The Emancipation . . . - Part 5

Good morning Faithful Friday Fiction Fans,

What a week! I didn't go anywhere except to church on Sunday. No one came over, we didn't babysit any nieces or nephews, but still, it was a bit crazy. Why?

Well, Saturday wasn't too bad, and Sunday I worked in the nursery and then got to read an entire book in the afternoon, so that was nice. Then came Monday.

The 3-2-1 Write! blog party started Monday morning. And, while it wasn't crazy busy, it did mean I had to keep an eye on things, read all the other author's posts, and answer comments and things, while also doing other stuff.

Tuesday was a fairly slow day at the party. Not many comments or things. So I decided to see if I could find an image that looked like "Dylan" in my story. Do you have any idea how long that could take? A LONG time. I ended up with a couple possibilities and decided to just play around and see if any would work. My plan was to find a picture and then get someone else to do the cover. Think again. I started trying a few things. The first one was "blah". Not going to use that. Tried a different picture and a different background. Within fifteen minutes I had a mock cover! And it's been approved by at least three other people. Next I worked on an idea for "Finding Joy." You see, while searching for "Dylan" I found "Paige" from "Finding Joy." (Could someone please tell me while a woman showed up on a page when I was searching for 'boys'?) It had to have been my Heavenly Father's blessing. Again, 15-20 minutes later, the mock cover for that book was done. Now I just have to finish writing the book!

So, my brain was wanting to create the real covers, but I was busy on Wednesday with more party stuff as things picked up. I also decided to get myself a second NEO so I'd have a backup. And I thought I'd offer to get any others one as well.

Yesterday was the end of the party with winners announced and prizes given out. I had to send several wrap-up emails to all the authors who helped host the party. Then I was doing this and that, and my brain wanted to do some other things, and I wanted to write "Finding Joy" but I'm waiting to hear back from someone about something that I know nothing about, and I didn't, so I didn't write, and my brain kept going on and on kind of like this sentence which really should stop as you most likely have already given up.

Yep, it's been a busy week. :)

But now maybe you can enjoy the last part of this story. :) I'd love to know your final thoughts on it. And come back next week because I'm hoping to start posting my "Author" story. (It has no name yet and it isn't finished, but . . . When has that stopped me?) I probably wouldn't have made this first part so long except that I was told this is what several people read. So . . . ;)

The Emancipation of

Chester Reginald Donavan; Esquire

Part 5

    That night Chester didn’t sleep well. He kept waking up. He had been so tired and exhausted the night before that he hadn’t noticed the hard ground nor how cold his nose got. Now it was different. If he had had his iPhone, things would have been better, he assured himself, not once thinking that he might not be able to get reception way out there in the middle of nowhere. If he had his iPhone he could have sent out a message on Facebook or Twitter that he and the little E-bay man were lost and where they were. But just where were they? Chester had no idea and finally fell asleep wondering.

    The following day found Chester Reginald Donavan, Esq., restless and completely out of sorts. He had never had to rely on his own creativity when he was bored, and he found it too much work to try now. Finally when the afternoon had come the little E-bay man suggested they try to figure out just where they were using their compasses and maps. Chester agreed reluctantly.
    When evening came, the little E-bay man began to point out the constellations to his companion, and Chester, much to his own astonishment, found this to be very fascinating, and it was quite late before they turned in.
    For three more days the two companions busied themselves with learning all they could about living out in the wild. It was really the little E-bay man who started it, and he was the teacher, for he had grown up loving things of this sort. Chester, having never thought about them before, found them to hold an almost irresistible fascination for his quick brain. Before long he had forgotten his missing iPhone and even the fact that the day for his great test as a lawyer was fast approaching while he remained stuck in the mountain wilderness. He grew eager to test and try the things his companion told him about and didn’t even notice that the days were growing colder and shorter.
    It was the fifth night after that memorable one of his tent collapsing that Chester and the little E-bay man were sitting beside their camp fire gazing into the flames.
    “You know,” Chester remarked, “I’ll be sad when this trip is over. I never knew that the real world was so interesting. I’ve always lived in the world of computer games, fast food, TV, internet, fancy cars and iPhones.” He added the last with a laugh. “I always thought everything else was dull and worthless. I’m beginning to see things from a new perspective.”
    “Good. Do you think you’ll want to go on another camping trip?”
    “Absolutely!” Chester was enthusiastic and for several minutes talked about what he had learned. “But you know,” he added quietly after a little while of silence, “I think the thing that has made the biggest impression on me is what you said that first day about a designer making everything. I’m not sure I buy into the creation account yet, but I’m going to do some serious studying.”
    The little E-bay man was silent, and for several more minutes they sat thus, each busy with his own thoughts.
    At last Chester spoke again. “Hey, E-bay, look at those clouds over in the north west. Think they mean anything?”
    Turning around, the little E-bay man studied the bank of clouds for a minute before saying, “It looks like snow.”
    “Really! That ought to make things interesting. Do you think it will be a lot or just a dusting like the peaks over there got this morning?”
    His companion shrugged. “That’s one thing I can’t say for sure. Hopefully it will just be a dusting. But what say we turn in?”

    When Chester crawled out of his tent the next morning, he discovered a dusting of snow had fallen during the night and the sky was overcast. The distant peaks were nearly white though the valley below them was still golden brown. Chester got the fire going and was fixing breakfast when the little E-bay man emerged from his tent.
    “See, I’m getting the hang of this camping out stuff,” Chester laughed. “Another few days and I’ll be an expert. Well,” he admitted as the little E-bay man gave a snort. “Okay, not quite, but it’s an improvement.”
    To this his companion agreed, and they began to partake of the hot food. Suddenly the little E-bay man paused and cocked his head as though listening. Chester listened too and thought he could hear voices. Was it his imagination or was a rescue party really coming? The two men were on their feet, eyes searching for signs of other humans. At last with a shout, Chester pointed to the valley in the distance. There indeed was a group heading their way!
    “Come on,” the little E-bay man ordered. “Let’s get this camp packed up so we can leave. I think a storm might be on its way.”
    With no more words, the two men began a rapid packing up of their gear. But when Chester came to take down his tent,
    “E-bay!” he hollered, “How in the world do you get these stake things out of the ground? What did you do, cement them in?”
    Both men chuckled as E-bay showed Chester the easiest way to pull out a stake, and then helped him fold and pack his tent.
    “I hope I can set it up without the instructions next time. If I can’t, I’ll be calling you up, E-bay.”
    “On that iPhone of yours no doubt.”
    “Why of course. And I was thinking of checking on E-bay for a warm jacket.”

    By the time the rescue party reached the two lost campers, they were packed and ready to go. The Park rangers were greatly relieved to find neither one injured and set off at once, for a snow storm was blowing in.

Do you think Chester went hiking again?

Did you attend the party this week?

Will you be back next week?

The Emancipation . . . - Part 4 and an Invitation

Good morning,

I'm not sure if anyone is reading this story or not (except perhaps Christian), but I don't have anything new to post. So if you don't like it, well you can wait until this story is over and see what I post then. I don't know what I'll post next.

This week is disappearing quickly. The kids went home Sunday late afternoon, and I've actually gotten 1,000 words written each day so far. I've also been working on another project. In fact, here is your invitation!

We have great prizes, lots of information, and fun! I hope you'll come join us.

Now I'll let you get to reading. If you are even interested in this story.

The Emancipation of

Chester Reginald Donavan; Esquire

Part 4 

     “Stay calm and let me have a look at this mess. You sure did manage--” but the little E-bay man left the rest unfinished, and propping up his flashlight where it would do the most good, set about trying to free his captive companion. This was no easy task, for in his twisting and turning search for his flashlight, Chester had unknowingly rolled over the front zipper thus trapping himself inside. It was with great difficulty that he was at last coaxed into rolling back and that only after a fire had been built which gave added light to the rescuer’s efforts. It was a good forty minutes before Chester was at last standing in the open, a shivering and shaking figure.
    “Here, take this coat and go sit by the fire while I set this back up.” The little man gave Chester a gentle shove towards the bright blaze and turned back to the tent. “Why, where are all your stakes?” he exclaimed in astonishment.
    “I d-didn’t think I’d n-need them all,” admitted Chester, teeth chattering from cold. “And I hit m-my thumb so m-many times, I thought it w-wasn’t w-worth it,” he added to justify his actions or lack of them.
    With a shake of his head, the other man went to work and in short order had the tent up and properly staked and had found the missing flashlight. “Now,” he asked coming over to the fire, “do you think you can go to sleep again? The tent is set up and there are still several hours before daylight comes.” He yawned. “And I for one could use some more shut eye.”
    “I think I can if you are sure it won’t fall again?”
    “I’m sure.”
    “I think I’ll take my flashlight into my sleeping bag this time. Just in case.”

    For several hours Chester lay rigid and stiff in his sleeping bag inside his tent. He was wide awake. Never in all his thirty-one years of life had he ever slept outside separated from the elements by only a nylon tent. Every sound that came through the thin wall seemed to his ears to be as loud as the train near his house. But this was the wilderness! This was an untamed mountainside miles from anyone except the little E-bay man. He wondered what his friend Michael would say to this story. “He’d probably laugh and think it a good joke,” he thought. “Wish I had my iPhone. I’d text him. Hmm, what would I tell him?” For the next several minutes he composed all sorts of texts that he would enjoy sending if only he could. Finally just before dawn broke, he fell asleep.

    “So, E-bay, when do we pack up camp and head out again?” The two men were finishing up their breakfast and enjoying the warm sun as they drank their last cups of coffee.
    “Well, I think we’ll just stay here.”
    “Here? Why?”
    “For one, it’s a good place to camp: water, plenty of wood for the fire, shelter, a nice view. And since we are lost, we should stay in one place so they can find us. It is always harder to find someone if they keep moving. Besides,” the little E-bay man added, “it’s awfully hard hiking with feet covered in blisters.”
    Chester looked down at his stocking feet and grimaced. That was true. His feet ached at the very thought of boots.
    “You know, you should always try to break in your new hiking boots before you go on a hike. It’s easier on the feet.”
    “How long did it take to break yours in?”
    The little E-bay man glanced down at his warm, but quite comfortable boots. “Oh I don’t know, they were slightly used when I got them off of E-bay--”
    Chester groaned. “Do you get everything off of E-bay?”
    “Just about. Like I said, it’s kind of a hobby.”
    Chester nodded. Strangest hobby he’d ever heard of.
    “So, what do we do all day? Sit here like two old men?” Sarcasm flooded each word that broke the long silence.
    The little E-bay man laughed. He did a lot of laughing, Chester noticed. “I suppose we could, but we could at least talk about something. You know, have a discussion. I didn’t say an argument. We might even venture for a short walk if you feel up to it, or if your feet do, I should say.”
    “My feet don’t want to move right now.”
    “Well then, suppose you pick a topic and we’ll start talking.”

    Talk they did, and even though the little E-bay man said they weren’t to argue, they came mighty close to it several times, especially when the little E-bay man made a statement that the world was created by a Creator, and Chester declared it evolved over millions of years. Most of that day they did nothing but talk. And it was nearing the late afternoon hours before a lull came over them.
    “When do you think they’ll find us?” Chester questioned somewhat hesitatingly for he wasn’t sure he really wanted to know the answer.
    His companion shrugged. “It could be this evening or it might not be for a couple of days.”
    “A couple of days?” Chester had never thought of that possibility. “I can’t possibly live without my iPhone for that long!”
    The little E-bay man shrugged again. “Then I guess you’ll die if it takes them a while. I think you could at least try to survive so I’m not alone. But seriously, it could take them that long because they first have to figure out we’re gone, and then figure out where we got lost and if we got lost together or separately and then find out which direction we went and then find us. Sound complicated?”
    When Chester nodded, he added, “Believe me it is more complicated to find us than it is to find good bargains on E-bay.”
  
    And so the hours passed into evening with Chester grumbling and complaining about his missing iPhone while his companion, the little E-bay man, sought to divert his thoughts and to cheer him up. Lurking in the back of Chester’s mind was worry. Worry that they would never be found, worry that they’d run out of food, worry that he wouldn’t get back home in time for this important case he was working on.

Have you ever gotten lost while hiking?

Do you shop on E-bay?

Will you be coming to the party next week?

The Emancipation . . . - Part 3

Good morning FFFs,

It's a very noisy morning. The birds are singing loudly and have been for probably over an hour. And, Ti-K (niece #2) age, 2, and Lukesters (nephew #4) age 4, decided they should get up at 6:30 this AM. We sent them back to bed until 7. But Ti-K decided that she needed to sing. I wish I had a recording of her singing her own version of "To God Be the Glory" and "Jesus Loves Me" or a mixture of both. Absolutely adorable.

We don't just have Ti-K and Lukesters, Sissy is also here with us. We'll have these three until late Sunday afternoon. And they've been here since Wednesday morning. The other three boys are at their other grandparents, and their parents are at a homeschool conference.

So, I haven't done must writing this week. Only one night of it as Monday night we attended a baseball game. (First time to do that!) Hopefully next week I can write more. I did sign up for Camp NaNo in July. But I'm hoping to do some sprinting this month with "Finding Joy."

Ti-K is very busy this morning. She was building train tracks, and when one broke she said, "Oops-y Sketty oh!" :) Now she's got her baby in the stroller. Oh, and last night we got to see two "boing-boings." (Translated: rabbits)

Enjoy this next part of this story.

The Emancipation of

Chester Reginald Donavan; Esquire

Part 3

    When Chester discovered his loss he began to fume and fuss, for without that paper he could never hope to get the tent set up. “E-bay!” he shouted.
    “Do you need some help,” a perfectly calm voice replied behind him.
    “I guess so,” growled Chester. “My directions blew away and I can’t get this ridiculous thing set up.”
    “The wind does like to blow things up here. Have to be careful to put something heavy on the light things or stake them down or we’ll wind up losing ‘em.” The little E-bay man worked as he talked and soon had the small one-man tent set up. “All that needs done now is to stake it down. I usually stake it first, but with this size it doesn’t matter.”
    “Thanks.”
    “No problem. Think you can stake it while I go start the supper?”
    At Chester’s nod, he walked away leaving his young companion to hammer in the stakes. After hitting his thumb three times to every two he hit the stake, Chester managed to get the first stake in. Then he glanced with dismay at all the stakes still left. “There is no way I need that many stakes,” he mumbled to himself. “Besides, I don’t have that many thumbs left. If I just put one on the opposite corner I should be fine. I mean it can’t blow away because I’ll be in it.”
    In a minute he was done and leaving his pack in the tent he limped over to the fire with his mess kit.
    “All set up?”
    “Yeah.”
    “Well the food’s ready. Dig in.”
    Chester needed no second invitation for he was ravenous after hiking all day. He did notice the momentary pause and bowing of the head of his companion, however, and thought, “Great, not only is he some E-bay freak but also a religious nut no doubt.” Then he shrugged and continued eating.
    Finally both men were satisfied, and their cooking and eating dishes having been cleaned, they were packed away in their packs again. The sun was setting in the west and one by one the stars were beginning to show themselves to the two solitary beings on the mountain. A cold wind blew down upon them as they sat before the fire. Chester shivered in his windbreaker and sighed.
    “If it weren’t for my feet hurting so much I’d go dig out my coat.”
    “Here,” The little E-bay man tossed a jacket to him. “I always carry an extra one just in case it is needed. What’s wrong with your feet?”
    Chester put on the jacket, though it was rather a snug fit, and immediately felt the difference as the wind could no longer get through to him. “Blisters.”
    “Take your boots off. It won’t hurt you to walk the short way to your tent without them. Besides you should be careful about blisters. They are mighty uncomfortable if they get infected.”
    Chester followed this advice and then sat toasting his stocking feet before the flickering flames of the camp fire.
    “E-bay,” he finally asked, “What do you do?”
    The little man laughed. “You know I rather like that name you’ve given me. It kind of fits. I’m a teacher in a local high school back home, and as a hobby I buy and sell on E-bay. In fact that is where I got most of my gear. It saves money if you know how to use it right. And what about you? Did I hear you say something about having a case?”
    “Yeah, I’m a lawyer. Just passed the bar six months ago. I’ve won every case I’ve tried. Of course they were easy. I don’t know why they even bothered going to court about them, but it gave me some easy dough.” Chester yawned. He hadn’t noticed it before but he was really tired. More tired than he remembered being for a very long time. In fact, he was so tired he didn’t even remember his missing iPhone.
    The little E-bay man also yawned and stretching asked, “What say we turn in for the night?”
    “Great idea!”

    How long he had slept Chester Reginald Donavan, Esq., had no idea. Undoubtedly it had been for some hours, but he was so exhausted he never stirred until he was startled awake by something falling on top of him. For a moment he tried to realize where he was, then it hit him. He was camping in the mountains. Then what had fallen? He could hear the wind roaring and could feel a small cold draft coming from a crack in the top of his sleeping bag. He didn’t want to stir from his cozy, warm nest, but he had to know what had happened. In a dazed, still half-asleep manner he wriggled and squirmed and tried to sit up. That is when he discovered to his great amazement that he couldn’t do it. Instantly he was wide awake. Reaching out a hand he could feel the cold nylon sides of the tent on either side and Great Scott! It was over his sleeping bag too! His tent had fallen down! Where was his flashlight? He knew it had to be somewhere for he had had it when he went to bed. In his frantic searching he soon became all twisted up in his sleeping bag, and he still couldn’t find the flashlight. The roaring of the wind sounded to him like a vicious beast about to attack. Where was that light? He felt himself growing panicked. “Stay calm,” he whispered, but the very fright in his voice only added to his terror and when his foot, which was somewhere down in the tightly tangled, twisted mess, bumped against something hard, Chester Reginald Donavan, Esq., the great budding lawyer let out a yell so loud that it awakened echoes up and down the mountain side. “E-bay!”
    Chester was trembling in fright. He didn’t dare move, but he felt as though he couldn’t breathe. There was no air! The tent was flat! He was hopelessly trapped! Just when he felt he could stand the strain no longer, a deep but perfectly calm and even slightly amused voice sounded, and a light was played back and forth over where he lay.
    “So, you having a little problem? If you are cold, I really wouldn’t recommend knocking down your tent. Do you want a little help?”
    “Just get me out!” came Chester’s wavering voice.

Have you ever been stuck in a collapsed tent?

Do you follow written directions or attempt things on your own?

Do you like to sleep in or get up early?

The Emancipation . . . - Part 2

Good morning FFFs,

It's a lovely morning here. The windows are open, the birds chirping and singing. It's a little cloudy and there is a chance of rain later today, but right now it is perfect. Not too warm or too chilly. It makes me want to go for a walk or go camping.

Okay, so let's get past the dreaming. 

I have finally gotten to the point in "Finding Joy" when I can just write again! After cutting 9,700+ words out of the story, perhaps I can actually get it finished. Wouldn't that be fun. But don't stop praying. I'm not sure when it ends. But it feels more on track. :) And it's nice to be able to write without having to stop and re-read, and cut and write a little more, and do some editing, and then a little more writing.

Now, in case you read this blog and not my Read Another Page blog, I'm doing a giveaway for an audio copy of "Gift from the Storm" if you want to head over and enter.

I hope you enjoy the second part of this story. I laughed quite a bit when I wrote it, and I still chuckle over parts of it.

The Emancipation of

Chester Reginald Donavan; Esquire

Part 2

    After thinking hard for several minutes, Chester suddenly let out a groan. “No! I left it in my new, black 2009 Hummer! How could I be so stupid! I had called Michael and must have forgotten to put it back. Great! And if anything happens to me way out here in the middle of no where, no one is going to be able to contact anyone!”
    “Can’t someone just get it out of your car when we get back? Not that anything is going to happen,” the little man hastened to add.
    “Get something out of it? Yeah right! Hey man, this is a brand new 2009 Hummer! Man, no one can get in that thing unless they know the right stuff!” Chester rolled his eyes at the ignorance of his companion. Doesn’t the guy know anything except E-bay? Suddenly a new and to him dreadful thought struck him, and he slapped his head with a cry that made the little man beside him turn in a hurry and stare.
    “This is just great. Just great! Now what am I supposed to do. Everything was on that iPhone. How am I supposed to get internet access without it? I can’t get on facebook, or on twitter. I can’t even work on the case I’ve got now. Ugh!” Growing frantic Chester grasped his blonde hair with both hands and growled. He stomped his foot in vexation. “This is not a vacation, this is . . . is . . . plain torture! I’ve got to have that phone!”
    The other man tried to encourage him. “Well, it is only for a few days. Why don’t you just relax and try to enjoy this break?”
    “Look, E-bay, you obviously have no clue what that iPhone was. I mean it had everything on it!”
    “Your gear wasn’t on there.” The logical statement only seemed to make Chester Reginald Donavan, Esq., more disgusted than before, for he answered sarcastically,
    “Okay, so my gear wasn’t on there. Big deal. I suppose I should be glad I have water in my canteen.”
    His companion nodded. “That’s an important part of camping out.”
    Chester fought to get his temper under control before he said, “E-bay, or whatever your name is, I know you probably think I’m nuts, but really, I don’t know what I’m going to do now. I’ll be bored stiff if I have to go for three days without the internet!” He shrugged as he tried to express himself in words that maybe his companion could understand. “It’s my life. Everything is online. Even all my files and research for this case I have coming up.” He sighed.
    “Well, no use crying over spilled milk,” the little E-bay man remarked sagely. “Shall we continue on and try to find a good spot to settle down for the night?”
    “Might as well.” There was no spirit in Chester’s words; indeed he hardly seemed to notice as they set off down the other side of the mountain. His mind was still raging over his stupidity, his idiocy, his dumbness. He called himself all kinds of names, many of which it wouldn’t do to repeat. Finally he began to lecture and chide himself, saying this ought to teach him a good lesson to never leave his iPhone anywhere but in his pocket or pouch again. So busy was he with his thoughts that, had his companion not grabbed his arm, he would have continued walking, right off the edge of a cliff!
    “Wake up, Chester! Bring your mind back to earth or you’ll wind up trying to fly.”
    Chester started and stared in horror at the yawning chasm before him. “Hey thanks, E-bay! Yeah, I guess you’re right. I should pay attention.” He gave a shudder and turned away. “So what do we do?”
    “Well, first thing is to find a place to pitch our tents.”
    “Right. Uh, where would that be?” Chester was expecting, when he signed up for this trip, to find their campsite like those he had seen as a boy. Of course he had always stayed in a camper and never in a tent, but still, he had seen the places for tents.
    The little E-bay man spoke again. “First we need to find a good source of water. I think we should head up this direction as I’ve been hearing a stream for several minutes.”
    Chester merely nodded. He didn’t voice his thoughts. Why did they need to find a stream? Didn’t all campsites have water? At least a pump if not faucets.

    It was a good fifteen minutes at least by Chester Donavon's watch before his companion halted and, looking about him with a satisfied air, declared, “I think this is a perfect spot.”
    Gazing around, Chester looked in vain for the water pump. At last he asked, “How are we going to get water, there is no pump?”
    “Pump? Of course there is no pump. This is the wilderness up here, Chester. It isn’t some local camping site for city folks. This is the real thing. We get water from the stream. Of course we’ll have to boil or filter it before we use it, but who cares, right?”
    The young lawyer’s mouth dropped open, but for perhaps the first time in his life, he was speechless. In silence he followed his companion’s directions about getting a fire ring set up so that they could start a fire. Then digging in his gear to pull out his tent, he noticed for the two dozenth time that his feet were killing him.
    “How about I go get some water while you set up your tent?” E-bay called over to him after his own tent was set up.
    “Sure.” Chester was shaking his head. Now how in the world was he supposed to get all these pieces together to make his tent work? After messing with it all for several minutes, he finally pulled out the directions. “Hmmm,” he muttered. “Okay, doesn’t seem too hard. Here goes.” So saying, he set the paper down and began to push and pull, tug and tighten the poles, loops, knots and so forth that comprised his tent. So intent was he that he didn’t notice the mischievous wind begin to play with the instructions. First it blew it a little to the side, then it tossed it up to let if fall back down and finally with a sudden gust it carried it completely away never to be found again.

Is your life on your phone? 

Have you ever been camping?

Do you like sleeping in a tent or a camper?

The Emancipation . . . - Part 1

Good morning FFFs,

It's a chilly, rainy morning. Not cold, but when the breeze blows in through the open window, it's got a coolness to it that hasn't been there the last few days. Yesterday afternoon we actually turned on the AC for the first time this year. It's off again now. We've had a lot of warm, sunny days.

I'm trying to get back into working on "Finding Joy" but it is difficult. Probably partly because I have to go back and rewrite things because the story got off track. But it needs done. I've also been working on planning and preparing for  . . .

Another blog party! With other bloggers, and a giveaway, and lots of fun. Only it will be on my Read Another Page blog, not this one. And it has to do with writing. Stay tuned.

Today is the homeschool convention in Springfield, but I won't be there. We'll be watching all but two of the kids all day today. I'm sure it will be a busy day.

I got up this morning and was doing my usual things and all of a sudden it hit me. I didn't have anything ready to post! (I like to have the stories on my posts ahead of time.) Was it really Friday? It didn't seem possible. So I grabbed a story I had thought about posting, and here it is. I know this story was posted on here about 7 years ago, and it's also published in "The Lower Lights" but, as that is not a popular seller, I thought no one would mind if I posted it again. Besides, I rather like it. 😄 And I hope you enjoy it too.

The Emancipation of

Chester Reginald Donavan; Esquire

Part 1

    “Hey, um, do you know where we are?”

    “Well,” there was a slight laugh. “I know we are on a mountain in the Mosquito Range in Colorado, but just where, I’m not sure.”

    “That’s what I was afraid of.” Chester Reginald Donavan, Esq., hitched up the straps on his gear and frowned. This vacation was not turning out to be what he had planned. Here he was separated from the rest of the group with this guy whose name he never could remember. If only his best friend and lawyer buddy hadn’t broken his leg last week! Chester was a tall and well built young man who looked to be in his late twenties, having about him a definite high class air in spite of or maybe enhanced by his top-of-the-line outdoor clothes and gear.

    “Aren’t you coming too?”

    Chester jerked out of his misery to notice his companion had begun to climb some more. Taking a deep breath he set off after him.

    It was slightly chilly even with his windbreaker on, and Chester glanced at the little man before him. He didn’t seem to be bothered by cold, and his jacket looked warm. The man was only about five feet three with dark hair streaked here and there with gray. Slight in build though he was, the man walked briskly with no apparent fatigue.

    Chester was soon gasping for breath, and it was all he could do to keep his aching feet and legs moving at all. His shoulders sagged, and he bent his head against the wind staring at the ground beneath his feet.

    “Say, why don’t we take a breather. You look just about done in.”

    Unclasping his pack Chester lowered it to the ground and sank down beside it with a sigh. For several minutes he didn’t say anything. He couldn’t talk, for he was still trying to catch his breath. Finally he managed to ask,

    “Hey, what is your name again? I don’t recall.”

    “Owen.”

    “Oh yeah.”

    Silence again fell. Chester eyed his companion rather as he would have eyed a strange, little dog. He certainly didn’t look like his other friends. He wondered what he was like. Chester found the silence oppressing and sought for some way to break it. He blurted out the first thing that came to his mind.

    “So, where did you get your jacket?”

    The little man turned his eyes away from the mountain peaks before them. “On E-bay.”

    “E-bay?”

    “Oh sure. You do know what E-bay is?”

    Chester nodded with a look of surprised skepticism. Who would ever buy something like that on E-bay?”

    The little man went on, not seeming to notice Chester’s look. “It is a great jacket, warm yet lightweight. I got it for a great deal. I think it was only $10.00 counting shipping.”

    Chester stared. “You spent $10.00 on a jacket?” his tone implied that that was absurd.

    “Where did you get yours?”

    “New from the online store, 60 Degrees North. Probably never heard of it. It was top of the line Edlgja and only $332.00 not counting shipping.”

    “Oh.” The monosyllable was full of disbelief.

    Once more silence fell on the two men. Chester was thinking of all the money he had spent on getting ready for this trip. Of how he and Michael had discussed different brands and prices. It was only the top of the line, high dollar brand items that would last the rigors of such trips, Michael had assured him. And after all, Michael should know, for he had been on such trips all his life. What would he have said to the little man about his E-bay jacket?

    “If you have recovered your wind, we might want to head on. Who knows, we could catch a glimpse of the others at the top.” The little man had stood up and was waiting for Chester.

    “What? Oh yeah, sure.”

    Struggling up the side of that mountain was the hardest thing Chester had ever done. His feet were killing him, for his boots, high dollar though they were, hadn’t been broken in and his feet felt covered in blisters. The thin air was making breathing difficult for him, and he wondered for the seventh time that day why he had ever agreed to this hike in the first place. He knew why; it was because he had worked and pushed himself so hard that his doctor told him to take a few days off or he would break down. So, when his friend had mentioned this trip, he had agreed.

    At last the summit was reached. Though this was one of the lower mountains, they could still see for miles. The clouds hung low to the south and west while a cold wind from the north bit at their faces and fingers.

    “Wow! Quite a sight, isn’t it? I never get tired of looking out over the mountains. Everything is so quiet and peaceful here. Of course in the summer things are even more lovely with the flowers blooming, but I couldn’t get away then, so this late camp out was perfect. I wonder if we’ll get snow while we are here?” The little man gazed in delight at all he saw.

    “Hey, why don’t we call the other group and um, find out where they are?” Chester asked, adding with a mutter to himself,. “Why didn’t I think of that sooner?”

    The other man gave a little laugh. “That’s not a bad idea, but I can’t get reception up here with my phone.” He drew a rather old looking cell phone from its pouch and looked at it.

    Chester’s lip curled at the sight of it. He couldn’t help asking “Where did you get that?”

    “On E-bay. It was a package deal.” The man laughed again. “I know it isn’t the newest phone, but it works for me. And it was cheap.”

    “I’ll bet,” Chester mumbled. “I’ll just use mine,” and he reached for the side of his belt where he kept his iPhone. The pouch was empty! “What!” Chester gasped “How could it have gotten lost? I mean this pouch was latched!”

    “Are you sure you didn’t use it and set it down some place before we set off?” his companion was trying to be helpful.

Have you ever gone hiking in the mountains before?

Have you ever lost your phone?

Where do you think Chester's phone is?

Whom Should She Trust? - Part 3

Good morning Friday Fiction Fans,

I know a few of you are still reading this blog.  Life does have a way of getting busy, but I don't want to keep posting if no one is going to read the stories. :) Oh, well, I'll keep it up longer and see what happens.

Last night I attended a concert by the New York Woodwind Quintet. It was very lovely and they were very impressed by our town and the community's support of music from the classrooms to the concert halls. (Okay, so the concerts are always held in different churches, but . . .) It's always delightful to HAVE to sit and do nothing but enjoy the music and think, if you can get your mind to stay focused on something besides the music and watching the musicians play.

I have written this week. I need to get 800 more words written this week to reach 5k. I think I can. Please be praying for this story. I know I have to be near the end, but I'm not sure how everything gets wrapped up. I especially don't know about Gina's piano. :) But you don't know about her piano, do you?

Oh, I could use your help here. I'm going to be taking over the Widows' Secret Sister ministry at church this year for a friend who is getting married and moving away. Last year we had Bible names for all the Secret Sisters so the Widows could write back to them. This year I'm going to use names like "Faith, Joy, Melody, Noel, Hosanna," and such things. The problem is, I am in need of a few more. Any ideas for me? I'll take anything I can get. Thanks.

And now I'll let you get on with what you really came here for. :) Enjoy!

Whom Should She Trust?

Part 3

    “Two months ago! It has been three years since he–”
    John drew her into a sunny walkway. “I know. It may seem hard to believe, but out west it is harder to receive mail. I do know that the letter had been sitting in a post office for eight months before I came by and claimed it. I had been traveling quite a bit. Even if I had left a forwarding address as they do here in the east, the letter would no sooner have started on its way, than I would have been on the move elsewhere.”
    He was expecting the next question.
    “Why didn’t you write and explain your long silence?”
    “I did, many times, but no answer came back.”
    Silence was the only reply. Miss Hannah was thinking of the order she had given to her servants after her father’s death and her decision to trust no one. “I want to see no mail or anything of the sort from strangers. I am alone and very wealthy. I may perchance fall prey to some scheming, dishonest man because he pretends to have love and sympathy for me while in reality he wishes for nothing but my money.” Could John’s letters be mixed in with those? Could Candace have inadvertently placed those letters with the others? It was possible. After all, she had never met John. He had already gone west when she came to The Glen. “I . . . I . . . I didn’t know you had written. I’m sorry.”
    “Never mind. I’m here now, and I’m staying for a while. By the way, I heard in town that Miss Hannah is very close and doesn’t like company. I hope she can reconcile herself to the fact that I will stay here and no where else.” John looked down at the blushing cheeks of his cousin.
    “As if I’d really let you stay anywhere else,” was the reply which entirely satisfied him.
    “Say, I remember that tree!” A turn in the walk brought them again in sight of the house. The large old tree stood near by; its gnarled branches stretching toward the sun and out in an arching canopy of shade when the leaves grew full.
    “You ought to remember it. You nearly killed yourself falling out of it one day,” and Hannah shook her head at the remembrance.
    “You mustn’t be too hard on a fellow, Hannah. I was laid up for weeks after that fall.”
    “Don’t I know.”

    The lamps were lighted, not in the library where Miss Hannah was want to spend her evenings, but in the parlor. John was with her and quite dignified and proper. For nearly three long years Miss Hannah had not enjoyed such an evening. She listened with interest as John told of his adventures out west in California. When the old clock chimed twelve o’clock, she started.
    “John! Where has the time gone? I had no idea it was so late. You must be tired, and here I have kept you awake and talking until this late hour. Zeke,” she ordered, as that individual entered in answer to her summons, “show Mr. John to his rooms, please.”
    John kissed her hand and bade her good night with a low and graceful bow.
    “He may have spent the last five years out west, but he hasn’t lost all the charm of his early training,” Hannah thought as she issued orders for the morning before retiring herself.
   
    Several days following the arrival of John, passed before Hannah gathered enough courage to tell him her troubles. Several times John had asked questions about her seclusion, but each time she had skillfully turned the conversation, leaving the questions unanswered.
    The air was warm and pleasant. John and Hannah were outside together in the garden. The white pillars of the house shone in the sunshine, and the air was heavy with the perfume of hundreds of flowers, vibrant with life and beauty. “John,” Hannah interrupted his tale of life out west. “John, . . . I . . . I need help.”
    “I’ll do all I can.”
    “I don’t know if they want my money because I don’t know whom to trust. Can’t you tell me?”
    “I don’t know if I can or not. Suppose you start at the beginning. Why can’t you trust someone, and who is that someone?”
    Beginning with her father’s death, Hannah poured out the whole story. “And so I just stayed at home and wouldn’t trust anyone because I was so afraid.”
    John remained silent for some minutes after his cousin had ceased talking. “Hannah,” he said at last, “there is Someone who will never be dishonest with you if you will only trust Him.”
    “Any one, John, if I can only know he is trustworthy.”
    “The Lord Jesus Christ is the one I am talking about, Hannah. He is always faithful and will be a constant companion, friend and guide if you will let Him. I could never have survived some of the hardships out west if He hadn’t been with me.”
    Hannah searched her cousin’s face. Was it possible to have the same peace that she saw on his face and had seen there since he had first made his appearance? She had seen that look also on her beloved father’s face just before he died. Could Jesus Christ help her? Would He? She could almost hear her father’s last words, “Father, keep my little girl safe.”
    The silence grew so long that John turned to look at her.
    “I do want to know Him, John. Will you show me how?”
    The quietly spoken words sent a thrill through John’s very being. He would be delighted.
    Thus it was that Miss Hannah Ward, the beautiful, young, and much admired heiress, at last found the only One whom she could perfectly trust, knowing that He would never be false to her.

Did it end the way you thought it would?

Did you enjoy this story?

What do you want posted next week?

Whom Should She Tust - Part 2

Good morning Friday Fiction Fans,
How was your week? It must have been busy since no one commented. Oh, well. I have weeks like that too. I just can't seem to have time to get on a blog, read the post and then comment. Sorry.

This week has been a good writing week. I thought last week was a good week. Last week I got 6k written. This week I already have 7k written and I still have today and tomorrow to write. And yes, I'm working on "Finding Joy." It's been fun. I've named a cat "Bitty" and something happened that I thought wasn't going to happen for quite a while. Just goes to show you never know what will happen when you write a book. ;)

I'm working on other projects and such. Starting to work on decorations for the "Widow's Luncheon" that us "secret sisters" host for the widows at church on the Saturday before Valentine's Day. Our theme this year is pink and music. :) It's going to be fun.

And I have to get to work on some blog posts for Read Another Page, so I'm going to go now. I hope you enjoy this story.

Whom Should She Trust?

Part 2

    A brief time elapsed ere the servant reappeared. “Tain’t no use, Miss Hannah. De gintleman say he won’t leave da place till he sees you if he has ta wait till tomorrow or de day after dat or de day after dat. An’ he didn’t give me no card an’ won’t tell me no name. I does like his looks though. I tink he is an honest man.”
    “He is a very rude man if you ask me. No name, no card, and insists on seeing me when I have declined to see him. And yet, oh Candace, how can I refuse? My father would be ashamed if I were to act as my feelings now tell me to.”
    Candace waited in respectful silence. She knew it was best to let her mistress speak her mind in peace.
    “Very well, . . . I will see him. Show him in here, Candace.”
    Miss Hannah once again turned wearily to her desk and picked up her pen, but she did not write. In spite of herself she felt a slight curiosity towards this strange gentleman who wouldn’t take no for an answer. Who was he, and what did he want? She had no desire to see him, she told herself, and yet at the sound of approaching footsteps she rose in dignified silence and turned towards the door, her father’s words repeating in her mind,
    “Be careful whom you trust. Be careful whom you trust. . . .”
    As the door was opened, the stranger paused on the threshold; a look of admiration plainly visible on his face at sight of the fair lady before him. After a low bow he entered. Miss Hannah gave a slight nod of acknowledgment and turned to Candace.
    “Thank you, Candace. You may leave. I will ring for you when I want you again.”
    Candace nodded and withdrew, leaving her mistress alone with the strange gentleman.
    For a full minute they both stood in complete silence. Miss Hannah waiting for the gentleman to make his errand known and leave her once more in peace. The stranger, tall and broad shouldered, with an easy air about him, gazed in unconcealed admiration at his hostess.
    “Hannah!”
    Miss Hannah started.
    “Oh, Hannah, it has been so long, and yet you haven’t changed. You are as beautiful as ever.” The gallant words were uttered as the stranger came forward with both hands outstretched and a smile on his face.
    Miss Hannah took a step backward and reached for the bell while keeping an eye on her unwanted visitor.
    The stranger saw his mistake and paused. “Hannah, don’t ring! You don’t recognize me. I should have known you wouldn’t. Here,” and he pulled off his waistcoat and pushed his left sleeve up revealing a jagged scar. “Does that tell you the truth?”
    Miss Hannah stared at the scar and then into the blue eyes which looked so steadily and honestly back at her. It had to be . . . but how could she be sure?
    The stranger seeing her distrust and hesitation, forever dispelled it by pulling out a curiously shaped watch guard and repeating as though from memory,
    “This is a present from me to you. Whenever you see it, remember, be true.”
    “John! It can’t be . . . But it has been five years! Why didn’t . . . How came you to . . . Where . . . when? Oh, John! Let me cry, it’s been so long!” Her head rested on his shirt front while the tears fell.
    “My dear little Hannah. It is a long time, but the story is soon told.” John tightened his arms around her. “Can’t you even greet me with a smile? I promise I won’t run away this time.”
    The merry words of long ago brought Hannah’s head up with a smile “as bright as the sun,” John thought as he kissed the fair girl in his arms.
    “Oh, John! Come, tell me everything. I am longing to know.”
    “Can’t we walk out in the garden? I feel so confined here.”
    Hannah’s rippling laughter rang out as it had not done for so long. “You always felt that way here in this room while I loved it. Yes, of course we can go out. Let me just ring for Candace to bring me my shawl.”
    “Stay,” John’s hand caught hers back from the bell. “Never mind the shawl. If you must have something, use this,” and with a quick move his waistcoat was around her shoulders. “I hate wearing one of those now as much as I ever did.”
    “John, you are impossible!” and slipping her arm through his, she led the way out into the sunshine.

    Candace turned from the doorway. “I jest knowd it. Dat’s her lubber sure ‘nough. I saw dat gintleman, an’ I says to my self, “Candace dat man has gotta be Miss Hannah’s lubber.” An’ now I knows I’m right.”
    “Lubber? Miss Hannah’s? Candace, I thought yo had more sense den dat!”
    Candace turned, hands on her hips, “Now Zeke Andrews, don’t you go an’ try ta tell me dat de man walkin’ right now in de garden with Miss Hannah ain’t her lubber. I knows better.”
    Zeke looked out the door a moment. “Maybe its a cousin. I heard her say there’s a heap of dem, dough dey don’t come ‘round here no more.”
    “An’ her wearin’ his coat! Now yo talkin’ like a man wit no sense in his head. Sure Miss Hannah got a heap o’ cousins, an’ I knowd dat. I’s seen dem all at de burin’ o’ Massa, an’ I’s sayin’ dat aint one.”

    “Now tell me everything, John, please.” Miss Hannah looked as eager as a child as she gazed up into the face which was watching hers with such interest.
    “It won’t take long. I only received your letter about Uncle’s death two months ago and have been trying to reach here ever since.”
    “Two months ago! It has been three years since he–”

Is John Miss Hannah's "lubber"?

Do you have any relatives that you haven't heard from in years?

Would you recognize them if they showed up?

Whom Should She Trust? - Part 1

Good morning Faithful Friday Fiction Fans,

I'm listening to the rain on the roof now and wondering how covered in ice the trees will be by the time it is light outside. Yep, we're getting freezing rain. I'd rather have snow. What about you? Are you all having winter weather?

This week has been busy. I've been quite productive as far as emails, working on the Bike Trip book, taking care of other things and yes, even writing. I'm hoping for 6k words written this week. And they've all, at least so far, been on "Finding Joy." I think it's going to be fun to go back and reread this entire story all the way through since it's taken a while and and I've written other things in the middle of it. My goal is to have it all written by the end of this month. I don't know if I can or not as I don't know how much is left, but I'm sure going to try.

The story I'm re-posting today is one that I published in my book "The Lower Lights and Other Stories" which I'm sure most of you haven't read. It was one of my earliest short stories (3 parts) and the first one that caused others to say, "I can't believe you wrote that." If you haven't read it, I hope you enjoy it. And if you have read it, I hope you don't mind reading it again.

Whom Should She Trust?

Part 1

    The room was dim and hushed. A young girl was kneeling beside the bed, deaf to any sound save the slow breathing coming from the form lying there. A sigh brought the girl’s head up, and her eyes gazed intently at the pallid face on the pillow.
    “Papa,” she whispered, “speak to me once more. Tell me what to do, whom to trust. Oh, Papa–” she broke off abruptly as her father’s eyes opened slowly.
    “Hannah?” The name was scarcely audible even in that still room.
    “I am here, Papa. I am holding your hand.”
    “Hannah,” he said again, “be careful whom you trust. Oh, be careful . . . They want the money . . . most of them. . . . There is a right one. You must not trust the others.” His eyes closed.
    “How do I know whom to trust, Papa? How can I be sure he too doesn’t want just the money? Papa!”
    The weary eyes fluttered once more. The girl bent tenderly over him.
    “I . . . am . . . going . . . home now. Hannah, . . . come home . . . too . . .. Pray, Hannah.”
    Hannah bowed her head, but no words could she utter though she tried.
    “Father . . . keep . . . my little girl . . . safe.” A tired sigh followed the low whispered prayer, and all was still.
    The doctor laid quiet fingers on the limp wrist and then glanced at the still form of the girl beside the bed.
    “He is gone.” The words were spoken softly yet they reached the ears of the girl.
    Hannah raised her head, looked long at the face on the pillow, then rose and left the room.
    Yes, her father was dead. She was alone in the world. Alone. The word brought a shiver. Her whole life had changed so quickly. She had been sheltered and cared for; now so suddenly she must do for herself. Could she manage the large estate left her as well as the immense fortune which now belonged solely to her? What had her father meant when he told her they wanted the money? Who wanted the money? And who didn’t?
    Hannah never fully remembered the days and even weeks that immediately followed her much loved father’s death. She was conscious of only one thing; she was alone.

    One night, several months later, Hannah lay in her bed, staring out the nearby window at a brilliantly full moon.
    “Oh, Papa, if you were only here to advise me! I think my heart will break without you! Oh, why am I so alone? Who is it that truly wants me and not my money? Is it Mr. Everson or Mr. Adkins? Or someone else? Mr. Everson asked me to be his wife this evening, and Mr. Adkins asked the same thing only two days before? If only I knew whom to trust!” Hannah turned restlessly on her pillow. “And Mr. Sawyer wants to buy that piece of land. How do I know the price he offered is fair?” For some time her thoughts were in turmoil. Unable to decide what to do and whom to trust, Miss Hannah made a decision to trust no one. She would live her life out alone if she had to. She had no real friends and no relatives near. Surely she could just stay quietly in her own home with her servants. “Perhaps someday,” she thought just before falling asleep, “I will find out who I can trust. Surely someone is trustworthy.”

    And so, the days and weeks passed, turning into months and then into years. Hannah quietly dropped out of all social life, which wasn’t difficult for she had felt no interest in it since her father had died. The invitations for dinners gradually grew fewer and fewer and at last ceased all together. Former acquaintances now acknowledged her rare appearances in public places with a bow or a nod.

    It had been three years since her father’s death. They had been three of the loneliest years of Hannah’s life. There had been times when her resolve to trust no one had nearly failed, only to be strengthened by stories of dishonor and treachery. She vowed she would remain the sole mistress of The Glen. “Unless,” she always added to herself, “I can find someone that I know I can trust.” The southern mansion was as beautiful as ever it was in the days gone by, yet the the former gaiety was gone. No longer were large parties held on the grounds in the warmer months nor in the large parlor and dining room in the winter. There was no one to enjoy the extensive grounds and spacious rooms except Miss Hannah and the servants.
    “Miss Hannah, I’s sorry to bother you, but dere’s a gintleman dat insists on seein’ you.”
    Miss Hannah looked up, “Oh, Candace, why do people persist in intruding where they aren’t wanted? Do tell him I am busy, otherwise engaged, anything.”
    “So I did Miss, but he jest walked in an’ took a seat. Said he’d wait a spell. I ain’t sure what to do.”
    The sunlight streamed in the large open windows upon the beautifully decorated library, the rows and rows of beautifully bound books and the lovely form seated at a desk. A gentle spring breeze wafted the delicate fragrance of the garden flowers into the room and stirred the dress and hair of Miss Hannah.
    “Do, Candace, try once more to show him out, for I do not wish to see him.”
    “I’ll try, Miss Hannah,” and Candace departed with a shake of her head.
    A brief time elapsed ere the servant reappeared. “Tain’t no use, Miss Hannah. De gintleman say he won’t leave da place till he sees you if he has ta wait till tomorrow or de day after dat or de day after dat. An’ he didn’t give me no card an’ won’t tell me no name. I does like his looks though. I tink he is an honest man.”

How would you have known whom to trust?

Who do you think has come to see Miss Hannah?

Are you getting winter weather?

Neglected and Forsaken - Part 3

Good morning, FFFs!

(For those of you who may be new here, FFF stands for Friday Fiction Fans.)

The cooler weather blew in last night. And boy did it blow! The branches were lashed back and forth like there was a huge storm. The wind whistled around the house, at times making it shake, and causing our closed door to rattled and bang, until we shut something in the door. Then it rained. Now the breeze that comes in through the partly opened skylight is chilly. I heard it was only supposed to be in the 60s today. :) Fall weather!

So, now that the blog party is over, what have you been up to? Thank you all so much if you attended the party. We had a great time hosting it for you all and hope you enjoyed it as much as we did. :) And if you're wondering when the next party is going to be, I don't know. We'll just have to wait. I'm too busy right now to plan another one, and I think Kate is too.

My writing is being a bit of a challenge right now. I want to write, but I'm also trying to finish up some other things. Some days I get a lot of writing done, and then the next day I don't. You can all be praying that I'll be able to write.

Here's the final part of this short story. I hope you enjoy it.

Neglected and Forsaken

Part 3

    “Yah, but Will,” Joe put in, “What’re we goin’ to do with all the snow we dig out?”

    “First we’ll fill a few pails to melt for our use. After that, well, I reckon at first we’ll have ta tote the buckets upstairs an’ dump them out the window. But that’ll only be ‘till we get a good start on it ‘cause then we can use it ta reinforce the tunnel as we go.”

    It was hard, exhausting work digging that tunnel. Many times Joe paused to shake his head and mutter, “Sure glad I don’t work in the mine. Never could stand much of this type of thing.”

    Will worked patiently but carefully, packing the snow firmly on all sides of the tunnel. When the two men grew too cold to work, they would retire to the upper level of the mine. And so for the next day and a half the storm raged above them as they worked on their tunnel. At last Will stopped short, cocked his head and listened.

    “Say Joe, ya hear voices?”

    Joe nodded, a grin spread across his face, and they both fell to work again with renewed vigor. Soon a wooded wall appeared. After an hour or two more, the door was uncovered, and they burst into the boarding house to the astonishment of the boarders. Before too long a second tunnel was started; this time heading to town. The storm was forgotten in the excitement of tunnel digging. And with more hands, this one progressed much faster. And so day followed day. The snow continued to fall and the wind continued to howl and blow, but under it all, the men and yes, even some of the brave women were digging tunnels to get about. Before the storm had stopped, nearly every building in town was connected.

    The snow had reached the top of the second story windows in the mine. Will and Joe climbed up to the small window in the loft. Peering out they saw, not blowing snow, but sunshine!

    “Well, I’ll be! If that ain’t the prettiest sight I’ve ever seen,” Will murmured. “What day did the storm start, Joe?”

    Joe thought a moment and then gave a low whistle. “This is the twenty-third day, Will! That ought to be a record. Twenty-three days of blizzard! How much ya think got dumped this time?”

    Will, who had been busy calculating as he noticed how high the snow came up on the mine, turned around. “I’d say twenty-five feet.”

    The old man shook his head at the remembrance. “That sure ‘nough was quite a snow storm wasn’t it, old girl? An’ other years it was the avalanches that came down one side of those slopes,” here his gaze rose to the mountain peaks on his right, “an’ went right up that other side.” His gaze shifted to the farther side of the mountains. “They sure enough did a lot of damage to the town.”

    The silence that followed was broken by the call of a bird in a nearby tree. “Well, Frisco, we’ve had many pleasant times together. This town jest never was the same after Silverton became the county seat. Them rich mine owners left Animas Forks for Silverton. An’ then, you know what happened. We watched it together. Folks just up an’ left. An’ now . . ..” The old timer’s voice trailed away. For some time he just sat there, his eyes on the old worn mine before him. At last he stood up. “I reckon I’ll be sayin’ good bye now, Frisco. My nephew wants me ta go help him with his mine farther west, so I won’t be able ta come up here no more. But don’t fret, I’ll never be forgettin’ ya. So long, girl.”

    It was with slow steps that the old man trudged dejectedly away towards the ramshackle log houses that used to be the town of Animas Forks. At the edge of the town, Old William Croften stopped and looked back at the timeworn Frisco Mine. He could hear faintly the creaking of her loose boards as the wind blew down on her. Slowly he turned and continued on his way. Soon he was lost to view down the obscure overgrown trail that led down the mountain.

    The sun was beginning to set in a blaze of glowing colors. The twitter of birds was heard. A few small animals crept into their nests inside the old mine, and her boards creaked in the wind. Alone on the mountainside, the Frisco Mine stood like a sentry left at a forsaken post. Alone. She was forgotten by most who ever knew her. A weary, lonely sigh seemed to come from her as the darkness closed around. Would anyone ever come back to visit the old Frisco Mine? Or would she crumble into dust with no one to care?

For those of you who might care,

I heard that this old mine was being restored as a landmark.

Wouldn't you like to go see it?

And yes, the things I wrote about it were true. :)

What did you like best?

Neglected and Forsaken - Part 2

Welcome to the Literary Lodge!

Wait, this is the Friday Fiction room. Sorry about that. ;) You see, the Party is still going on over at Read Another Page and I've been caught up with all the visitors, answering questions, chatting with new friends, and reading stacks and stacks of book titles! It's been a lot of fun! We've even had enough people entered in the Grand Prize to add a 2nd place winner! We're still trying to get to 100 though before the day is over. So, if you have not entered, go do so! What are you waiting for? The books to disappear?

Okay, let's move on. I reached the end of TCR-6 "Together." And I wrote a little of "Finding Joy" and then last night I wrote "Hymns in the Hills." It's a little hard to focus on those stories though, when TCR-6 needs edited, the corrections for "The Old Mansion's Secret" need made and I'm hosting a party. :) But, we'll keep persevering.

I hope you enjoy this next part of this short story. And once you're done reading, come on over to the Literary Lodge for the final party day. :)

Neglected and Forsaken

Part 2

    The stooped shoulders shook with laughter, and the faded eyes grew bright with mirth. “Now that was a good one, wasn’t it, Frisco? Us, the highest court in the United States. It does beat all what folks’ll say. Of course at that time we did have, oh I reckon ‘bout four hundred-fifty people livin’ here. Speaking of the highest,” with stiff fingers the old man pulled out a yellowed paper from his jacket pocket. “You remember this here advertisement ‘bout Animas Forks, don’t ya?” After clearing his throat a few times he held the paper up and read:
    “Animas Forks, the most populated town in the world.” The old man grinned and held the paper closer squinting to read the fine print under the headlines. “At this altitude.” The grin turned into a chuckle which in turn grew to a full and hearty laugh. The rocky mountain slopes tossed the laughter back and forth until it seemed that they too had joined in the joke. The old mine creaked more loudly as a stronger gust of wind swept down the mountainside.
    For several minutes the old man, the mine and the mountains enjoyed their merriment.
    “Well,” the man said at last, wiping his eyes, “I won’t read it all to ya as the rest of it ain’t that interesting. It’s just about the town an’ the mining of galena and that silver-bearing grey copper. But we know all about that, don’t we, old girl? Of course this is jest an advertisement for the town. I kind a wonder if anyone took any heed of it. Ya know what I mean, Frisco? Well, all I’s got to say is ‘The Animas Forks Pioneer’ was a heap more interesting to read.” Saying which he folded up the paper and stuffed it back in his pocket. “I’ve been hankerin’ for that old newspaper, but since the press closed down I’ve had to do with Silverton’s paper. But it jest isn’t the same, is it?”
    The slamming of a loose board somewhere in the mine was the answer. And then followed a long silence.

    At last the old man stood up stiffly and slowly began to make his way around the aged mine. He peered in at the empty windows, shook his head at the loose boards and sighed. Coming back to the rock, he resumed his seat where he sat motionless for some time. Finally he began to speak.
    “You remember the blizzard don’t you, Frisco? That was the winter of 1884 . . .”

    “I say, Joe, jest look at that snow come down, would ya?”
    “I know. Ain’t it somethin’ to see! Ya know, Will, I don’t even want to try to make it back to my room at the hotel in this. It’s hard to see even the boardin’ house.”
    Will took another look out the window. “Say! This ain’t jest a little snow storm. I’m thinking we’re in for a blizzard!”
    The two men looked at each other. They both knew the danger of trying to go anywhere in a storm like this. The mine was closed for the winter, but Will always kept a stash of food supplies there “jest in case” he always said. Well, that “jest in case” had finally arrived.
    “I reckon we might as well jest make ourselves at home an’ wait for the storm to blow over.”
    Joe nodded in agreement. “It’s a good thing neither of us is married, Will.”
    “How’s that?”
    “Then we’d have ta try ta get home or the women folk would be all upset.” He grinned. “I know as that’s the way it is with my brother.”
    The two men passed the rest of the day talking or just sitting and watching the swirling white clouds of snow out the windows. By bed time the storm showed no signs of abating, and the men rolled themselves up in blankets near the stove and slept. The next day and the next the storm raged. Drifts piled high against the sides of the mine covering up the lower windows. The men upstairs spent the time in telling stories and in game after game of checkers.
    On the sixth day, the entire lower part of the mine was covered and to look out the upper windows gave the appearance of being on the lower level.
    “My, this is one mean snow storm, I’m tellin’ you Joe!”
    “Don’t tell me,” Joe growled, “I know. An’ I don’t mind tellin’ you that this here business of doin’ nothing but playin’ checkers, in which you always win I might add, has about drove me crazy. Can’t ya think of anything else ta do?”
    Will looked thoughtful, his hand scratching his head as it did when he was thinking. Suddenly his eyes lit up. “How ‘bout we try digging a tunnel to the boardin’ house?”
    The suggestion met with Joe’s instant agreement, and the two descended the stairs to the strangely dark and cold first level. After lighting one of the lanterns that was used in the mine, Will cautiously pulled open the door. A solid wall of snow stood before them. Will reached out and took a handful. With a grin he turned to Joe.
    “This is the perfect kind of snow to make a tunnel in. See how well it packs?”

Have you ever made a tunnel in the snow?

Have you been to the Five Fall Favorites party?

Are you going to join us today?

Neglected and Forsaken - Part 1

Hello!
I can't believe it is really Friday! This whole week has been crazy and it seemed that we already had Friday! And Saturday! I want to know where Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday are! I thought perhaps the days had just gotten mixed up, but instead I'm finding duplicates. Who has my Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday? I'll trade you one of those for a Friday or Saturday. :)

You see, we babysat all my nieces and nephews for about 5 1/2 hours on Monday. On Tuesday I taught writing class and then my grandparents came down and were here for supper before we went over to celebrate my oldest niece's 10th birthday! On Wednesday we met my brother and his family and my grandparents for breakfast before heading to a local nature center and enjoying time there the rest of the morning. Then one of my heart-sisters came to town and she and I went out for ice cream and visited.
I feel like I've been trying to catch up all week. :)

Yesterday my short story Fitting In was officially published! With all that's been going on, I really haven't had time to do much promoting of it. Thank you everyone who read and reviewed it!

Oh, and don't forget to come visit Read Another Page on Monday for the Five Fall Favorites party!

Perhaps you've already read this story. But perhaps not. It comes in 3 parts, so it won't take too long. I hope you enjoy it.

Neglected and Forsaken

Part 1

    A warm breath of air blew down the mountainside stirring the grasses and causing the branches of the pine and fir trees to quiver and sway. Summer was here again. The old weathered sides of the Frisco Mine creaked while a loose shingle slid down through a  hole in the roof to the floor below.
    An aged man, somewhat stooped, with grey hair and whiskers and leaning heavily on a stout stick, paused before the decaying building. His breath was short and panting as though he had just made an arduous climb up the side of a steep mountain. With a trembling hand he wiped the perspiration off his face with his worn handkerchief.
    “The air’s thin up here,” he muttered to himself. “Always was an’ always will be I reckon.” He looked up at the old silent building before him. “We know what it’s like, don’t we?”
    A creaking board was the only answer, but that seemed to satisfy the old timer, for with a tired smile he made his way over to a rock and sank wearily down on it.
    The sun shone brightly down from a pale blue sky. A few lazy clouds seemed to cling still to the mountain tops nearby as though reluctant to leave them in spite of the wind’s promise of future mountain tops. All around was quiet and still. No human voices were heard. No wagons rumbled by, No trains whistled. Everything was peaceful and serene.
    Slowly, with a sigh of contentment, the old man lifted his head and looked about. A faint smile crossed his face as he gazed at the mine before him. “We’ve seen a lot, you an’ I. Haven’t we, Old Girl?” His eyes took on a far away look, and it seemed as though he could see it all again, just as it was then.

    A sharp pull at the string and the whistle blew announcing noon. Men seemed to appear out of no where into the open air. A steady stream headed for the nearby boarding house. In the town, voices floated back and forth as the people headed home or to the hotel or saloon, whichever suited their fancy for their mid day meal.
    William Croften leaned against the side of the mine near the whistle string he had just pulled. “It’s hard ta believe, ain’t it Frisco,” here he looked around at the sturdy walls of the mine with its gleaming glass windows and dark roof. He went on. “Hard to believe that only three years ago there was only one log cabin here abouts. An’ now in ‘76, would ya jest look at that town. I counted thirty cabins now an’ that don’t count the hotel, saloon, general store nor the post office. I reckon this is an up an’ comin’ place. But ya know, Frisco, it’s odd when ya come to think of it, jest how much the folks around here depend on your whistle.” William gave a grin, glanced at his watch and then strode off for his own cabin not far away.

    A small stone rolling down the mountain brought the old man back to the present with a start. Reaching down he picked up a handful of rocks and stared at them. “I reckon you recall, old girl, the day . . .”

    “Hey, Will!”
    “Yah?”
    “Did ya hear the news?”
    “What news?” Will glanced up from his desk.
    “We’ve got the highest court in the land.”
    Will snorted. “Ah, you expect me to believe that, Joe? Go along with yer foolin’.”
    Joe chuckled at something vastly pleasing as he dropped into an empty chair in the office of the Frisco Mine. “I ain’t foolin’ this time. That’s the sure ‘nough truth. It has ta be true, the judge jest said it.”
    At his companion’s incredulous look, Joe chuckled again. “Ya should ‘ave been there at the trial, Will.”
    “I know it, but the mine won’t run itself,” he glanced out the window and down towards the town. “So, what happened?”
    Joe was all eager to tell. Since this was the county seat, there were many trials held there, and Joe liked nothing better than to attend them. “Some day,” he liked to tell his friend Will, “I’m going ta be a lawyer, then you be sure an’ come an’ listen to the verdict.” Since he wasn’t yet a lawyer, he had to be content with sitting in the court sessions.
    “And so,” he wound up the story of the trial, “the judge fined him ten dollars and court costs. ‘Course Tom didn’t like it a bit and said he, ‘I’ll take this case to a higher court.’ He was right mad, but the judge jest looks him square in the eye an’ says cool as snow, ‘Man, there isn’t a higher court. You’ve jest been tried and found guilty in the highest court in all the United States.’ Now I call that something.” Joe paused out of breath.
    Will scratched his head and frowned in puzzlement. “How’s that, Joe? I must be gettin’ slow from all this book work.”
    Joe grinned. “Will, this town of Animas Forks is 11,300 feet or so above sea level. Now, do you know of any other court that is that high?”

Have you read this story before?

Do you like old buildings?

Are you coming to the Five Fall Favorites party?

An Autumn Path - Part 2

Hello,

This is quite strange. I feel like I'm talking to myself. I am sure that there are some readers still left who will read this post, but sometimes, like today, it feels like I am the only one here. I could tell secrets and no one would know but me. Hmm. But you know, I have a funny feeling that if I were to say something like I was going to just not post here anymore, than I'd get all sorts of comments begging me not to. Funny isn't it? Oh, well, I guess it just goes to show that you can't always tell who is reading what.

Yesterday I was working on trying to get models/pictures for my illustrator to use making the illustrations for TCR-6. I'm still looking for some. I need a picture of a toddler (girl) standing on the ground kissing a horse. Yeah, I know, cute. But I haven't found one yet. And I don't have any toddlers who could pose for me.

And I'm still writing. I only have about 10 more parts to write!!!! If you are reading this, pray that I'll be able to get them written! Next week I'll lose two writing days, and I'd really, really like to get everything written before the end of the month! And I still have to figure out the rest of the pictures, and correct other parts of the story.

I'm also working on this Blog Party! :) It's going to be fun! I hope some of you, at least, are planning on attending! :)

But that is then and today is now. Why don't I just give you silent readers something worth reading. :)

An Autumn Path

Part 2

    The years slowly rolled by and found Sammy growing to actually enjoy his work, at least most of the time. No longer did he criticize his cozy upstairs room, for he had grown fond of it. There was no school nearby for Sammy to attend, so Grandfather, himself quite well educated, taught Sammy all he knew. Sammy learned rapidly and never tired of listening as Grandfather pulled words out of the air to paint beautiful pictures for his mind’s eye. Grandfather, watching the boy’s eyes glow as he talked, smiled to himself. “That boy is going to make a fine man someday if he doesn’t go out and get spoiled before he is ready.”
    One day in early spring, Sammy sat at the kitchen table with his paper and pencils. He was supposed to be working on his arithmetic, but instead his thoughts were on the story Grandfather had just told him. Absentmindedly, he began to sketch what he saw in his mind. Rapidly the picture took shape, and to his great delight, Sammy could actually begin to see before him a little lake nestled in the valley between some high hills. So busy was he that he didn’t hear his grandfather enter the room.
    “What are you up to now, Sammy?”
    Sammy looked up. His cheeks became scarlet as he attempted to cover his drawing with his hands. “Uh, . . . I . . . uh,” he floundered, his eyes dropping to the table.
    Without a word Grandfather held out his hand. What was Sammy trying to hide? Grandfather had begun to place great trust in the boy; was that trust premature?
    For an instant Sammy remained still, then slowly, with eyes still down on the table, he placed his drawing in Grandfather’s waiting hand. Would Grandfather be angry? Would this mean another whipping? He hadn’t meant to disobey, he hadn’t even meant to draw. It just almost drew itself. Could he make Grandfather understand? At last, as the silence lengthened into minutes, Sammy glanced up. His grandfather was staring from the picture to Sammy and then back again to the picture.
    “Sammy, where did you learn to do this?” Grandfather’s voice held only wonderment in it.
    Sammy shrugged. “It just did it itself almost. I could see it in my mind, and my fingers just took it out.”
    Grandfather shook head. Never had he seen such marvelous work for someone who had no training. At last he spoke. “You drew this from what I had told you?”
    Sammy nodded.
    “Get out another piece of paper. Let’s see if you can do it again,” Grandfather directed sinking into a chair while he continued to stare at the picture.
    In surprise Sammy obeyed. His arithmetic was shoved gladly out of the way. There would be time for that later.
    For several minutes Sammy just sat and listened as his grandfather began talking, then his pencil began to move across the paper. Under his fingers there soon arose a ship with sails unfurled as it rose on the crest of a wave.
    Arithmetic was entirely forgotten and for several days Sammy spent hours drawing picture after picture.
    A few mornings later, when Sammy came into the kitchen for breakfast, Grandfather sat frowning at the table.
    “Sammy,” he ordered, “I have to go into town today. While I am gone you are not to draw anything. You are to work on your arithmetic! Is that clear?” Though his voice sounded stern, he could not hide the twinkle in his eyes.
    Sammy grinned. He’d work on his arithmetic.
    When Grandfather returned, he brought with him some paints and brushes.
    Sammy was thrilled. After a little practice he found he could mix the paints to get whatever color he wanted. He practiced his painting any chance he got and reveled in watching the colors mingle to form mountains, sunsets, flowers and trees. His eagerness was so great that Grandfather took time to show him the beauties of tiny insects, of animals and birds. For a time all Sammy wanted to do was draw or paint, but when he suddenly noticed Grandfather moving more slowly than was his want, he knew his work had to come first.
    The years passed. Sammy and Grandfather were content to stay on their small farm together. Theirs was a happy and peaceful life, for they had come to love each other dearly. They seldom left the farm except for church. And their trips to town were so few that they remained strangers to most of the folks there. Sammy had begun to sell his artwork through a friend, yet none who saw him in town would have guessed the talent that lay in his fingers. Grandfather encouraged him to keep working to improve his work, telling him that one day he would have to go out into the world.
    “But never forget, Sammy,” he always added. “That God makes the loveliest pictures. Always draw and paint to please Him. Men ought to take more time to notice His artwork, but since they won’t, it is up to you to bring it to their attention.”

    A wind sprang up and ruffled the hair of the young man. He sat up. His eyes looked again at the glorious colors about him. Slowly he stood and picked up his pack. “I will go on Grandfather,” he whispered, glancing back at the road behind him. “I will make them see the beauties that God has made.” In his mind’s eye he could see the old farm house and barn and up on the hill a newly formed headstone. “I’ll take God’s loveliness into their homes and business.” He swallowed hard. “I can’t ever thank you again, Grandfather, for taking me in, but I’ll never forget it.” With those last whispered words he set forth down the path of brilliant colors.

Did you enjoy this short story?

Will you come back to read next week's story?

Are you excited about TCR-6 getting done?

Did you even read this post?