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.
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.
“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.”
From his light--house ever more,
But to us, He gives the kee--ping,
Of the lights a--long the shore.”
What kind of cover did you have in mind? I'm no professional, but I like playing around with design and this would be good practice.
ReplyDeleteI'll send you an email. :)
ReplyDeleteHey Rebekah! I was going to volunteer to do the cover, but I saw Ryana Lynn beat me to it. 😉 I would still be willing if you are still looking for someone. My sister and I are going to start a cover designing company together - sometime soon, we hope. 😁 (It also took me 3 days to get this comment to you. I was sure I already had. Lol.
ReplyDeleteHi, Lissa!
ReplyDeleteThanks for being willing to create a cover. If you need any stories to work with for practice, I have plenty of short stories that I'd love to turn into kindle books. :) Just let me know. (Feel free to check out any on this blog if you want.)
Ha, I know all about thinking you'd commented or emailed. I've done that quite a few times. ;)
By the way, I love seeing your name come up because my main character in my book "Through the Tunnel" is named Lissa. :)