Whomsoever

 Good morning dear readers,

Life is super busy these days. Somehow mixing camp and working on the house and other things equals crazy. Ready for a quick rundown? 

Last Friday: Finishers came to do the last coat of mud. My dad and I spend the afternoon and half the morning painting trim and doors. (And I hurt my back doing so because the saw-horses were a little too low.) I babysat my youngest niece (17 months) in the evening while the others watched my oldest niece play volleyball.

Saturday: We were ready for the guys to come do texturing at 8. They said they'd come at 9. They came at 10. I was also babysitting my youngest niece and nephew. 

Sunday: I taught in Children's Church, had a fellowship meal after church. Relaxed in the afternoon. Back hurting.

Monday: Wanted to paint but my back was in no shape. Tried to catch up on other things. Finally got to write 564 words!

Tuesday: Worked as an election judge all day.

Wednesday: Painted primer all day.

Thursday: Painted paint! Got one room, closet and the hall done. Went to my oldest niece's volleyball tournament in the evening. I didn't stay until the end. (I watched the first game she played and knew her team was heading to the championship, but that game didn't end up starting until 10:30 PM.)

Today: Finish the paining, install light covers, take up paper off floor, other things.

Our weather has been cold this week and some cloudy days. But it's supposed to warm back up into the 60s and 70s, so it will be nice to air out the house.

I hope you enjoy this short story. 

 

Whomsoever

 

    Mrs. Lane sat on the shady back porch her open Bible in her lap. But she wasn’t reading. Her eyes had stopped on the word “Whomsoever” and her mind had slipped back to a long time ago. Way back when her daughters were young.

*

    The sky looked like a watercolor painting. Blues, purples, pinks, and clouds of blended orange, yellow and pink. Along the horizon the colors had blended into a rosy red as the sun sank below the edge of the land. A moon, looking almost out of place sat in the middle of the sky and a flock of birds, only black silhouettes against the colorful sky, flew below it.
    “Amelie!” Mrs. Lane called.
    The little girl jumped from the swing and ran to the house. “What, Mama?”
    “Supper is almost ready. Will you go find your sister?”
    “May I have a drink first?”
    “Of course.” Mrs. Lane returned to the stove and her singing while her youngest daughter got a drink. “Whosoever will may come.”
    “Mama, what does whomsoever mean in the song?”
    “You mean whosoever?”
    Not sure what the difference was, Amalie nodded.
    “It means everyone. Anyone who wants to may come.”
    Her thirst quenched and thrilled by her mother’s words, Amelie dashed across the field and over the hill. She knew where her sister was playing. Any time she could, twelve-year-old Annalissa disappeared to the Caster’s home.
    The Casters were poor and shy. Mrs. Caster was sickly, Mr. Caster was out of work, and there were a dozen hungry children to keep fed and clothed. Annalissa enjoyed playing with the children, cuddling the baby, and helping out however she could.
    “Annalissa!” Amelie called, running down the hill. “Annalissa!”
    Annalissa appeared around the side of the barn holding the hand of a small dirty child. “Amelie, is something wrong?”
    Panting for breath, Amelie shook her head. “No, but Mama is inviting anyone who wants to for supper! She said whomsoever and said it means anyone can come!”
    “Are you sure?” Annalissa stared at her little sister.
    “I asked her what it mean and that’s what she said. The Casters can come for supper!”
    “But . . . but Mama doesn’t know I play with them, does she?”
    “I don’t know, but she said whomsoever and she had a big pot of soup on, so she must be expecting more than just us and Papa! Won’t that be just lovely?”
    Annalissa nodded. “Nobody’s very clean.”
    “That’s okay. She didn’t say anyone who was clean, but whomsoever will. They will won’t they?”
    “I’m sure they will. I don’t think Mr. or Mrs. Caster can come though. But I’ll get the rest. You run home and tell Mama I’m bringing them.”
    “All right!” Whirling, Amelie raced back home. “Mama! Mama, she’s bringin’ ‘em!”
    Mrs. Lane hurried out to the stoop. “Bringing who? Amelie what are you talking about?”
    “The whomsoever, Mama! The ones you were singing about. Annalissa is bringing them. It’s all the Caster children. They would like a good meal, and you didn’t say anyone who was clean. But they can wash their hands. Oh, Mama, won’t this be just the most splendid time? Is Papa home? Have you told him about whomsoever?”
    Feeling rather numb, Mrs. Lane could only shake her head and watch her daughter dance inside to repeat the story of the whomsoever to her father. “I guess I do have enough soup. I just won’t can any of it,” Mrs. Lane remarked to the darkening sky. “I never thought one word in a hymn would bring an entire houseful of young ones to dinner.”

*

    Mrs. Lane smiled. “I didn’t know at the time that I was feeding a future son-in-law, or that he would become a minister. Annalissa makes a lovely minister’s wife. And Amelie, well, she is still finding those ‘whomsoevers’ wherever she goes.”
 

Was your week busy?

Would you like the "whomsoever" to show up at your house?

How's the weather at your house?