields, he
was helped to a chair in the large room beyond or on warm sunny days,
he was even allowed outside. Those days were of great pleasure to Ty,
but often were followed by days of restless fretfulness.
After one such day, when Ty was lying moody in bed, Jack came and sat
down beside him.
“Ty,” Jack began quietly, “you are not helping yourself in the least by
this fretfulness. It wastes your energy and you wear yourself out. If
you want to regain your health quickly, stop fighting against what you
can’t change. You are improving, but these moods of yours are setting
you back.”

Any Questions?

The Lower Lights - Part 1

Good Morning Faithful Friday Fiction Fans,
I hope you have had a wonderful week so far. Mine has been busy. (That is why this is late again. Sorry.) I'm glad to be home again and I hope I can stay home and get some things done now.:) I really want to get more writing done. I have so many ideas and no time to get them from my brain to NEO. I also have stacks of books I want to read. :} And there are other things I need to do. Life has been rather crazy and busy for some strange reason.

I wrote this story after seeing a picture a friend took. I'd been hoping she would post a picture I could write a story about and she did. I gave her the story earlier this week and she really liked it. If you like the picture, you should go visit her blog and take a look.:)
All I had for this story was the picture. Come back next week for the last of the story. (Unless I write a 4th of July story and post that instead.:))

The Lower Lights
by
Rebekah M.

Mr. Perry Randall tied his black necktie in a looping bow, kissed his little wife good-bye and headed off to work. Striding briskly down the street in the early dawn of a new day, straightening his cap, glancing up at the sky to see what the day would be like, nodding to a policeman walking his beat, he whistled. It was a lovely morning to be alive. Spring had always been his favorite season. Arriving at the shed, he met the conductor of his trolley car.
“Morning, Oscar.”
“Good Morning, Perry.”
“How’s the missus?”
“Doin’ just fine, thank you. And Carol?”
Mr. Randall smiled. “She was planning on doing some baking this morning. Said she just might stop by your place later on for a visit if your wife felt up to it.”
Oscar nodded as he straightened his jacket. “I’m sure she would be. It always perks her up to have a visit from Carol.”
The two men, both with white hair, had been friends since childhood. Now, at the age when most men wanted to retire, they continued on day after day, collecting the fares, and driving their trolley. To them it wasn’t work, but a real joy.
Perry Randall returned to his whistling as he checked the controls. Soon he broke into song, his deep bass filling the car with music.
“Let the low--er lights be bur--ning,
Send the be--am acro--ss the wave.”
Oscar, who couldn’t resist a tune, took up the song in his clear tenor.
“Some poor fain--ting, struggling sea--man,
You may rescue, yo--u may save.”
The song ended with an accompanying toot of the trolley’s whistle as Perry backed it out of the shed.
The sun was climbing up out of his bed in the east and everywhere birds were greeting the new day with song. The man in the yard switched the track and, after a quick okay signal from his conductor, Mr. Randall slowly started the trolley on its way, humming the song over again to himself as they moved along.
“But to us He gives the keeping of the lights along the shore,” he mused.
“What’s that, Perry?”
“The lights along the shore, Oscar,” replied Perry without taking his eyes off the gauges before him. “He takes care of the big light, but we’ve got to keep our lights lit. We never know when they might help some fainting seaman get safely to shore.”
“That’s so.”
The clang of the trolley’s bell rang out sharply in the morning air as Mr. Randall braked before their first stop. Oscar took his place and began to collect fares as the passengers came aboard. Mr. Perry had a smile and greeting for each one as they passed him. Most of them were regulars to his trolley line.
“Good morning, Mrs. Simpson. Watch your step there,” and he held out his hand to steady a little old woman with silvery white hair. “I hope that grandson of yours is doing better.”
“He is, thank you. He’ll be back to the baseball diamond in no time.” The little woman moved on.
“Mr. Smits, fine day isn’t it?”
“Well, its starting out fine, Mr. Randall, but I don’t know how things in the office will be.” The man frowned as though the thought of that office nearly ruined his day.
“How are you Miss Kelly and Miss Lilly? Had a busy night at the hospital?”
The two young nurses smiled and one of them replied, “Not so very busy, Mr. Randall, but it is nice to be going home.”
“And just think of going Home forever, how glorious that will be.” There was no mistaking the trolley car driver’s meaning.
The two nurses moved on to take their seats; Miss Lilly looked thoughtful. Those words had struck her heart.

The bell clanged and the trolley moved slowly away towards its next stop.
“So many folks in this world, Father,” Mr. Perry murmured, “so many with heavy loads. They need someone to help them carry them and others are struggling to keep above the tempest that is raging all about them. Let some be guided today through the channel to you by us poor, feeble lights along the shore.”
Clang, clang. The bell rang, and Mr. Randall pulled the cord to the whistle as he brought the trolley to a stop. The crowd was larger this time as the sun was steadily climbing its way up the spherical dome of the heavens. Scarcely a word was able to be said to the passengers crowding and shoving their way onto the trolley. Mr. Randall, though he was jostled, kept a smile on his face for, “who knows,” he thought, “this might be the only smile they see all day.”

The morning wore on with crowds pushing on and off the car until late morning. With the crowds, both Perry and Oscar had been kept busy collecting fares, the latter at the front of the trolley and the former at the rear. Now, however, the crowds had thinned and only a few persons waited at the trolley’s stops and at last they reached a stop which was empty.
“Perry, shall we just go on to the next stop?” Oscar had made his way up the aisle and was looking out at the empty station.
For a moment Perry Randall thought. At last he spoke, “No, I don’t think we should, Oscar, at least not until we normally would leave.”
“Sounds good to me. You know, Perry, seems as though all these years of you driving this trolley and me collecting the fares, I always ask you that question about once a day and you always give the same reply. In a way, its kind of comforting knowing that some things haven’t changed in all these years.”
Mr. Randall smiled as his old friend sat down on one of the empty seats. “I suppose it’s rather like a lighthouse.”
“Huh?”
“They keep doing the same things day after day, lighting a rocky shoal or marking a way to the harbor. I just pray that our lights have been lit every day. You know, we have the lights along the shore to think about.”

Do you like it so far?

Meleah's Western - Part 44

Welcome Western Wednesday Readers,
In
case you were wondering, no, I didn't get the other Western finished.
My nephews were here Friday night as well and last night I was too
tired to do any thinking.:) (I'm writing this Sunday afternoon since we
won't have Internet at the conference, so I have to get this ready to
post before we leave in the morning. That is why I said "last night."
Confused yet? I am.)

I'd
love to get a lot of this Western written when I come back, but we'll
see. Did you realize I've written an average of one Western a week
since the beginning of the year? I'd say that was pretty good since the
last Western I posted in December was Part 24. And there are more
things to happen that I know about and maybe some I don't know about.
Ah, I am enjoying Meleah's Western. Hope you all are too.

Part 44

“Jesus Christ will never leave you if you come to him.”
“I can’t!”
“Why not?” that gentle voice persisted. “He has promised that all who
come to Him, He will in no wise cast out.”
“I can’t pray.” The misery and distress in Sally’s voice was more
pathetic than even the heartrending cry for her brother had been.
“Why not?” Joe repeated.
For several seconds, Sally could only cry, then, in a voice muffled by
her hands, she answered, “My prayers n--never seem to go h--higher than
the ceiling a--and I know God doesn’t hear them.” The last words ended
in a sob.
“Oh, you poor child,” murmured Joe, his face, had she seen it, betrayed
his compassion. “Sally,” he began gently, “if you and I were in the
same room, and you asked me something, do you think I would hear you?”
“Y--yes,” Sally stammered, sniffing.
“You wouldn’t say I couldn’t hear you, even if I was standing behind
you and you couldn’t see me?”
“No.” This time Sally ventured a timid look at the face of her
companion, wondering what he meant. Of course he would hear her if he
was in the same room even if he was behind her.
“Then have you never read the words of the Lord Jesus when he said,
‘Lo, I am with you always, even unto the end of the world,’ and again
‘I will never leave thee nor forsake thee’? If He is with us always,
then why must our prayers reach beyond the ceiling? He is with us
wherever we are.”
For a moment she looked at him, her eyes full of this new thought, then
suddenly she buried her face once more in her hands and sobbed forth,
“Then why doesn’t he heal Ty?”
“Sally,” very gently, “do you trust me?”
The question, so unexpected, caught Sally off guard. Did she trust Joe?
She knew instinctively that she did, but why? What was it about him and
the rest of his family that made her feel that she could trust them?
They were perfect strangers to her only a few days before.
“Do you?” the question was repeated softly.
Wordlessly, Sally nodded, her face still buried in shaking hands.
“Then, if you were to ask me for something and I was to tell you to
wait and trust me, would you say I hadn’t answered you?”
In the fast, waning light of day, the shake of Sally’s head was almost
undetected, but Joe was watching. “Sometimes the Lord Jesus tells us to
wait and trust Him. Can’t you do that, Sally?”
It was a full minute before Sally spoke and then in tones so low that
had not the evening hush already closed over the world, even Joe, who
was sitting beside her and listening, wouldn’t have heard them. “I want
to trust. Help me.”
And there, out in the peaceful evening, as the stars came out one by
one, Joe and Sally prayed. And in heaven, the angels were rejoicing
over the new lamb brought home to the fold.
At last Sally gave a long, weary sigh and looked up. Her face, still
streaked with tears and showing signs of her struggle, wore a look of
peace which Joe had never seen before. She shivered and he, pulling off
his jacket, wrapped it around her, for the air was growing cooler.
Neither one spoke. Sally was gathering strength to face the night with
its unknown results and trying to hush the tiny voices of worry which
still persisted in tormenting her. Joe sat and waited.
At last, when Sally still didn’t move, he spoke, “Are you ready to go
inside?”
She looked up at him, nodded, and allowed him to help her to her feet.
“Thank you,” she whispered as they started toward the house.
A smile and a gentle pressure of the hand was his only response.
Pausing on the doorstep, Joe turned to the girl at his side and asked
in low tones, “Will you not go and try to get some sleep now? Jack
doesn’t think there will be any change before midnight.”
Only an hour before Sally would have rebelled against such a thought
and have insisted on sitting up even if she couldn’t be in the sick
room. Now, however, her heart was at rest and, feeling exhausted, she
nodded assent but added, “Promise you’ll waken me if’n there’s a
change? I want ta know.”
Joe promised, and Sally, without a word to anyone, slipped into her
little room and shut the door. There, before she lay down, she dropped
on her knees
and prayed. What did it matter if her prayers only reached the ceiling?
Wasn’t there Someone here in the room with her? With that comforting
thought, she closed her eyes and slept.
A hand gently shook her shoulder and Joe’s soft voice called her name.
Starting up quickly, her heart pounding wildly, Sally waited for the
news.
“The fever has broken and Ty’s sleeping.”
In that moment of relief and excitement, Sally did what she would never
have done otherwise, she flung her arms around Joe’s neck and kissed
him. “Oh!” she gasped, letting go, her cheeks flushing scarlet at the
realization of what she had just done. “I’m so sorry, I don’t know what
I’m doin’ an’ ya’ve been just like a brother to me, an’--” she broke
off in confusion.
“It’s all right,” Joe said, and Sally could tell he was smiling. “I
know I’m a stand in for Ty right now. Jed is with him and Carson is
sleeping. I’d suggest that you get some more sleep or Jack will give me
what for for waking you.”
“I’m glad you did. Thank you.” And her words were full of feeling.
“You’re welcome. Now sleep,” Joe whispered back from the doorway as he
slipped out.
After a prayer of gratitude to her loving Friend, Sally slept again and
it was quite late when she again opened her eyes.

Anything you want to know?

On Being Neighborly

Good Morning FFFs,
A
Happy Anniversary to my grandparents and a happy BIRTH-day to my newest
nephew!!!!! I can't wait to see him! He was born this morning about
4:00. I'm an aunt for the fourth time! :) The two other nephews are
outside right now with Papa. They don't know about the Baby. My niece
was going to spend the night but she got sick and went home. My
grandparents are coming tomorrow for the day. Busy. And I'm tired.
I've
been trying to write as many evenings as I can. I didn't get to it last
night since the kids were here. Don't know if the boys will be here
tonight as well or not. I'd like to at least get the Western I'm
working on finished before we leave town on Mon. I know I'll see some
of you Favorite Friday Fiction Fans next week.:) I'm looking forward to
it.

I
was trying to decide what to post this morning and since everything has
been a little crazy and somewhat stressful, I decided to post a
light-hearted story. Sorry, Abigail, you've already read it, but surely
you won't mind reading it again.:)

On Being Neighborly

The day was bright and sunny, the perfect kind of day to clean house.
Or at least that is what Mrs. Lewis thought. Trotting about her small
home she gaily hummed a merry tune while her dust cloth flew hither and
thither. Before long she was ready to shake her small rugs.
“Oh, dear,” she sighed. “These larger ones are just too big for an old
lady like me to shake. But they do need shaking.” She paused, head
tipped to one side in contemplation. “Now if I just had a place to hang
them, I could beat them as I used to do when a girl. Let me see--” As
she gazed about, her eyes fell upon the fence around the Dalta’s yard.
“That would be just the thing.”
Before she could carry the first rug out, her telephone rang. It was
her grand-daughter.
“Nana, can I come over? Mom has to take Miles to the dentist.”
Mrs. Lewis was excited, “Of course you can come over, Kitten. I’m
cleaning house today and you can help me.”
“That sounds fun! See you soon!” and Kitty, known to most as Kitten,
hung up the phone.
Mrs. Lewis managed to hang one rug over the gate before Kitty arrived,
eager to help.
“We have to hang all these large rugs on the fence, and then I’ll let
you beat them while I scrub the floors,” Mrs. Lewis beamed at her
helper.
Kitty gave a little skip. “Okay. What do I beat them with?”
Mrs. Lewis, with Kitty tripping along behind, climbed the attic stairs
and after a little searching, found the old wire rug-beater. Kitty was
delighted and dashed down the stairs to begin.
Soon the dust was flying off the rugs in wild fashion as Kitty,
pretending she was a famous tennis player, smacked them vigorously,
glad the wind was blowing the dust away. What she didn’t notice was
where it was blowing.
“Hey, You!”
The voice, gruff and harsh, startled Kitty from her imaginary world of
tennis. She paused in the middle of a swing and looked up. A violent
fit of coughing was all she heard, and she could see no one. Shrugging,
she was raising her ‘racket’ again when the voice called once more
still sounding rather choked up.
“You, girl. What do you think you’re doing?”
This time Kitty saw a face looking out at her from a window on the
other side of the fence.
“I’m beating rugs for Nana.”
“Didn’t you know all the dust was blowing right into my house?”
Kitty’s eyes opened in surprise. “Is it? I’m sorry. If it was blowing
the other way, Nana couldn’t clean the house.”
“Well, it’s making my house filthy.”
“You could shut your window until I’m done,” Kitty suggested politely.
“Humph,” Mr. Dalta snorted and began to do just that when suddenly he
stopped. “Those rugs are on my fence!” he shouted.
Kitty smiled. This was certainly a funny man. “Of course they are, Nana
doesn’t have any fence.”
“But,” protested Mr. Dalta, “you can’t use it!”
“I can too,” Kitty corrected, “see?” And she gave a rug two solid
whacks with her rug-beater.
Mr. Dalta tried to speak but only got a face full of dust and began to
cough. He slammed down the window and disappeared.
Kitty shook her head, shrugged her shoulders and gave a little laugh.
People could be rather strange at times.
Mrs. Lewis, hearing the raised voice of her neighbor, set her pail of
soapy water in the corner of the room, and hurried outside.
“Kitten Dear,” she began, “what is going on?”
“He said the dust was getting into his house.”
Mrs. Lewis shook her head. “Oh, dear! Oh, dear!” she moaned. “I should
have remembered the wind would blow the dust. Now what can we do?” As
she thought, her eyes caught sight of the long green hose in Mr.
Dalta’s yard. “Oh, Kitten, wait just a moment. I’ll fix the rugs so the
dust won’t blow.”
So saying, she trotted to the gate, and opening it, scurried to the
hose. It took some time for her to get it over to the fence, but at
last it reached. “Now Kitten, come in here and turn on the water. I’ll
just wet these rugs. That’ll keep the dust down.”
Kitty, wondering a bit, followed Nana’s directions and turned on the
water.
“Hey, you!”
Kitty turned. There at the back door stood Mr. Dalta leaning on his
cane.
“What are you doing now?”
“Turning on the hose. Nana is making it so the dust won’t blow into
your house.”
“But what are you doing in my yard?” Mr. Dalta came out of the house.
What a silly man, Kitty thought. I just told him what I was doing. But
because her mom had taught her to be polite, she replied, “I’m turning
the water on. Nana had to use your hose.”
“Turn it off now, Kitten,” Mrs. Lewis called having soaked the rugs
well.
“What are you doing in my yard and using my things?” Mr. Dalta
grumbled.
“Oh, Mr. Dalta,” Mrs. Lewis began, “I’m so sorry my dust got into your
house. I’ll try to get it out if you want. I’m an excellent
housecleaner.”
Mr. Dalta shook his head. “You’re in my yard. Didn’t you see the No
Trespassing sign?”
Kitty and Mrs. Lewis looked at each other in bewilderment. What sign?
They hadn’t seen any sign.
“Where is the sign?” Kitty asked.
“Why it’s on the fence.” Rather indignantly, Mr. Dalta shuffled towards
his fence peering at it sharply. Mrs. Lewis followed, puzzled by her
not seeing the sign. After Kitty had neatly put the hose back in place,
she too, followed and looked at the fence.
“Perhaps,” Kitty began when none of them had seen any sign anywhere,
“we could see it from in Nana’s yard.”
“That’s a good idea,” Mr. Dalta said, nodding approvingly.
“It sure is,” Mrs. Lewis put in, adding, “I always knew Kitten was a
bright child.”
Once they were through and Kitty had carefully shut the gate behind
them so as not to let any dog out, for she had just noticed an old dog
house in the yard, the three began searching again. Nothing could be
found that resembled a sign, and Mr. Dalta sighed.
“Oh, dear,” Mrs. Lewis fluttered, “you are probably worn out now. Why
don’t you have a seat here in the shade, and I’ll bring some lemonade.
Kitten Dear, why don’t you finish those rugs.” With that she hurried
into her kitchen.
Kitty hurried back to the rugs and gave one a good smack. A spray of
dirty, dusty water drops spattered all over her. “Ugh,” she spat out a
bit of dirt. “I think I’ll have grey freckles now,” she giggled.
Closing her eyes and mouth tightly, she hit the rug again. By the time
Nana had reappeared, she was quite bespattered with grime.
“Come, Kitten, have a glass of lemonade with us,” Mrs. Lewis called to
her faithful worker.
As Mr. Dalta drank his lemonade, he kept looking towards the fence
surrounding his yard. Something looked different, yet he couldn’t
figure out what it was. He knew the rugs hanging there didn’t belong,
but what was causing the strange look? Perhaps it was just that he was
on the other side of it.
“Hello!” a voice called.
Mrs. Lewis stood up quickly. “Oh, Miles, please don’t tell me you must
take Kitten home now,” she begged as her grandson jumped off his bike
and leaned it against the porch.
“Only if you want to get rid of her,” he grinned.
“Oh, no indeed! But here, you must be hot after riding over, do have
some lemonade.”
“Thanks.” Miles accepted the glass and rapidly drained it. After
drawing a deep sigh, he said, “Got anything for me to do, Nana?”
Before Nana could reply, Kitty spoke up, “You can turn the rugs for me
so I can beat the other side.”
Together the two moved over to the fence.
“But these things are soaked!” Miles protested grabbing the edge of
one. “Gross, what happened to them?”
“The dust was going into Mr. Dalta’s house, and Nana got them wet so
the dust wouldn’t blow,” Kitty explained.
“I’ll bet the dust won’t blow. It won’t come off very well either.”
“Oh, yes it does,” his sister argued. “Just look at me.”
Miles couldn’t help laughing. Kitty was quite a sight with grey
speckles and splotches all over. Her face, usually showing a sprinkling
of freckles, now showed only dirt.
Taking a step back from the fence, Miles surveyed the rugs. Then he
sauntered back to Nana and Mr. Dalta.
“Uh, I hate to say this, but those rugs are pulling the fence down.”
“What!” exclaimed Mr. Dalta, struggling to his feet. “Well, do
something before they ruin my fence! How am I going to keep anyone out
if my fence comes down?”
“Oh, dear, this is just dreadful. Miles, why are the rugs pulling the
fences down?” Mrs. Lewis was nervously grasping Miles’ arm.
Matter-of-factly, Miles explained that the weight of the water had made
the rugs very heavy, thus they were bending the wires of the fence.
“Oh, my!” Mrs. Lewis was quite impressed. “I always knew you were a
wonder in school. Now isn’t that something, Mr. Dalta?”
“Yes, yes, of course,” that gentleman sputtered. “But my fence! Boy,”
he began turning to Miles, “did they teach you anything about fixing a
pulling down fence?”
Only saying he thought he could fix it, Miles went back to the rugs.
With Kitty’s help, he soon had the rugs airing in the grass and began
to straighten the fence.
Only then did Kitty notice. “Look, Nana, Mr. Dalta, there is the No
Trespassing sign. A rug must have hidden it.”
Mr. Dalta sighed in relief. “I knew I had one up. Then you were
trespassing, and I should call the police.”
“Oh, Mr. Dalta,” Mrs. Lewis began, “we weren’t trespassing.”
“You weren’t?”
“No, we were only being neighborly and helping you out. Now, would you
like to stay while I make some chocolate cake?”

Did you like it?:)

Meleah's Western - Part 43

Oh wow, I forgot it was Wednesday. Is
it really Wednesday? My brain seems frizzle-frazzled since the tornado
hit on the 22nd. Yesterday we started off our day by standing around
for two hours watching a large, old, brick building where my dad has a
storage unit for his roofing supplies and some of J's Light of Faith
stuff burn to the ground. It was quite an intense fire! The wind was
blowing and there were firefighters all over. The smoke was so thick
that most of the time you couldn't even see up the road. Well, the
entire building except a few walls is now a large pile of chard,
smoking (at least in Dad's corner) twisted mess. We went down and
looked at it last night. At least no one was hurt.
And we''re still waiting for Baby to come . . .

Here's your Wednesday Western since you are sure it is Wednesday.:)

Part 43

“Sally! Where is she?” he demanded of Joe, his breath fast and uneven.
“She’s sleeping in the next room--”
“I said, where is she!” Ty was growing frantic and struggled under
Carson’s restraining hands to get up. “My gun,” he panted, eyes darting
around the darkened room. “Carson, let me have it. Where is she?”
Jack rushed into the room. “Joe, get Sally. Hold him still if you can,
Carson. I don’t want that shoulder to start bleeding again. Easy, Ty.
Joe is getting Sally.”
For a brief moment, Ty relaxed under the soothing words, then he began
to struggle anew until Sally pushed past Carson and grasped her
brother’s hand.
“I’m here, Ty, an’ I ain’t leavin’ again.” She glanced at Jack as
though defying him to order her away, but Jack was intent on his
patient and didn’t appear to notice. “Now ya just rest, that’s right,”
as he lay back struggling to catch his breath.
“They ain’t hurt ya none?” Ty mumbled.
Sally smiled. “I ain’t hurt a bit. Why Ty, everything is goin’ ta be
fine once ya get well.” She laid her face against her brother’s hand.
“Ya have ta get well, Ty,” she begged. “Please.”
And thus the long days wore slowly away. Ty tossed with fever, calling
frantically for Carson and Sally, talking of ‘them,’ asking about the
sister he was looking for and muttering words that no one could make
any sense out of. Jack used every ounce of skill he had and prayed. The
whole Fields family was praying for this unexpected guest.
Carson also prayed, often going out alone when it was dark and Ty was
sleeping. He found great rest and peace in those times alone and would
come in ready to take up the watching with renewed strength. At other
times, when he could be spared from Ty’s bedside, he ate and slept,
knowing how important it was to keep up his strength.
With Sally, however, it was different. She had no place of real rest.
Vaguely she knew of the Father who would help her, but though she
prayed, she often felt as though her prayers never went higher than the
ceiling. It was with great difficulty that she was persuaded to eat or
sleep. Her one desire was to be with Ty. Even when he was sleeping she
would often refuse to leave his side. Only Joe seemed to be able to get
her to follow orders somewhat. Whether it was his tender, sympathetic
spirit that found a response in the girl’s nature, or whether it was
the fact that he had been with her through that long, trying first day
when Carson and Jed were off, no one knew. Perhaps it was a combination
of it all. Whatever the reason, Joe, by coaxing or ordering, could get
Sally to do almost anything.
It was several nights later; Jack came out of Ty’s room, and there was
a look on his face that caused everyone to pause. What was it? Surely
Ty wasn’t -- dead? Jack walked over to the window and looked out at the
setting sun a moment. Then turning, he looked at those gathered in the
room and spoke quietly. “Tonight is the crisis. There is to be no noise
if it can possibly be helped. Carson and Jed, I am going to let you two
watch, each for a two hour shift before changing.”
He gave other orders, but Sally scarcely heard them. For the first time
since the accident she realized that Ty might not live. Could she go on
without him? Knowing that she was going to cry, and realizing that even
her tears could be harmful to her dearly loved brother, she pressed her
hands over her mouth and fled from the house.
Carson watched her go with troubled eyes. Why did life have to be so
hard for this young friend? No mother’s love and care, her father taken
from her by sickness, her only sister unknown and only God knew where,
and now, her only brother lying at death’s doorstep. If only she would
go to her father and mother’s Friend, yes, and his Friend too.
Almost as though reading his thoughts, Jack asked quietly, “Carson, do
you want to go to her?”
Carson shook his head sadly, “She won’t listen to me. I’ve tried. I
just don’t know what to say.”
“The poor, weary girl,” Mrs. Fields sighed. “She isn’t used to a
woman’s help or I would go to her, but she doesn’t open up to me.”
“Send Joe.”
All eyes turned to Mr. Fields. He nodded as though he knew what he was
talking about. “I don’t know what Ty is really like, but for some
reason his sister will take from Joe what she won’t from anyone else.
Send him if he can be spared from the sick room.”
As a result of that talk, Joe, relieved of his post, was soon moving
quietly towards Sally. He prayed as he walked. He doubted that he was
the best person to send, yet his heart, stirred deeply by all that had
happened, beat rapidly as he drew near, whether from pity and a longing
to help or from some other cause, he didn’t know.
Sally had thrown herself on the grassy slope of a hill and was sobbing
bitterly, crying out as she sobbed, “Ty! Ya can’t die! Ya can’t, ya
can’t!” Her whole soul cried out with each passionate word revealing
something of the terrible agony she was going through. Never had she
felt so forsaken and alone. Even when her father was so ill and Ty and
Carson were so far away, she had the comfort of prayer. Now, however,
even that refuge seemed to have forsaken her and she cried out, “Ya
can’t leave me, Ty! I’m all alone!”
A hand touched her shoulder and Joe’s steady, tenderhearted voice broke
into her sobs. “You aren’t alone, Sally. There is a Refuge!”

Comments? Questions?

Come Home - Part 2

Good Morning Friday Fiction Fans!
The
sun is shining, the sky is blue and one of my heart-sisters just gave
birth to her first born, a boy! The day is starting out fine. Who
knows, maybe my sister-in-law will have her baby today or tonight. Of
course she is rather known for being late, so it could be next
Wednesday when the full moon is.:)
Anyway,
it feels like last Friday was weeks ago. Probably partly because I was
gone on Friday and had to write the post on Wednesday. The very next
day, since we were in a hotel in Wichita, we got to watch the Script
National Spelling Bee! That was fun! Of course none of us had a clue
what most of the words given even were. The spellers were really good
this year. They did 20 words without missing any! On Friday night, it
was the first night of "River Fest" and they had a wonderful fireworks
display. We could watch it from our 7th floor room windows. Wow! The
grand finale was the best I have ever seen! It was incredible! Great
way to celebrate my sister's birthday and my parents' anniversary.:)
Sat. night was filled with packing up and trying to fit all the
donations of used curriculum in the trailer and suburban to take back.
I
did get to write a little on Monday night when we were back home.
(Hadn't done if for so long that it was difficult.) And then I wrote on
Tuesday night. Wednesday night I was babysitting but I wrote last
night. I finished a story! You won't get to read it next week, but
possibly the one following.

Oh,
there was a mistake in last weeks story. Thank you Noah for pointing
out that the Catskill mountains are in NY.:) I know there are some
mountains that I was thinking of in Washington, but I haven't
remembered what they are yet. When I find out, I'll make the
correction.:) I liked the beginning of the story, but I still don't
know if I really like the end. This end is much better than than first
one I wrote, however, so I won't complain too much.:) Let me know what
you think of it.:)

Come Home - Part 2

“Jess,” Sonya began a little hesitatingly, as the two girls washed the
breakfast dishes. Linda had already gone out. “I hate to tell you this
when you just got home, but--” and she paused.
Jessica looked questioningly at her.
“I got a call this morning from Brookside Pottery, and they need you to
fly out there for some promotion, advertisement thing. They said you’d
know what they were talking about. I guess things got changed around
and they can get you in tomorrow, but you have to fly out today.”
“Today?” Jessica echoed. “But I just got back.”
“I know. I told them that, but they said unless you want to wait until
September to get it done, they need you tomorrow. They’ve even offered
to pay you extra because it was such last minute notice.”
“Well,” Jessica began drying her hands on a towel. “I guess if they
need me tomorrow, I’ll have to go. I won’t be gone long, so I won’t
have to do much laundry before leaving. When does Alaine Studios want
those bags?”
Sonya shrugged. “No deadline as long as they have ten in the next few
weeks. You can work them in when you get back I guess. Unless of course
you can get them all done before you leave.”
“Are you kidding? I still have to find a plane ticket!”
Both girls laughed and hurried off.
“It seems like I’ve just been here and done this,” Jessica muttered as
she boarded the plane for Cincinnati. “Maybe I can sketch a few ideas
for some bags during the trip.” Finding her seat, she sank down and
sighed. “Here I go again. I’m ready to stay home for a while.”
At the word ‘home’ that picture which Jessica was beginning to wish she
had never seen flashed into her mind. “Why won’t you leave me alone!”
Then she remembered, she had forgotten to call her mom that morning.
“I’ll do it later,” she promised herself once again.
A quick flight change in Detroit and before long, Jessica was in
Cincinnati. Brookside Pottery was an experience in and of itself.
Before she left two days later, she had a sample advertisement as well
as several promotional papers with her.
The flight to Detroit, where she was to again switch planes, was
uneventful. It was when she was boarding her connecting flight that she
began to grow puzzled; her puzzlement turned into a real fear that
perhaps it was true. Could this really be happening? As she took her
seat by the aisle, she glanced around her. There were many empty seats
and when the stewardess came by, Jessica stopped her with a question.
“Where is this plane going? I mean--” as she saw the slightly confused
expression on the lady’s face. “I think I just made a mistake and
either went to the wrong gate or purchased the wrong ticket or
something.” Her dark eyes seemed to be begging the stewardess to tell
her she was wrong.
“This flight is going to Newport , Washington.”
Jessica groaned. “I was afraid so. Is there any way I can get off?”
The sympathetic stewardess smiled, “I’m afraid not now. We are already
about to taxi to the runway, so if you’ll excuse me. And please fasten
your seatbelt.”
In a daze, Jessica did as she was told. “Home, why do I have to go
home? I thought I had left home for good when I left for college. I’m a
success on my own, I can handle things on my own. I just won’t go home.
I can turn right around and catch the next flight back to New York
where I was supposed to go. I wonder if there are any layovers before
we get to Washington?”
There weren’t, and as she stepped out of the plane into the terminal,
such a longing to just go home and feel her mother’s arms about her
came rushing over her, that in an instant she had made up her mind. She
was here and she was going to go visit her family. Alaine Studios
wanted her bags and she had Brookside Pottery’s promotions. Grabbing
her luggage, she hailed a taxi, gave the driver her old address and was
on her way without giving herself time for second thoughts.
Traveling across town, Jessica recalled those days before she made the
decision to leave for college and a life on her own. All her life she
had lived in the shadow of her wealthy uncle and her three successful,
well known and well liked older
brothers. She had been pampered, given anything that money could buy,
even most of her friends during her school days were friends because of
the money. As she grew older, she had longed for friends who cared
about her and not her money, longed to get her hands dirty working for
what she needed, longed to stand on her own two feet and know that with
hard work, determination and God’s help, she could not only survive,
but be successful. Now, with Alaine Studios wanting her bags, Brookside
Pottery’s special promotion and her own little art shop which she
shared with Linda and Sonya, she was a success.
When she had decided to leave for college and a life of her own, her
uncle had told her that she would never succeed and that if she left,
she would never get one cent of his money. He had never believed that
women should or could do anything but cook and clean house. Jessica
watched the passing houses. Soon she would be home again. What would
her uncle say to her? Her mother, she knew would be thrilled to see
her. When Jessica’s father died shortly after her birth, his brother
had taken over the care of the family.
Stepping out of the taxi after paying the driver, she paused with her
bags beside her and gazed with tear-filled eyes at the large house. How
well she remembered telling her mother, “I’ll come home again when I
can do so with my head held high, not because of Uncle’s money, but
because of the talents and hard work of the two hands God gave me.
Don’t expect me sooner. I’ll write and call, and you can visit me, but
I just can’t come home.”
Drawing a deep breath, Jessica Chang, the young and budding design
artist, opened the door and stepped into the house. On hearing voices
in the side room, Jessica left her luggage in the hall and walked to
the door. Looking in she saw her three brothers and their wives, her
uncle, and in a chair across the room facing the doorway, her mother.
Just at that instant, Mrs. Chang looked up. “Jess!” she exclaimed
rising and holding out her arms.
Jessica flew into them and for a moment their tears mingled.
“I didn’t know you were coming,” Mrs. Chang wondered.
“I didn’t know myself until I got on the wrong flight in Detroit,” was
the laughing answer.
Before Mrs. Chang could say any more, Jessica’s brothers were around
her and welcoming her home. Only her uncle remained aloof. This niece
of his had disappointed him. No doubt she was coming home penniless.
“Uncle,” Jessica turned to him. “I think you might like to see these,”
and she pulled out her contract with Alaine Studios as well as some of
the advertisement from Brookside Pottery. “I didn’t come back to ask
for a home, I have one of my own. And I didn’t come back to ask for
money, I have plenty. And I didn’t come back with any purpose in mind.
It was simply a mistake.”
Taking the papers she held out to him, her uncle looked at them. She
watched his eyes widen in surprise. “Well,” he admitted at last, “you
are a success. I will admit that. Are you here to stay again?”
Jessica shook her head. “No, I can’t leave New York, but” she added
impulsively, seeing her mother’s disappointed face, “I want Mom to come
spend the rest of the year with me. We’ll leave in a few days.”
“Yes, Linda, I’m bringing Mom with me . . . It was hard to convince
everyone, but-- . . . I did . . . You will both love her! . . . Wait
until you see her painting some of the pottery . . . Okay, . . . Our
plane gets in tomorrow at noon . . . Yes, we have a layover in Denver .
. . Thanks. See you then!”
Jessica slipped her phone back in her purse. Turning to her mother she
said with a smile, “We’re going home, Mom. And in Denver I’ll show you
what brought me home to you.”

Did you like it?

Meleah's Western - Part 42

Good Morning Western Wednesday Readers, (sorry, I can't think of another W word.:))
What
a week! It seems that every evening was busy, so I didn't get to write.
I wrote a little on Monday evening and again last evening, but since I
haven't gotten to do it for quite a while, it was slow. I'll probably
be baby-sitting the kids tonight, so no writing this time. Tomorrow?
We'll see when Baby comes.
I'll tell you more on Friday.:)

Enjoy this next Western!

Part 42

“Dan? Well, Dan were a kind a hanger on in our camp. He weren’t smart,
jest seemed ta have enough brains ta get him in trouble. Dan did try
once ta take somethin’ a Ty’s, but--” and Carson shrugged as though to
express how ridiculous the very thought was.
Sally sighed almost unconsciously with relief. Without realizing it,
she had begun to be afraid of Dan, whoever he might be. Her shoulders,
which had been so ridgid and tight, dropped.
Jack noticed and at once ordered her to eat and then go to bed.
Supper was made interesting as Carson and Jed told of their adventures.
Sally ate without really realizing what she was doing and made a good
meal. When the tale ended with Carson and Jed’s return, Jack glanced
around the room. All was quiet.
“Carson, do you mind sleeping near the door to Ty’s room? I’d like you
available if he calls you again. You seem to be what he needs to calm
him.”
Carson nodded.
Jack continued. “Joe, you can get some rest until later. Jed, are you
up for a little watching? Good. I’d like you to relieve Ma. I’ll check
on Ty in a few minutes and then get some rest too. If there is any
change, call me at once. Understood?”
“Got it,” Jed answered in a steady voice before his brother went on.
“Joe, I’ll let you take the second watch, but before you do, I’ll look
in on him once more. And the same instructions go for you: any change,
I’m called. Miss Sally, you are to go to bed and not worry. If there is
any change that you should know about, I’ll tell you. You need rest for
tomorrow.”
Opening her mouth to argue that she wouldn’t be able to sleep and that
she would stay with her brother as she had done with her father, Sally
found that Jack had already turned to Carson again, seemingly as though
he expected her to do just as he had ordered.
“Carson, I don’t know how much sleep you’ll get tonight. I hope you
don’t mind.”
“It weren’t never a problem with me. I can sleep anywhere or not at all
if’n I have ta.”
“Jack!”
Instantly Jack was on his feet and heading for the sick room with
Carson right behind him. Sally started to follow but Joe held her back.
“I’m goin’ ta Ty,” Sally declared trying to pull away.
“Listen,” Joe soothed, “Ty is asking for Carson. He doesn’t want or
need you right now. But he may later, and you have to be rested. Now
Jack ordered both of us to bed. How about we follow those
instructions?” Joe spoke quietly, hoping Sally would give in.
She, however, tired though she was, just wouldn’t let herself give in.
How could she sleep with her only brother lying so ill in the next
room? “I won’t sleep!” she declared actually stamping her foot in
vexation. “I can’t.” The tears were beginning to trickle down her
cheeks. “Ty needs me. I’m his sister. I tell you I won’t sleep while he
is sick!”
Mrs. Fields, coming out of the sick room, saw and guessed what was
going on. “Jed,” her voice was gentle, “Jack is ready for you.” Then
she turned to Sally. “Let me make you some tea before you sleep.”
But Sally shook her head, blinking back the tears. She wanted nothing
but to stay by her brother’s bedside and cry and wait until he spoke to
her. Nothing would tempt her to leave. She had slept last night, but
now Ty was worse. There was no telling when he might call for her.
Didn’t anyone understand? She could leave the sick room for a little
while, but sleep? That was simply out of the question.
Joe’s quiet voice interrupted her thoughts. “If you won’t sleep, at
least sit down. There is no use wasting your energy by standing.”
Fighting back the strong desire to rush to Ty’s beside, Sally
reluctantly sat back down and a few minutes later Mrs. Fields was
placing a steaming cup before her. She gave an involuntary shiver as
the hot liquid went down her throat. For several minutes no one spoke.
The only sounds to be heard in the stillness of the evening were the
low voices in the sick room.
Suddenly, realizing that she was beginning to fall asleep where she sat
and that Joe and Mrs. Fields were watching her, Sally shook her head
and straightened up in her chair.
“Why don’t you go lie down for a little while, Sally?” Mrs. Fields
asked softly.
“No, I’m staying up,” persisted Sally, trying desperately to keep her
eyes open.
“Come on, Sally,” Joe had moved to her side and was bending over her,
“Don’t be an idiot. You have to rest.” His voice was a mixture of
sympathy and firmness. When she didn’t move, he pulled her chair out
and ordered, “Go to bed.”
If he had coaxed her or showed any signs of giving in, Sally would have
refused to go though she was so tired and sleepy that she swayed on her
feet. As it was, when that order was given, she gave in, too tired to
argue any longer.
She was glad for the steady arm of Joe to lean on as she walked, or
staggered rather, to her room. Once alone she sank onto the bed and was
asleep before her head even touched the pillow.
It was a long night in the sick room. Carson didn’t get much sleep, for
Ty called for him so often that finally he gave up trying and just sat
by his young friend’s side through the wee hours of the morning. The
watchers changed as Jed and Joe took turns, while Jack came in every
little bit to check on his patient.
It was just as dawn was breaking that Ty started up in terror from a
restless slumber.

Questions anyone?

Come Home - Part 1

Good Afternoon FFFs,
Oh, wait, you won't be reading this until Friday morning at the earliest. I am getting it ready to post on Wed. afternoon. You see, we will be in Wichita at the home-school convention staffing the Light of Faith booth. And, we won't have internet there, so I get to get this ready now.
This story didn't turn out to be one of my favorites. I think it was partly because of the instructions and who I was writing it for. I hope you don't think it is too bad.:)
I guess I just won't ramble on and on like sometimes I do because I've to other things to do. But, I did want to say Thank you, Abigail for you faithful comments. It is nice to know that at least one person is reading my stories.:)

Characters: Andrah's character-
Jessica is an artist residing and working in New York. She has always loved art and finds it easy to express herself through her work. After graduating from college with an art major, she opened up her pottery studio just outside New York City. At the age of twenty three she is satisfied that business is steady, and she has plenty of extra time to explore other interests. Hard working and with a love for learning she is destined to be a success.
Words: 5 pages
Instructions: modern artist 2010

Come Home
by
Rebekah M.

The sky was overcast and rain was falling steadily as Jessica Chang looked out the airport windows in Denver, Colorado. It was June, and she was returning from a three week trip to Los Angeles for an international arts festival. Sighing, she returned to her seat and snapped open her purse. After rummaging through it, she pulled out her pocket calendar and flipped through the pages. “Well,” she thought, “if the plane is grounded much longer, I’ll miss my appointment at Alaine Studios. I should give Linda a ring. Perhaps she can go.”
Quickly pulling out her phone she flipped it open and hit a number. In another moment someone answered. “Linda, it’s me. . . . Hey, it looks like I won’t be getting out of Denver for a while. . . . No, it’s a storm over Chicago or something. It doesn’t look bad here except for rain. . . . Yeah, . . . That’s why I was calling. Can you make the appointment? . . . I see. . . . What about Sonya? . . . Why don’t you. . . . I’ll let you know. Okay? . . . Yeah, real good. I’ll tell you about it later. Okay, see ya! Bye!” Tucking her phone back in her purse, she stood up, adjusting the strap of her carry-on on her shoulder.
“I guess I might as well walk around a bit.” She was of middle height, with dark, almond eyes and carried herself with an assured air. There was a poise about her that spoke of confidence and success. Graduating from a prestigious college and now an up-and-coming name in the pottery world at the age of twenty-three, Jessica had broadened her horizons with this trip to L.A.
Strolling slowly about the airport, Jessica glanced at the pictures hanging on the walls. One specifically caught her eye. It was a moonrise over some mountains and a nearly perfect reflection was in the lake below. The tips of the mountain peaks were glowing red in the light of a setting sun while the clear sky changed from deep blue to pale powder blue which merged to light salmon and then disappeared behind the hills in a pink flush. Across the mountainside, on slopes and in sheltered places, snow was to be seen helping to bring out the features of the mountain ridges more clearly.
For several minutes, Jessica stood before the picture as though mesmerized by its simple beauty. Something, somewhere seemed to be calling faintly to her: “Come home.” Giving herself a shake, the budding artist turned away from the picture. This was no time to get sentimental about home. Besides, she was far from her childhood home in Washington, in the Catskill mountains. Now her home was in New York. “I am going home as fast as I can get a plane to take me,” she muttered, moving across the room to a seat.

“At last,” Jessica sighed, several hours later, picking up her carry-on and edging her way down the aisle of the crowded plane towards the exit. Once out in the busy NYC airport, she edged away from the crowd and drew a deep breath. “Now for my luggage and finding Linda or Sonya.” Her dark eyes brightened and she flipped back her black hair and glanced around. “Nearly home!” As the words flashed through her mind, so did that picture in the Denver airport.
Decidedly, she tipped her chin up, threw her shoulders back and strode to claim her luggage. But that picture wouldn’t leave her, neither would the words: come home. “What is the matter with me?” Jessica frowned.
“Lose your luggage?” a familiar voice questioned teasingly.
Jessica whirled around. “Sonya!”
The friends embraced warmly.
“So, did they lose it?” Sonya repeated.
“What, my luggage? No, it’s here. Let’s go.”
“Then what were you scowling about?” Sonya persisted as the two girls, each with a piece of luggage, made their way out of the air terminal.
Jessica shrugged. “Oh, I was just remembering a picture I saw in Denver. So, did you or Linda get to Alaine Studios for me?”
Sonya grinned as she popped open the trunk and lifted the first suitcase in. “Yeah.”
“Well,” prompted Jessica, eyeing her friend’s face curiously, “what did they say? And which of you went?”
The trunk shut with a click and Jessica slid into the front seat next to Sonya.
“Linda’s making supper tonight, but she said we had to stop and pick up some french bread. Mind?”
Jessica shook her head. Why wasn’t Sonya telling her anything? “Come on, Son, what happened,” she begged.
Sonya shook her head, continuing to grin. “Have to wait till supper.”
“Oh, you!” Jessica groaned. “Was this your idea or Lin’s? And don’t look so innocent!”
Sonya burst into laughter, and in a moment, Jessica had joined in.

“Welcome home, traveler!” Linda greeted Jessica with a warm hug. “I see you made it safely after all. Supper will be ready in ten minutes, so you just have time to clean up.”
As Jessica carried her luggage to her room, the words ‘come home’ echoed over and over again in her mind. In vain she told herself that she was home. Still they persisted in their call. Hurriedly she kicked off her travel shoes, tossed her jacket on the bed, ran a brush through her hair and unclasping her necklace, dropped it on her dresser before returning to her friends in the kitchen.
“Now,” she exclaimed as the lasagna, french bread and salad were vanishing off of the cute square plates, “what happened at Alaine Studios?”
Sonya glanced over at Linda, “You tell her.”
With a smile, Linda began, “Well, to begin with, they really liked your pottery. But they like your little bead necklaces even more, and when you added beads to that bag you made, well, you’d better get busy making more because they just ordered two hundred!”
For a moment Jessica stared at her friend, her fork poised halfway to her mouth. “What?” she managed at last to gasp out.
Both Linda and Sonya nodded. “And, they didn’t bat an eye at the price.”
Jessica dropped her fork, not noticing the salad that was now in her lap. “I just can’t believe it. They really think they will sell? After all these years! And I thought I was good at pottery.” Her voice was bewildered.
“You are good at that,” Sonya put in, “it’s just that you’re better at making bags with beads on them. I mean, if I could make those things, I wouldn’t be spending such long hours painting, though I do love it,” she added.
For several minutes Jessica just sat in stunned silence staring at nothing while her friends watched her with delighted smiles. Her dream of becoming one of the popular designer artists seemed a reality. What would her mother and uncle think of her? She was a success! Her name, Jessica Chang, would soon be known among the designer sphere. Life just now, was perfect.
“Come home.”
Abruptly she straightened up. “What did you say?”
Linda and Sonya looked puzzled. “We didn’t say anything. You must be imagining things.”
Shaking her head as though to clear the cobwebs, Jessica laughed. “I must be. This news has done something to me.”
“Well, I hope it doesn’t make you forget how to make those bags,” Sonya giggled.
Smiling, Jessica assured them it hadn’t.
Talking incessantly, as girls will when they have been apart for any length of time, the trio finished supper and cleaned up the kitchen. Jessica told her friends all about the art festival and then Linda and Sonya told her all the home news. It was rather late before the three girls turned in for the night.
As Jessica lay in her bed staring wide eyed at the ceiling, thinking of all the things that had happened in the last few days, that picture from the airport and its accompanying words kept flitting through her mind at odd moments. She couldn’t seem to get rid of them. In vain she told herself that she was home, that she was done with her past life in Washington forever. Still the words and picture haunted her.
When at last she drifted off to sleep, it was only to find herself walking in the old places she had loved so well as a child, and when she woke up she could still see the picture. Why were those thoughts bothering her? Maybe she just needed to call Mom. She would do that later this morning. On deciding that, she sprang from bed and dressed.

To be concluded next week. Will you be back?

Meleah's Western - Part 41

Wow! How can it be Western Wednesday again already?
I jest ain't sure. I have been a little busy. Enjoy part 41 and don't forget to come back on Friday for your Favorite Fiction!:)

Part 41

Joe didn’t know what to say, for he wasn’t about to admit that he had
begun to grow slightly worried himself at the long absence of his
father, brother and their companions. True, he didn’t know what they
had discovered or where they had gone, but surely, surely they would be
back soon. Now he could only try to comfort the girl in his arms, but
she was so upset, how could he? His heart went out to Sally in her
anguish and distress. Instinctively, almost without realizing it, his
arms tightened as though to protect her from the terror and fright that
beset her while in low tones he began to pray. One sure Refuge he knew
could help and comfort Sally and to this Refuge he turned.
It was several minutes before Sally’s heartrending cries subsided into
pitiable moans. She continued to tremble as she drew each shuddering
breath. Joe waited in silence for her to recover her composure. His own
emotions had been deeply stirred by seeing Sally so overcome.
A clatter of hooves in the yard outside had the effect of bringing
Sally’s face, streaked with tears though it was, out of her hands. Joe
released her and stepped to the window. “They’re back, Sally,” he told
her quietly.
Flying to the door, Sally threw it open and, on seeing Carson dismount,
rushed to fling her arms about him and begin to cry once more.
“Hey, what’s this? Sally, Ty ain’t--” and Carson looked at Joe quickly.
“No,” Joe answered the unspoken question. “He’s sick, but still alive.”
“Thank God!” Carson breathed earnestly. “Ya had me worried there,
Sally. What ya all upset ‘bout?”
“I thought they would get ya like they promised ta do to Ty,” she
whispered, shuddering again at the thought.
Carson hugged her close. “It weren’t them, Sally. Jest some cattle
thieves. We rounded ‘em up an’ Jim and his men are takin’ ‘em to the
sheriff right now. Jed an’ me thought we’d come back ta see how Ty
was.”
“Why don’t I take care of your horse for you, Carson,” Jed offered,
holding out his hand for the reins.
“I’m much obliged, Jed.” Carson patted Flint’s neck. “An’ would ya
check on Par?” he called.
“Sure.”
Carson was quiet as he followed Sally into the sick room and saw Ty
moaning and muttering on the bed. Jack was putting a new bandage on his
shoulder, but looked up as Carson approached.
“I’m glad you’re here,” he remarked softly. “Perhaps you can keep him
calm.”
Even as he spoke, Ty opened his eyes and began calling once again for
Carson, his tones hoarse and urgent. “Carson! Where are ya?”
“I’m here, Ty. Right beside ya,” Gripping his friend’s restless hand he
added, “What ya so worried for? I ain’t goin’ ta leave ya.”
“The letter, Carson,” gasped Ty, eyes fixed on the face above him. “Did
ya read it?”
“Sure, sure. Ain’t nothin’ ta get excited ‘bout.”
“But it’s from her!”
At that, Carson turned quickly and looked at Sally. What was Ty talking
about? What letter? Who was the “her” that had written it? Just as he
was about to ask, Ty spoke again.
“Dan! I ain’t stayin’ here.” His glazed eyes were fixed on Jack’s face
and his breathing was coming in gasps. “Give me the letter!” he
demanded.
“Hey, Ty, jest ease up, I got the letter. Dan ain’t goin’ ta touch it.
He ain’t got the brains ta get it from me. Now why don’t ya jest have a
drink,” as Jack hurriedly placed a cup in his hands and nodded at Ty.
“That’s it,” for Ty accepted from Carson’s hand the drink he had been
refusing from Jack for the last hour. “Now ya jest get some shut eye
an’ I’ll take care a some other things ‘round here. Deal?”
“Deal,” Ty murmured, worn out by his struggle.
Neither Carson nor Jack stirred from their posts until Ty’s deep,
steady breathing told them he was asleep at last. Then Jack drew a long
breath and let it out slowly. Standing up, he beckoned Carson to follow
him while Mrs. Fields slipped past them to take up her post.
Once all were out of the room, Jack turned to Carson. “Thank God you
came when you did. Another fifteen minutes of that raving could have
had dire results. He’s been calling for you most of the day.”
“An’ I weren’t here,” the regret in his voice was evident as he paced
the room.
“Well, I ain’t goin’ ta leave him now. Not if’n I have ta stay all
summer!”
The door opened and Jed came in. Curiously he glanced at the gathering,
noticing Carson’s disturbed face, Jack’s grim look and the worried and
sympathetic expressions Sally and Joe wore. “What’s going on? Is Ty
worse?”
Jack shook his head. “Worse than he was this morning, but not worse
than when you got here. Where are Pa and the men?”
In a few words Jed explained, adding in answer to Carson’s look, that
Par would be all right after a few days rest and that he had bandaged
his leg to give him more support.
“Uncle Bob,” Sally began hesitantly, “why didn’t Ty ask for me?”
The reply came slowly. “I reckon his mind’s gone back ta the time him
an’ me were off trappin’. Ya heard him talkin’ ‘bout that letter didn’t
ya?”
Sally nodded.
“Well, I kind a think that were the letter ya wrote when ya told him
‘bout yer pa’s sickness.”
“How do ya know?”
“’Cause a his talk ‘bout Dan.” Here he looked over at Jack with a
slight grin, “Hope ya won’t take it personal ‘bout what I said back
there.”
“About the not having brains?” Jack returned the smile, though his was
rather tired. “I long ago learned not to pay attention to what a sick
man says or those who are trying to calm him.”
“But Uncle Bob, who is Dan?”

Until next Western Wednesday.:)