Wonderful Peace – Part 2

Hi FFFs,

Yes, I have part 2 for you today. :)

How has your week been? Mine has been good though I haven't gotten as much done as I would have liked in my writing. Right now my story just doesn't want to come. I'm at my hardest part to write and it's just slow. Not because it isn't interested, but because I've always had a bit of trouble writing a long span of time with some information, but not a lot. I can do "Six weeks later . . ." or "The following month . . ." but when I have things I need to say, but no long scenes, just bits here and there, that's when it gets difficult. I need just a little more before I get to the longer scenes again. And I was also gone Wednesday evening when I had been planning to spend the entire evening writing. And I will be gone this evening to a music concert with my grandpa. Pray for inspiration. :)

Right now it's cold outside. At least the sky is clear right now and maybe, just maybe we'll have sunshine! I am SO ready for sunshine! It's been cloudy for days. Then we'll get one day with sun, and then more clouds. Add to that, we've had cold, and rain, but only a few flurries. We got a dusting of snow twice, but a dusting isn't really "snow." I would like just one good snowfall this winter!

Well, I'm going to keep this short today. I have other things I need to do, so I hope you enjoy this next part of the story.

Wonderful Peace

Part 2

    Arthur’s hand dropped to his side, and he leaned his weary head against the door frame while slow tears trickled down his dusty, pale cheeks. How often in years past he had heard that song sung by a voice as sweet as the one he now listened to.

“What treasure I have in this wonderful peace,
Buried deep in the heart of my soul;
So secure that no power can mine it away,
While the years of eternity roll.”

    “‘What a treasure’,” murmured Arthur to himself. “Wonderful peace.”
    “Have you found that peace, my friend?”
    The suddenness of the voice startled Arthur from his thoughts  and he turned quickly, swaying as he did so.
    “You are ill!” The exclamation was made as the speaker, a young man, tall and well built, put a strong arm out and steadied the traveler. “Come inside with me. You can’t spend it outside tonight. Come.” The newcomer, with a kind, persuasive voice, had unlocked the door and thrown it wide as he spoke.
    Trembling with excitement, fear and exhaustion Arthur allowed himself to be drawn inside and the door shut behind him. When he heard the refrain pour out of a brightly lit room into the dimly lighted entry way he hesitated, listening. No longer was it just the one and then two voices which he had heard from the porch, but his ear now caught the sound of others, not as pure in sound as the first, but as sweet.
    “Come,” the young man beside him again urged quietly, “you can listen from the same room.”
    But Arthur held back. “Wait,” he said hoarsely, gripping the arm beside him but leaning on his stick. “I . . . I . . .”
    The man turned and waited quietly.
    “Let me hear it from here,” Arthur begged as another verse began.

“And me-thinks when I rise to the City of peace,
Where the Author of peace I shall see,
That one strain of the song which the ransomed will sing,
In that heavenly kingdom shall be . . .”

    The swelling refrain seemed to sweep over the two men standing silent in the hall; one with eyes staring vacantly before him, the other watching his companion and silently praying that this soul would find the peace being sung about.

“Ah! soul, are you here without comfort or rest,
Marching down the rough pathway of time?
Make Jesus your friend ere the shadows grow dark;
Oh, accept this sweet peace so sublime.”

    As the beautiful song continued, Arthur closed his eyes and listened, unaware that a puzzled expression was crossing the face of his companion.

“Peace! Peace! wonderful peace,
Coming down from the Father above;
Sweep over my spirit forever, I pray,
In fathomless billows of love.”

    The last refrain died away in the air, but still Arthur seemed to hear the echo repeating those precious lines until he was roused from his memories by the pressure of a hand grasping his arm gently. He still felt dazed and when at last he stood in the doorway of the brightly lighted room he heard, as in a dream, the man beside him say, “John, will you draw a chair near the fire? He must be chilled through. Katie, pour a cup of coffee for him, will you? I found him on the porch, Father.”
    With an effort, Arthur pulled away from the hand guiding him to a chair and stopped, eagerly searching the room with his eyes. At last, spying an older woman with greying hair seated in an easy chair near the fire, he staggered forward, dropping to his knees beside her and burying his face in her lap, crying, “Mother! Oh Mother! Mother!” while his shoulders shook with great sobs.
    The hands that lifted his head trembled and the soft, gentle voice quivered. “Arthur?” It was a tender touch those hands had as they held the tired face so their owner could look deep into the eyes of the wanderer. “Oh it is! It is my boy, my son!” The tears of mother and son mingled together on both cheeks as they held one another in a long, emotional embrace.
    “Oh Mother,” Arthur choked, trying to swallow back his tears, “I . . . I . . . I’ve missed you so!”
    “And I you, my son, my little boy!” Neither mother nor son gave heed to any other around them as they held one another close.
    “Arthur.”
    With a great effort, the traveler wrenched his eyes from his mother’s dear face and looked up. His father was standing beside the chair, tears trickling down his cheeks. Suddenly Arthur noticed that his father had aged. There were many lines upon that dear face which had not been there when he left. “Father . . .” his voice quivered, “will, . . . will you take me back?”
    In answer the father’s arms reached out and pulled him into such a strong yet tender embrace that the son never forgot it, while he whispered in a voice husky with emotion, “This my son was dead and is alive again. He was lost and is found. Oh, Heavenly Father, I thank you!”
    Arthur felt his knees start to buckle and he swayed.
    “Here, Father,” he heard the young man who had brought him in say. “Let John and me help him to the chair, he’s exhausted. Do you have that coffee, Katie?” Strong arms supported him across to the easy chair and Arthur heard the voice again. “Here, Art, drink some of this. It’s a chilly night to be out and about.”
    Blinking in the glare of the fire, Arthur took a swallow of the hot coffee and then looked earnestly at the young man before him. “Davy?”
    “Yes, Art, it’s me,” answered the young man who had discovered him on the porch, as he took the coffee cup from the hands that trembled. “Welcome home, brother,” he said quietly and grasped the cold hands held out to him.

If you write stories, what is your most difficult part to write?

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Have you gotten much snow this winter?

Wonderful Peace – Part 1

Good morning Friday Fiction Fans,

I was looking for a story to share this morning, and decided on another one from "The Lower Lights" only I discovered that I've never posted it on this blog! So, if you've never read the collection of stories in "The Lower Lights," you can read this story now. Well, part of it. ;) It will take a few weeks to get through the entire thing. This is a story I'd like to publish as a kindle book, along with "By Bus with Vickie" and just about every unpublished shorter story I've written. ;)

This story came to me after I saw a photo by my best friend of a skyline against a sunset. Only in the picture there was no church steeple. The rest of the story just came.

This has been a good week. I taught writing classes, wrote, planned out the timeline for the rest of "Hymns in the Hills" so maybe I can finish it. And just in case you were wondering, when I said plan, I don't mean everything. I simply jotted down the events that I knew were coming, put them in order so I wouldn't get mixed up, and figured out how many weeks I had left before the end of the story arrived.  Now I need to go write.

I did get the new cover for "The Lower Lights" designed. Thanks to Ryana Lynn and Lissa for volunteering to design one. I would have let either of you, but I accidentally designed it myself. ;) But there are other stories I'd be happy to have someone design covers for. (I'd love to get most of stories into kindle format, but don't have the time to design covers for them all, so if anyone needs practice, I'm open to that.)

Anyway, here are the two different covers:

 

The old cover 

 

The new cover

Anyway, here's your story for today. I hope you enjoy it.

Wonderful Peace

Part 1

    Pausing on the top of the rise, Arthur Fowler dropped his pack and sank down on top of it, gasping for breath. With trembling hand he pulled out a worn handkerchief and wiped the perspiration from his face. His feet, his legs, especially his wounded right one, his back, all ached with the days of travel, and his throat felt parched with thirst.
    Noticing the darkening sky for the first time, Arthur looked up and caught his breath. The sun was barely above the treetops; a brilliant light nearly white. The sky around it was a glowing reddish-orange fading into a softer gold which then seemed to melt into the darker powder blue of the evening sky. The trees were black silhouettes while from among them, reaching up into the sky, black against the glories of the sun, rose a church steeple. Its top looking sharp and pointed; a landmark pointing the way home. Beside it a wispy trail of smoke rose and floated away on the cool evening breeze.
    “Does it come from the manse?” breathed Arthur, a catch in his voice. Everything grew blurry and he blinked back tears. Oh for a sight of that manse and those within! “Come on, Fowler, get going,” he chided himself, grasping his stout walking stick and rising with difficulty then slinging his pack onto his back once more. “I don’t have much farther to go, unless,— No,” he told himself fiercely, “They have to be there! They must. When I’m so close—” He left off thinking about anything except putting one aching, blistered foot after the other.
    The sun slipped down behind the church steeple and in the growing gloom of twilight Arthur stumbled over unseen rocks and tripped on broken branches. On he trudged, on towards that friendly smoke, on towards that steeple which had become only a faint shadow in the darkened sky. The trees loomed larger. Panting, coughing, gasping for breath, he wouldn’t give up. “I didn’t come this far to quit,” he thought grimly as his knees buckled, and he fell forward. “Even if I have to crawl the rest of the way!”
    After resting a moment, Arthur grasped his walking stick and pulled himself up once more. He leaned on it heavily as he continued his slow, weary way.
    At last he reached the edge of town. The street lights had been lit and shone brightly along the main road. Everything looked pretty much the same, the traveler noted, as it had a dozen years ago. All was quiet though lights glowed behind closed curtains in nearly every house he passed. The stores were nearly all shut up for the night, and Arthur halted before the little drug store.
    “What day is today?” he asked of the little old man who was just closing up.
    “Eh? What’s that? What day is it?” The man peered at him from under bushy eyebrows looking him up and down. “Been traveling, have you? A soldier?”
    “Yes to both.”
    “Come far?”
    Again Arthur nodded. “And today?”
    “Today? Oh, yes . . . I say, you must have been traveling far if you don’t know what day it is. Why young man, it’s Tuesday. Just two days after the Lord’s day and two days before the prayer meeting.”
    “Thank you,” Arthur started on but he hadn’t gotten more than a few steps when the old man’s voice made him stop.
    “I say, soldier, you look as though you ought to be in bed. Got any place to stay tonight? I think it’s going to get down right cold. If you need a place, you can stay with me. It might not be much but it’d sure beat sleeping outside tonight.”
    Arthur coughed. “I think I have a place. Thank you though.”
    “Well, if you should need a place after all, just come on over. I live just behind my shop here, two houses down on 3rd street.”
    Again Arthur nodded and started forward. He didn’t need told where Mr. Gann lived. He knew. He wanted to ask him about the folks in the manse, but somehow he just couldn’t.
    Turning the corner, Arthur could see the front of the church. He was almost there. The windows were dark but standing in front of the steps, the exhausted man looked up. He had to tip his head far back to see the top of the spire against the star studded sky. “It’s been so long,” he murmured, grasping his stick and starting on around the church to the manse behind it.
    There were lights on in the front room and he could smell the smoke from the chimney and knew a bright fire was blazing in the fireplace. He had made it, but as he wearily climbed the steps to the porch, he couldn’t help but wonder what reception he would be given. As he lifted a trembling hand to give a timid rap, a soft strain of music came to him from behind the closed door. Then in the quietness of the evening, a sweet voice was heard singing. Arthur froze, his hand uplifted, straining to listen.

“Far away in the depths of my spirit tonight
Rolls a melody sweeter than psalm;
In celestial-like strains it unceasingly falls
O’re my soul like an infinite calm.”

    And then the sweet voice was joined by another deeper one and together their voices blended in the soothing refrain:
“Peace! Peace! wonderful peace,
Coming down from the Father above;
Sweep over my spirit forever, I pray,
In fathomless billows of love.”

    Arthur’s hand dropped to his side, and he leaned his weary head against the door frame while slow tears trickled down his dusty, pale cheeks. How often in years past he had heard that song sung by a voice as sweet as the one he now listened to.

Have you read "The Lower Lights"?

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The Lower Lights - Part 2

Good morning, FFFs,
How are you all doing today? I'm feeling much better than last week. My cough is nearly gone, and I don't feel draggy. But now my sister is fighting it. Hopefully it won't last long.
I decided to postpone my writing classes until next week so maybe I wouldn't share this germ. I think most of my students were okay with that. But one was NOT happy! He loves writing class and doesn't want to miss any classes, doesn't want to end, and certainly does not want to postpone classes! You've got to love a student like that! :)

I've had a very productive week and have gotten things done that were on my "do as soon as you can" list. Like updates on my website. And proof listening to "Dylan's Story." Cleaning out some things, putting things away, and feeling like I'm actually ready to start a new semester of writing classes.

Oh, and guess what else I've been doing! Writing! Yep, I'm finally getting back into it! And I'm loving it. :) So far I've been able to write every evening this week (except Sunday) and am almost to my goal of 5k words. "Hymns in the Hills" is moving along. I don't know when it'll be done and ready for beta readers because I have no idea how much is left of the story, but I'm hoping it won't be too much longer.

Speaking of beta readers, I'm going to be contacting everyone who has signed up on my beta reader list, just to make sure everyone is still wanting to do it. I know life gets busy and things change, so before I write everyone down on my new pages, I want to check.

I hope you enjoy the last part of this short story. I want to design a new cover for the book that contains "Lower Lights" but I haven't done anything yet. I have the original trolley picture I used. Anyone want to volunteer to try?

The Lower Lights - Part 2
by
Rebekah M.

Last time . . .

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.”
Silence fell on the two men for several seconds, then Perry pulled out his pocket watch and looked at the time. “I think we should--”
What he thought they should do wasn’t finished for at that moment he spied the limping form of someone heading towards the trolley waving his hand.
“It looks like we have ourselves a passenger, Perry,” Oscar remarked opening the door and stepping down to give a helping hand.
It was a young soldier evidently just returned from war. He was breathing heavily as he climbed aboard and sank into a seat. “Thank you for waiting for me,” he managed to gasp out while fishing in his pocket for his fare.
Oscar stopped him. “Soldiers ride this car for nothing.”
The young man smiled faintly.
“Where are you headed, sir?” Perry questioned as with a toot of his whistle he pulled ahead.
“Home. I’ve been gone nearly three years.”
“Are you getting ready to go to that other Home that is waiting?” Perry’s thoughts never strayed far from their Anchor and Hope.
The young soldier gazed out the window and then at last turned. Perry’s eyes were on the road before him, but he heard the reply
“Sir, I hadn’t thought much about it before I left for war, but since then, the sights and everything, well, I just couldn’t help myself. But I don’t know how to get there.”
Perry stopped the car before another empty station and turning towards the young man, smiled. “Let me show you how.” And right then and there, he showed this young soldier the way to his eternal Home.

Stopping only at noon to eat their lunches, Mr. Perry Randall and his conductor continued their rounds of the city in their trolley car. Now and then the stations were empty, but for the most part one or two persons waited. As one lady stepped on she said, “I don’t care to ride those other trolleys. Why, one of the drivers never smiles and most of the time looks like he would rather eat you than give you a ride. No sir, I’ll ride this car till it doesn’t run anymore!”

It was late in the day when a half intoxicated man stumbled up the steps to sink down and mutter, “Take me to --nth street,” before falling into a sleep.
Oscar and Perry looked at each other. Neither one had caught the street name exactly. It could have been 9th or 19th.
“What street shall we take him to?” Oscar questioned, eyeing their passenger doubtfully.
“I say let’s see when we get there,” was the reply as they again started on their way.
As 9th Street approached, Perry and Oscar glanced about. “Humph,” murmured Perry softly to his companion. “Three down and out saloons and two ‘licensed hotels.’ I don’t think he should stop here. . . . No, look,” he added, nodding towards the right. “There is even a poor fellow sent out no doubt to entice the likes of our passenger into more misery and sin. I can’t dump him off here, Oscar. That would be as bad as deliberately turning out the light so a ship would crash on the rocks.”
“Let’s try 19th street. Or we could take him all the way to 29th if we had to.”
Arriving at 19th street, Perry saw to his joy that there were no saloons or hotels. Instead there was a well dressed man standing at the station, not as though he were waiting for the trolley, but as though he were waiting for someone. Pulling to a stop, Mr. Randall opened the door and leaning out called, “Mr. Stanfford, are you by any chance looking for a young man that needs help?”
The man in question looked up with a smile as he recognized the speaker. “I don’t know but I am,” he replied. “I felt compelled to come here, but I need to return to the mission soon. Do you have someone who needs me?”
“We have someone who needs more than you. Come.”

Mr. Stanfford sprang up the steps and with a little difficulty, succeeded in getting the half intoxicated stranger off the trolley and started with him to the mission.
“I think this was the street he was supposed to get off on.”
“Yep,” Oscar nodded.

As the afternoon wore on, the crowds once again became larger and some of the same folks they had taken to work, Mr. Perry, Oscar and their trolley were now carrying home.
“How was your day, Mr. Smits?”
“Not too bad, thank you, Mr. Perry.”
“Mrs. Martin, did you have many customers?”
The neatly dressed woman smiled, “Not too many, but enough to keep the little ones clothed and fed, thank God.” And she moved on to take her seat.
To some Perry gave a kind word and others a pleasant inquiry, to each he gave a smile.

At last, the day over, Perry drove the faithful old trolley back to the shed where someone would prepare it for tomorrow. Stepping down from his place beside the controls, Perry shook hands with his conductor.
“’Night, Oscar. Tell the missus I said hello and hope she’s feeling better.”
“Thank you, Perry. Good-night.” And the friends parted, each going a different direction to his home.
As Perry strolled along, he again broke into singing the song that had been with him all day. He didn’t know how far his “lower light” had shown, but he knew who kept the “Lighthouse” and He would take care of the rest. Little did he know what sunshine his smile had brought to many a weary person, the rejoicing in heaven over the return of the soldier, the young nurse kneeling that moment by her chair or the drunkard, pondering how he had reached the mission when he had planned to go to the saloon, all because of his bright light.

“Brightly beams ou--r Father’s mer--cy,
From his light--house ever more,
But to us, He gives the kee--ping,
Of the lights a--long the shore.”

The Lower Lights - Part 1

Oh, Hello.

I really don't know what day it is! I've been on vacation at my grandparents since Sunday, and just got home yesterday. While I was there I got the lovely sinus/cold that my grandpa had. So I'm not feeling as energized as I might wish. Even though I got the cough and stuff, we did have a good time up there. We didn't do much but visit, work puzzles, and hang out. But it was good. Grandpa and I did play 2 rounds of ping-pong for old time's sake. (That's something we use to do every time I was up, but he's 89 now and isn't quite up to our vigorous games.)

I have a lot of things to catch up on, take care of, and plan, so I'll be busy today. Oh, and I think I'll take a nap. I know this is late and short, but I just can't think of what else to tell you.

This story was originally written a long time ago and is published in "Lower Lights and Other Stories," but I thought I'd share it today.

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.”

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