One Thanksgiving

 Well!

I can't believe I forgot! At least it's still Friday. Is that what happens when life is busy? And you are trying to do different things and it doesn't seem like Friday? Maybe. Whatever the case, I completely and totally forgot I was supposed to post this morning.

But here's your better-late-than-never post. :D 

Today there is a HUGE book sale going on! I mean HUGE There are over 600 books by Indie Authors participating! And every book is either $.99 or Free! And yes, some of my books are listed on there. And some authors are selling their paperback books for discounted prices too, so check for them.

 Anyway, that's going on. And camp is still going on. And I'm trying to get things together for our Christmas Play practice on Sunday. And I'm trying to get some other things done. So yeah. Staying busy. But here's a story for you. It was one of my very early stories, so don't expect it to be as good as my later ones.

 

One Thanksgiving

“Girls, you want to explore the old trail tomorrow morning? The one Dad and I found while hunting.” The speaker was a tall, slim young man of about fourteen. His dark skin and straight black hair gave proof of his Indian ancestry.
Jessie looked up. “But tomorrow is Thanksgiving.” She hesitated. “When would we go?”
Cassie raised her head from her book. “Let’s go early! Real early.” Her black eyes flashed with excitement. “Say we can go early, Steve!”
Her brother grinned. “Why don’t we leave at 5:00. That’ll give plenty of time to be back before Mom needs your help for the 2:00 dinner.”
Suddenly Cassie seemed to have second thoughts. “Would it be just us three?”
Steven nodded.
“Couldn’t we take Major?”
“No, he’d scare off anything worth seeing, but I’ll take my gun, if you want,” Steve told her.
“But . . .” Suddenly all the stories she had read of danger came back to her mind and she shivered.
Thirteen-year-old Jessie was growing tired of her sister’s timidity. “Cass, one would think you weren’t a direct descendent of a great Indian chief.”
Thus chided by her older sister, Cassie took a deep breath, squared her slim shoulders and lifted her eyes to meet those of her siblings.
Steven chuckled, “That’s the spirit, Cass. We’ll make you a brave Indian yet. Now, do we pack food for our little expedition or attempt to eat before we leave?”
Both girls were for packing it.

It was cold and nippy when the three adventurers gathered by the back steps the following morning. Cassie was shivering with excitement and cold while she clutched Jessie’s hand tightly. Inspite of her ancestors, she admitted to herself that she was just a little bit scared.
“Are you both ready?” Steven’s whisper broke the silence.
“Yes,” came the equally quiet response.
Cassie cast a quick look back at the lighted kitchen windows knowing their mother was there at that moment putting the turkey in the oven. For a moment, only a moment, she wished she hadn’t suggested they go early. At least Steven had his gun. It was so dark, she couldn’t see her hand in front of her face.
“Steve,” she whispered, “can’t we turn on a flashlight?”
Steven’s voice replied from the other side of Jessie, “No, you’re eyes will grow accustomed to the darkness.”
For several minutes no sound was heard but their soft footsteps and the crunch of fallen leaves.
“Careful now, it’s the barbed wire fence. I’ll lift the bottom of it up, and Jess, you crawl under first. Careful,” as Jessie let go of his arm and dropped to the ground without a word, “make sure you stay low.”
“I’m through.”
“Okay, Cass, now you.”
“But I don’t know where to go,” her voice was a whimper.
“Come to my voice. There, I’m right in front of you. Drop down and crawl under to Jessie.” Steven’s soft but fearless voice seemed to inspire Cassie with courage, and she obeyed without a word. Steven was also soon over and joined his sisters.

“Now we must move in single file as the path is only a deer trail.”
“Won’t you run into a tree without a light?”
“Indians can see in the dark, Cass,” was the reply.
Cassie glanced around. To her astonishment she discovered that she too could see the dark outlines of trees and of Steven and Jessie before her.
“I am the great granddaughter of Chief Strong-Arm, and I must be as stouthearted and brave as he.” The thought nerved Cassie to only flinch when a twig snapped somewhere off to her right. A tingling sensation crept up her spine at the thought of what might be watching her at that moment. She wondered if Jessie had heard the noise. Was she scared? She wouldn’t ask, for she didn’t want to break the silence.

On the threesome moved with a steady pace. Cassie marveled at how confidently Steven led them up and down hills, not pausing when the trail twisted and curved. “He is as all Indian braves should be. They must find their way in many a darker night than this. He is leading us to a powwow with other great chiefs. Or, no,” Cassie frowned in the darkness. “he is leading us to safety, for some other tribe wants to carry Jess and me off as captives.”
Her dreaming was interrupted by the sudden halt of Jessie and Steven. She glanced up in time to see a large, six-point buck pause motionless no more than five yards from them. For only an instant he stood there, then with swift leaps, he disappeared into the morning dawn.
“Oh, how pretty!” Jessie breathed.
Steven nodded and once again set off.
The light of the coming dawn was giving them enough light to see though a morning mist hung about them.

“Here we are,” Steve’s voice broke the quiet.
“We’re at the old bridge,” Cassie sounded surprised.
“Yes, and just past it, around that farther bend, we will find the old trail. It is on the right of the path. Cass, do you want to lead?”
With a toss of her black hair she stepped out in front. “Everything depends on me now,” she thought. “I must find the only path to safety and not let the enemy see or know.” With great caution she crept forward, her black eyes darting everywhere.
Behind her, Steve and Jess exchanged amused glances, and Steven tossed an acorn at her
“Come out of your dream world, Cass, and let’s get going.”
Cassie sighed. Why did they have to ruin the most exciting part of the adventure? Well, she’d save it for another time.
“It is so quiet out here,” Jessie breathed, “and so still.”
Nothing more was said until Cassie halted and pointed towards a faint opening in the woods.
“Good job, Cass, you’ll make a tracker after all.” Steven grinned at his youngest sister and shifted his gun to the other arm. “Jess, do you want to lead?”
Jessie shook her head.
“Cass?”
Cassie hesitated and began to shake her head.
“Are you losing your nerve?” Steven couldn’t resist teasing a little.
Cassie grinned. “Indians don’t explore an unknown path without a weapon. Now if you’ll give me the gun--”
“No way,” Steve interrupted. “Dad would skin me alive if I did.”
“Then you lead Steve,” Jess broke in.

The path was faint and narrow. The three children moved down it carefully, ears and eyes open for any sign of wildlife. Here and there they spied turkeys or deer, and once Jessie spied an owl, but it flew off before the others saw it. All at once Steven stopped and listened.
A faint sound was coming from their left. To Cassie’s imaginative mind it sounded like the call of their Indian foe!
“It sounds as though someone is moaning,” Steven whispered. “Come on.” He deliberately stepped off the path in the direction of the sound.
“Steve!” Cassie’s hushed call made him turn his head. “It’s a trap. They want your scalp!”
Steven’s black eyes gazed straight into those of his sister. “Cut out the pretending, Cassie. This is for real.” Then he once more set off toward the sound, his sisters following.
Each passing moment brought more light although the sky remained cloudy and the mist hung heavy. The moans grew louder, and suddenly through the trees the figure of a man lying on the ground was to be seen.
“Hello,” Steven’s voice broke the silence.
The man raised his head and looked at the three who had suddenly appeared before him.
As the man didn’t speak, Steven spoke again, “Are you hurt?”
The man nodded with a groan and let his head fall back. “I was out huntin’ a few days ago, and my gun backfired and knocked me clear down the ledge yonder an’ I ain’t been able to get farther’n this.”
By then Jessie and Cassie had drawn near, and Steven was kneeling beside the stranger. He introduced himself and his sisters.
“I’m Sam,” the stranger told them. “An’ I’d be much obliged if you could help me.”
Steven and Jessie went to work bandaging, as well as they could, Sam’s arm and head and putting a splint on his leg.
“If I had some crutches, I think I could make it to the path.”
“Here, lean on me,” Steve offered. Then with Steven on one side and Jessie on the other, they set off for the main path, Cassie leading the way. All dreams of enemies had vanished from her mind leaving only one thought. “Find the path.”
To her own surprise, she came out on the path right beside the old bridge.
“Here,” Steven handed Jessie his gun. “You and Cass wait here with Sam while I run home and get Dad.”

Before anyone could protest, Steven was gone. The girls made Sam as comfortable as they could, and Jessie pulled out a small pack of jerky.
“Here,” she offered, “eat. And here’s water.”
Sam accepted them gratefully.
“Where are you going to have Thanksgiving dinner?” queried Cassie.
“Thanksgiving? Nowhere. But I didn’t know Indians celebrated it since us white men took your land.” Sam looked curious.
Jessie spoke softly. “Yes, they took land, but if the white man had never come, we would never have learned of Jesus Christ.”
Sam gazed at the colored leaves around him, then at the two dark, yet beautiful faces near him.
“Wouldn’t you like to have Thanksgiving with us?” Cassie asked.
Sam nodded, and all three fell silent.

 

Did you have a good Thanksgiving?

Do you do any Black Friday shopping?

Have you gotten any books from the Indie sale?

Neglected and Forsaken - Part 3

 Good morning!

It's cloudy this morning and in the 20s. The high today is supposed to be 31º. That's a bit crazy for before Thanksgiving. We've already had snow this week. It snowed for a while but only dusted some things and then melted. I don't know if we got any snow last night or not. If we did, it didn't stick.

I've gotten a lot more writing done this week than I thought I would. You see, my sis and I both came down with colds and something else came up so we didn't end up going to my aunt's house. So I wrote 2k words instead. We are still fighting these colds. Pray we get over them soon since we're supposed to sing on Sunday, and it's hard to sing when you are coughing.

Anyway, writing is going well. I reached my goal of 20k already, so I'm hoping I can get up to 30k or more this month. We'll see since I finished the one Christmas story I was working on, and now am focusing on Kate & Kylie. At least right now. I may work on another story, but we'll see.

Can you believe Thanksgiving is next week? I can't.

But I hope you enjoy this final part of this story.

 

 

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?

 

Do you have plans for Thanksgiving?

Have you been writing this week?

Would you rather have snow or warm weather on Thanksgiving?

Neglected and Forsaken - Part 2

 Good morning!

It's cloudy and cold outside. Yesterday was sunny with the wind out of the south and temperatures in the upper 70s. But around 6:30 PM, the wind changed directions, and we had rain in the night. Now it's in the 30s and not supposed to get out of the 40s today. Our yard has a thick carpet of leaves and some trees haven't lost their leaves yet. 

This week I haven't written as much as I might have wished, but I worked the election on Tuesday and so was a little busy then. And today my nieces and nephews will be over mid afternoon until evening. That will be fun.

Writing camp is going well. Lots of chatting and writing. I'm at 50% of my goal already, which is nice. I know there will be days I won't get to write, so I like to get as much done early as I can. This is by far the largest camp we've ever had.

Well, I'm not going to make this long. I have other things to do before breakfast and then house cleaning. I hope you enjoy this next part.

 

 

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?”

 

Do you like getting things done early?

Have you ever made a tunnel in the snow?

What would you do if you were snowed in for a few days?

Neglected and Forsaken - Part 1

 Good morning!

It's dark right now. The sun comes up later and later, and this morning it is cloudy so it's even darker. But it sure is nice out! We have the windows open and hope to go walk before breakfast. Then we'll clean the house, and I'm not sure what. There are some volleyball games tonight. I plan to go as it's the highest level team and fun to watch. Besides, Pickle Puss is playing on it. 

Yesterday I got a lot done in the morning and then my youngest niece and nephew came over because they were done watching volleyball. The three of us played outside in the leaves some, went for a walk, ate lunch together, read books, and then went back outside to play.

The King's Daughters' Writing Camp officially opened on November 1st, and we have had more campers than ever before! Since Nov. 1st, I've gotten over 4k words written which has been fun. I didn't think I'd get that many in this week with working nursery on Wednesday, and not sure if I'd have kids Thursday-Saturday, but I got 2k written the first day, and 700 written on Wednesday, and 1,400+ written yesterday. It's lots of fun seeing all the writing going on at camp. The sprints, and pushes, and crawls.

Besides camp and volleyball, there's not a whole lot going on this week. But I teach Children's church on Sunday, then work the election on Tuesday. No idea what else is going on.

Anyway, today's story is one I first posted back in 2009 and then again in 2016, I think. It was an interesting story to research and write. And yes, the accounts of things that happened there a long time ago are real. Enjoy!

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?”

 

How has your week been?

Have you read this story before?

What books have you read lately?

Runaway? - Part 3

Happy Fall!

Wednesday was in the mid to upper 90s and yesterday never got out of the 60s. Today is supposed to be warmer in the low 80s and then we're supposed to get another hot day on Saturday before next week of 50s at night and low 80s in the day. I love fall!

I got 3k words written between Monday and Tuesday, and then have only written a little bit last night. But that's what happens sometimes. I was working on other things. Got some blog posts done and the Christmas play edited, copied, and put into folders with each person's parts highlighted. I give them out on Sunday.

This morning we clean house and then my grandpa and aunt are coming down for a visit.

Tomorrow my best friend and I are going to head out to Prairie State Park for their Prairie Jubilee! We used to go there all the time when we were growing up. We learned so much and did so many things. It will be fun to go back there and see the old places and do some prairie things again. Plus the Naturalist who used to teach us back then, said she'd be there working, so that will be even more fun.

I do need to design the cover for this year's Christmas Collection story. I haven't had much time to do much of anything on that yet.

I know this is short, but oh well. Enjoy the last part of this story. I don't know what I'll post next week. I guess you'll have to come back then and see.

 

Runaway?

Part 3

 

    “What for? Don’t you have a good home?” Gil asked.
    “Yeah, but I want a dog, and Dad said I can’t have one ‘cause I’m not re–respect–” He frowned and shook his head.
    “Responsible?” ventured Officer Rockwell.
    Jerry nodded, forgetting that he hadn’t wanted to tell the policeman he had run away. “Yeah. But I’d take care of a dog if I had one,” he assured his new friends.
    “Rock!” Someone from the kitchen area stuck his head out and shouted. “Got a call.”
    Standing up, the officer said, “Be right back. Now don’t you go letting Gil take my plate yet, Jerry.” Then he strode off and disappeared.
    Gil leaned closer and spoke confidentially. “It’s got to be either his chief calling to make sure he’s not slacking off, or his wife wanting him to bring home some milk. Happens quite often. Need some more lemonade?”
    With a nod, for his mouth was full, Jerry watched Gil take his glass and fill it up. He’d never gotten a refill before.

*

    “I got the kid,” Rockwell assured his chief. “He’s safe and enjoying a good lunch.” He paused and listened a moment. “No, tell them he’s all right and will be home later.” Another pause. “Gil and I are working on him, just give us some more time. . . . Yep. I’ll take him there.” Pulling out a small pad of paper from his pocket, Rockwell scribbled something in it before tucking it back in and buttoning his shirt pocket. “Yes, sir.” He hung up the phone and grinned at one of the cooks. “Just save me a slice of that apple pie.”
    “Will do, Rock,” the man replied.
    With that, Rockwell left the kitchen and sauntered back to his seat at the counter. “Now, where were we?” he asked before shoveling in a large bite of spaghetti.
    Gil answered. “We were talking about Jerry wanting that dog but his folks not thinking he’s responsible enough.”
    Rockwell nodded and scratched his ear. “Well, Jerry, the way I see it, you’ve got a couple options here.” He paused and glanced at Jerry, who was shoving the last bite of his sandwich into is mouth. He wondered if the boy would run now that his stomach was full. He hoped not. He didn’t want to take him home by force. “One is to keep on walking toward Washington, but it’s a mighty long way, and someone else might see you and decide to pick you up and take you home.”
    “And even if you reached Washington,” Gil put in, “I hear it’s a big city. Not like our town. There’s bound to be a lot of crime and such.”
    “Gil’s right about that.” And Rockwell wiped his hands on a paper napkin and pushed back his empty plate. “The other option would be to go back home and show your dad you can be responsible, and maybe earn a dog that way.”
    “How?” Jerry’s swinging feet tapped lightly against the counter.
    “Well, for one, you could make sure you make your bed each day and keep your room clean. Maybe take out the trash.”
    “Take out the trash?”
    “Sure,” Rockwell said. “I take out the trash.”
    Jerry didn’t say anything.
    Gil leaned on the counter again. It seemed to be his favorite attitude for conversation. “And if your mom’s got any chores for you to do, get ‘em done right away, before she can ask, if possible. There’s nothing that spells responsibility like doing things before you’re asked to do them.”
    Jerry was silent so long that Rockwell wondered if they’d said too much.

*

    Thoughtfully, Jerry considered the suggestions. “Do you think I’d get a dog if I did that?” Running away wasn’t as fun as he thought it would be.
    “I don’t know,” the officer replied. “But it’s worth a try, don’t you think?”
    “I suppose so.” Jerry gave a long sigh. “It’s going to be hard though.”
    “Taking care of a dog is hard. And so is walking all the way to Washington D.C.”
    Jerry looked up at Officer Rockwell. “I guess it would be.” He started to slide off his stool, but a hand placed on his arm stopped him.
    “If you’ll have a piece of pie with me, I’ll drive you home in style,” Officer Rockwell offered with a smile. “Gil’s pies might be as good as your mom’s.”
    At that Jerry scooted back onto his seat. “Okay. Mom doesn’t make very good pies. Grandma does though. Can I have cherry?”

*

    Rockwell stopped at the door of the diner with one hand on Jerry’s shoulder, and glanced back. “Thanks, Gil,” he called.
    Gil gave a friendly wave. “No trouble. Come see me again, Jerry, and bring your parents with you.”
    Jerry waved. “Okay.”
    The sun was hot and the air heavy with the approaching storm as Rockwell and his young friend walked the few blocks to his patrol car. For once it looked like the weatherman was correct. Rockwell opened the door. “Hop in, Jerry.”
    The boy scrambled into the car and rested his bundle and bedroll on his lap. “I’m kind of glad you found me,” he said as the car started rolling along the street. “I don’t like big storms.”
    “I’m glad I found you too, Jerry.” Rockwell replied quietly. He was thankful God had caused his path to connect with Jerry’s and that Jerry had decided to go home and learn to be responsible.
 

Did you have a cool first day of fall?

What's your favorite season?

Did you enjoy this story?

Runaway? - Part 2

 Good morning!

It's a lovely morning. Cool enough to have the windows open and go walking before breakfast. Actually, this whole week has been nice. A few days we never had to turn the AC on. And Sis and I have walked a mile every day. I've missed getting out and walking.

This week has not been a writing week, but I've gotten other things done. As some of you may have noticed, I was interviewed on Once Upon an Ordinary, and then Kate reviewed one of my books, and then I did a guest post over there for her all about writing short stories. But that wasn't what kept me from writing. I was just busy with other projects:

• Kate designed a cover for "Lawrence & Lenexa" and gave it a new title "Summer Light" which fits so well!
• I've tried to get a few blog posts written.
• There have been organizing and cleaning out that I've been doing.
• This year's Christmas Collection story was edited, so I made corrections and added to the final scene.
• Oh, I updated many pages on my website! Including the Home page. (hint: you can see a cover of Summer Light on there)

Today all my nieces and nephews except my oldest are spending most of the day over here. My oldest niece (who has a birthday today!) will be shopping with her parents. (Happy 16th birthday, Pickle Puss!  It's been a long time since I called you that. :)) Anyway, today will be busy.

I hope you enjoy this next part of this little story.

 

Runaway?

Part 2

    Gil came over and leaned on the counter. His clean white shirt was unbuttoned at the collar, and his sleeves were rolled partway up. Thin dark hair was brushed back on his head, and a smile turned up one side of his mouth. “Hi there.”
    “Hi.”
    “Gil, Jerry here is headed to the White House.” Officer Rockwell hoped his friend would pick up on what he wasn’t saying. All his wondering was put to rest when Gil spoke.
    “You don’t say! The White House in Washington?” Gil looked impressed. “I’ve never been that far east before. I went west during the war. Say now, young fella, are you planning on walking the whole way?”
    Jerry gave a half shrug.
    “It’s a mighty long way, but if you’re heading that far, you’re going to need a good meal. What’ll you have?” And Gil straightened up.
    “I only have ten cents,” Jerry admitted, looking first at Gil and then at Rockwell.
    “That’ll get you just about anything,” Gil told him. “And what about you, Rock? Want your usual?”
    Rock gave a nod. “Sure do. No one makes spaghetti like you do.” He turned to the boy beside him. “How about you, Jerry? Want spaghetti?”
    Jerry shook his head. “I want a sandwich.”
    “Ham?” Gil asked.
    Jerry nodded.
    “I’ll take those orders back to the kitchen and will be right back.” And Gil moved down the counter, leaving the boy alone with Officer Rockwell.
    This was what Rockwell wanted, and he leaned over. “Say, Jerry, how old are you?”
    “Almost seven.”
    “That’s mighty grown up, but it’s a long way to Washington D.C. Where are you going to sleep?”
    Jerry patted the sleeping roll he had across his lap. “I’ll sleep out under the stars in this. It won’t be too cold since it’s summer.”
    “That’s true,” Rockwell said musingly. “But what if it rains? I heard the man on the radio say we might get some thunderstorms tonight.” Rockwell shook his head. “I wouldn’t want to be sleeping out in a storm. Would you, Gil?”
    Leaning once more on the counter, Gil looked from one face to the other. “Sleep outside in a storm? Well, I’ve done it before, and I don’t recommend it. You get all wet, and your bed and clothes get wet, not to mention how loud that thunder can be. Besides, if you’re going to see the president, you don’t want to show up all dirty.” Gil shook his head slowly. “No, sir. I wouldn’t recommend walking the whole way. Now a bus might be a good way to get there.”
    Rockwell nodded. “Yep, that’s how I’d go.” Then he stopped as if a thought had just occurred to him. “Jerry, I don’t see how you can take a bus though if you’ve only got ten cents.”
    Jerry said not a word, and Rockwell wondered what he was thinking but didn’t feel that he should ask yet.
    “What made you decide to go to Washington today, sonny?” questioned Gil, his tones curious. “Or have you been traveling some time?”

*

    Jerry’s hands fiddled with the rope around his sleeping roll. What should he tell them? It was wrong to lie, but he didn’t want to go back home.
    “I started this morning. I didn’t hear anything about storms,” he admitted at last.
    “Oh.”
    Jerry wondered what Gil’s tone meant. It had sounded somewhat like his dad’s voice when he knew more than Jerry hoped he did.
    A little bell rang, and Gil disappeared for a moment, only to return with their lunch. Officer Rockwell took off his cap and set it on the counter. “I always pray before I eat, Jerry,” he said.
    Quietly Jerry folded his hands and bowed his head.
    “Heavenly Father, thank You for this food that You have given. Thank You for Jerry’s company. I do ask that You would help Jerry know what he should do about his trip. Keep us safe today, I ask. In Your Son’s Name. Amen.”
    No one spoke for some minutes as Jerry and Officer Rockwell enjoyed their lunches. Gil busied himself on the other side of the counter doing something, though Jerry didn’t know what.
    “You know,” Gil said thoughtfully after several minutes, coming over and resting one elbow on the counter, “you never did tell me why you were heading to Washington? Oh, I heard you were going to see the president, but what about? You have important matters to discuss with him?”
    Right then Jerry was thankful for his mom’s constant admonitions not to talk with food in his mouth, for he had just taken a large bite, and this gave him a chance, a polite one, to think. He stole a glance at Officer Rockwell, but he didn’t even seem to be listening, for he was concentrating on his spaghetti. Maybe it would be okay to tell.
    “I was hoping I could live with him.”
    “What for? Don’t you have a good home?” Gil asked.

Have you seen the cover for Summer Light?

What advice would you give Jerry if you were there?

How has your week been?

 

P.S. The Prequel of  the Woodbreak series is Free on Amazon right now.

Runaway? - Part 1

 Good morning.

It's a lovely morning. Right now it's in the 60s and highs today are supposed to be 80s. My sister and I have gotten to walk every morning this week, and we're planning on heading out again before too long.

This week has been good. Busy, but not crazy. At least not yet. ;) And I have gotten to write at least 1k every day. Monday I actually wrote 2k. I've worked on Kate & Kylie, and my Unnamed Story (the one I shouldn't be writing, but I guess I should be because it just keeps coming), and last night I reached the end of this year's Christmas Collection story. I was having some trouble with it because I wasn't sure on one part, but I got that figured out yesterday. It's such fun to be back to writing again.

Still no update on Lawrence & Lenexa. No ideas for a cover yet. But that's okay. It will get done. Sometime.

I'm trying to get different things like blog posts, and writing camp stuff, and things for the release of A Homewood Christmas, done ahead of time so I can actually take time to enjoy the fall this year. The last two years I was rather distracted and busy.

There are some volleyball games this evening, and then tomorrow afternoon. I probably won't be going, but I don't know if any of my nieces and nephews will be coming over to "play with BehBeh" or not. I guess we'll see.

Today's story is a re-posting of a story from 2019. I hope you all enjoy. It was fun to write it. And yes, I got the idea from a Norman Rockwell picture.

 

Runaway?

Part 1

    Jerry trudged down the sidewalk one warm summer day. He had rolled up the bottom of his jeans as much as he could manage, but he was still hot. His feet were tired, and he was thirsty. Over his shoulder, tied up in a red bandana which was firmly knotted to a stick, were all his worldly possessions. Well, all he’d taken with him when he had run away from home that morning. Yes, Jerry was running away. He was never going back, he decided as he marched along. He was going to go live with President Eisenhower in the White House. Then he could have a dog if he wanted one. Jerry was sure there weren’t any kids living there with the president. “I might even be able to have two dogs!”
    The sun climbed higher in the sky, and Jerry’s feet were dragging. He was hungry. The breakfast of puffed rice cereal, toast, one fried egg, and juice he had eaten earlier had disappeared.
    “I should’a made me a sandwich before I ran away,” he muttered, kicking a rock into the street.
    A movement across the street caught his attention, and his eyes widened at the sight of a tall, broad shouldered policeman in a blue uniform.

*

    Officer Rockwell was walking his usual beat. His stomach told him it was time for lunch, and he fully agreed with it. Gil’s place was just across the street. Some days he had to eat elsewhere because his duties kept him away from this street at lunch time, but when he could, Officer Rockwell ate at the little diner.
    Glancing across the street, his brows drew together slightly. A young boy, he couldn’t be more than seven, in jeans and a light yellow shirt was trudging down the sidewalk alone.
    “He’s running away, I’ll bet,” Officer Rockwell thought, taking in the small bundle tied to the stick. “Maybe I can talk some sense into him. I wonder where he’s headed.”
    After waiting for a car to pass, he crossed the street and stopped in front of the boy.
    “Hey there, young fella, what’s your name?”
    “Jerry.” The name was very quiet.
    “Hello, Jerry. I’m Officer Rockwell, but my friends just call me Rock. Where are you headed to this sunny day?”
    The boy hesitated and looked down at his scuffed brown shoes. “To the White House,” he admitted at last.
    Officer Rockwell couldn’t hold back a low whistle. “That’s a good ways from here. Say, are you hungry?”
    Jerry nodded.
    “Have time to eat some lunch with me before you get back on your way? There’s a really good diner up here at the corner.”
    “I only have ten cents,” the boy whispered, his eyes still on the ground.
    “With that you can get a good meal at Gil’s,” Officer Rockwell assured, knowing that his friend would never charge the boy full price, and quite willing to add some to his own bill for the sake of the runaway. “Come on, what do you say we go inside where it’s cooler and get a bite to eat?”

*

    Jerry was torn. He did want to eat lunch, and his feet were already tired of walking, even though the day was far from over, but the policeman might decide to take him home after they ate. True, he hadn’t said anything about him running away or even asked if he had, and Jerry wondered if perhaps he hadn’t thought of it. Maybe he just thought he was traveling.
    “What do you say, Jerry? Doesn’t a sandwich with a thick slice of ham sound good? Or maybe spaghetti? Liver and onions? And what about a piece of pie and some cold lemonade to drink?” The police officer patted his firm stomach. “Gil’s got some tasty food.”
    Just then Jerry’s stomach gave a loud, complaining growl. “Yeah.”
    “Good. I like company when I eat.”
    Together the small boy and the large policeman walked the rest of the way to the corner and into Gil’s diner.

*

    Officer Rockwell led the way across the shiny gray floors to the gleaming chrome bar stools with green tops. He gave a inclination of his head toward his small companion when Gil looked up.
    “Here, have a seat, Jerry. Gil, I’d like you to meet my young friend.” Rockwell seated himself and rested his boots on the footrest. In another minute the boy was seated beside him, having set his bundle on the floor beside his stool.
    Gil came over and leaned on the counter. His clean white shirt was unbuttoned at the collar, and his sleeves were rolled partway up. Thin dark hair was brushed back on his head, and a smile turned up one side of his mouth. “Hi there.”
    “Hi.”

Have you ever thought or tried running away from home?

Would you like to living in the White House?

Which of my stories are you must excited to get finished?

Time Traveler

 Happy Friday!

It's a lovely 2nd day of September. A soft rain is pattering on the roof. Don't you just love rainy mornings? Of  course if we get too much rain, I'm ready for sunshine, but since we haven't had a lot of rain it is very nice.

Life has been very busy since I last posted. My to-do lists have been long, but thankfully I've gotten almost all of them done. Here's a quick look at my week:

Last Friday: My dad and I painted the wall in the living room. He got the trim up, and I spackled all the nail holes and then painted them.

Saturday: Many of my nieces and nephews were over off and on during the day. They had volleyball games right near us, and some came over to finish up school when they weren't playing. My 2-y-o niece came over to play with BehBeh (me). She was over for about an hour or so in the morning and then came over around 1:30, took a nap here, ate supper here, and didn't get picked up until 8. My sis-in-law came by to pick up Ti-K (middle niece), and Goosey Girl told her, "I not go bolleyball. I stay with BehBeh." Her mom told her she had to ask me. So she turned to me and asked, "I stay here, BehBeh?" Who could say no? I didn't mind though. She's a fun little girl and a chatter box!

Sunday: I went early to church to practice music, then I worked nursery Sunday School for my mom since she stayed home with a cold. I was going to be in church, but a visiting family was there with triplets and I helped them get to children's church, and then the pastor's wife asked me if I could stay and help. So I did.

 Monday: I got all the touch up painting in the hall done! Yay! Finally, it's finished! That took all morning. In the afternoon I got a beta story read and feedback given.

Tuesday: This was one of those long to-do list days. My sis and I walked before breakfast which was so nice! I got L&L divided into chapters, and my Christmas story for A Homewood Christmas corrected and divided into chapters. I packaged up so things and mailed them, and I even managed to write 1k words!

Wednesday: My sister and I got to walk again before breakfast, then after breakfast I mowed the yard. Trimmed some dead branches out of the lilac bush. I didn't have as long of a to-do list this day since I only had the afternoon to work on things. I read, and wrote 600 words. Went to church that night for the annual church business meeting.

Thursday: Walked again, and then worked on this thing, that thing, and the other thing. I ended up publishing my short Christmas story for this year which was last year's Christmas card story. I wasn't planning on doing it yet, but since the cover was done, and I got the synopsis done (with Angie's help), and it took me about 5 minutes to format the story, I decided to just go ahead. I wrote 1,200+ words yesterday, and managed to get 10 chapters of a beta story read.

Today: Cleaning house this morning. It needs it. The spiders and dust bunnies are coming out. I need to practice the violin, and hopefully do some other things before my nieces and nephews all come over this evening so their parents can go on a date.

Wow, that was rather a lot. I guess if you didn't want to read all that, you could have just skipped to today's story. This story was written 9 years or more ago for a "publication" some friends were doing for fun. Every issue had a Time Traveler in it. It was the same brother and sister, but different people wrote episodes for it. And this is what I wrote. It was supposed to be short. I hope you enjoy it.

 

Time Traveler

    Panting after their rapid climb up the steep mountain, Wallace and Morgan paused before the little cabin.
    “I wonder where we’ll go this time,” Morgan wondered when she could speak.
    Her brother shrugged and opened the door. Once you pushed that time button you never knew where you would end up. This time would be no different they were both certain.
    Climbing in the strange machine and taking a deep breath, Wallace asked, “Are you ready?”
    “Ready,” his sister replied.
    A whirl, a roar and everything went black; the seats shook and then all at once they heard shouts and cries as though a great throng of people were nearby.
    “Where are we?” Morgan whispered, as they were still in the dark.
    “I don’t know. Maybe this is a closet.” As he spoke, Wallace was feeling around. “Ah, here is a door handle,” he exclaimed. Giving the door a shove, it opened to reveal a room of some sort. The sound of people was coming from outside though.
    Quickly, with scarcely a glance about them, the two children dashed through the room into another which proved to be a shop of some sort. Out the windows they were able to see the crowd lined up, talking and making such a lot of noise.
    Gripping each other’s hands so as not to become separated, they opened the door and began to slowly push and shove their way through the men, women and children until they reached the edge of the street.
    “Wow!” shouted Morgan as she saw the tall buildings across the street and then, looking up, noticed the equally tall ones behind them. “Wallace, look at all the people in the windows!”
    Wallace looked, completely puzzled. It was evident that they were in a large city and the people spoke English for he caught stray words here and there like “Solo” “Lone Eagle” “Received Flying Cross” and “Paris.” However, before he could figure it out, a sudden shout was heard.
    “They’re coming!”
    Instantly thousands of throats filled the air with cheer upon cheer while pieces of paper began floating from the windows above.
    Morgan and Wallace joined in the cheers for it was impossible not to shout when everyone around you was, even if you didn’t know what or who you were cheering.
    Down the street came policemen mounted on horses. There were also soldiers, some of whom carried flags.
    “I think that is New York’s flag, Morgan,” Wallace pointed. That must mean they were in New York. Probably in New York City.
    Then a car, with mounted riders for escorts on either side, came into view. In the car a young looking man sat on the back with a grin on his face and waved to the people. All at once the ticker tape which had only come down slowly before, began to pour from the sky or so it seemed. Millions upon millions of pieces; so many that it almost looked like a blizzard though it was much too warm for snow.
    As the parade drew closer, Morgan, standing on tiptoe, shouted in her brother’s ear, “I’ve seen that guy before.”
    “So have I,” Wallace hollered back in return, “but where? When?”
    “Lindy! Lindy! Lindy!” the crowd chanted.
    “Hurrah for the Spirit of St. Louis!” someone in the crowd behind the children bellowed.
    That was it! Wallace gasped in excitement, his eyes wide with delight and excitement.
    Without thinking what he was doing, he dashed forward, darted before a horse and reached the side of the car. Looking up, he saw his hero, the daredevil barnstormer, the first to cross the ocean in an airplane flying solo, the great Charles Lindbergh himself!
    As he looked up at the young man with his infectious grin, Lindbergh reached out his hand and quickly grasped that of Wallace. It was only a brief handclasp for someone jerked him back away from the car, but he had touched him! He had shaken his hand! What a story to tell back home!
    “Wallace!”
    Morgan was shaking his arm and shouting at him. He turned to look at her.
    “Did you really get to touch him?” she shouted. “For real?”
    Still astonished that it had happened, Wallace could only nod and stare at his hand.
    The rest of the parade passed, but neither children took much notice. They had seen Charles Lindbergh! The crowd pushed them along with its masses until, gradually disappearing from around them, they were left standing together on a sidewalk.
    There was a blast of a horn, a roar and everything went black.

    Opening their eyes, Wallace and Morgan climbed out of the time traveler and looked at each other with starry eyes.
    “Wait till we tell those at home what happened to us!” Morgan breathed.
    But Wallace shook his head. “They’ll never believe us. Never.”

 

Have you ever wished you could do a little time travel?

Where would you go if you could?

How was your week?

Kate & Kylie - Part 2

 Good morning!

Welcome to another triple digit Friday. Yep, we're heading to the triple digits once again in temperatures. We've reached 107º twice this week and that wasn't counting any heat index. But yesterday the humidity dropped. I think it's because we've had so much heat that it's finally sucked the last of the moisture from the air which can make things even more dangerous when you are outside because you don't realize how hot you are as you do when there is humidity. We did have some clouds, fluffy clouds not rain clouds, last evening and this morning which is nice. But the grasses are pretty much brown. The trees are dropping leaves like it's fall, and we are longing for rain!

But enough about our lovely weather. (I don't want to make you jealous.) ;) 

This week I have gotten in some writing. Not as much as I had hoped, but I did write 2k on Saturday and 2k on Monday, so that was fun. And I wrote 1k yesterday. I've been jumping around from story to story not sure what I should settle on. I think part of that is because I don't know if Lawrence & Lenexa will need more work or not, and part is because I have tried and tried to write this Christmas play for church and nothing has worked. Finally last night I had an idea and I think it will work. Now I just need to write it.

Camp is going well. There's a lot of writing going on and chatting. Hard to believe that it's already the 22nd of July! The days are flying!

Well, I hope you enjoy this next part of Kate & Kylie. I know I've given it to you once before, but you can read it again before you get a new part.

 

Part 2

    “Kate, I’ll reschedule. I can’t just leave you here alone if you’re having contractions.” Kylie stood near the front door, her purse over one shoulder but a frown on her face. “I mean, what if this time it’s real, and the baby decides to come, and I’m not here?”
    “Kylie, I’m fine! These contractions are not even close together. How many other women have been left alone three weeks before their baby is due? I’m not made of glass.”
    “But I told Joe–”
    “Kylie Smith, you are going to go have lunch with Mitch. If you don’t, I’ll text him and tell him you’re sick. That will bring him here.” And Kate rested her hands on her hips.
    “But I’m not sick.”
    “You’ve almost talked yourself into being sick with nervousness. Come on, you’re an extrovert.”
    Kylie sighed. “Kate, just because I’m an extrovert doesn’t mean I never get anxious or nervous. I mean, I haven’t talked to Mitch for two years. We’ve changed.” Her voice dropped. “At least I’ve changed.” She shook her head quickly as though to shake off her thoughts and said somewhat ruefully, “And now we’re having lunch together. I don’t know why I agreed to do this.” She chewed on her lower lip and looked out the front door.
    Her twin placed a hand on her arm. “You’ll be fine, Kylie,” Kate said softly. “If I weren’t so noticeably pregnant, I’d be tempted to trade places with you again.” Her remark brought a smile to Kylie’s face.
    “Somehow I don’t think Joe would like it if you went out to lunch with a strange guy.”
    “Oh, I’d just tell him I was interviewing the man as a possible candidate for brother-in-law.” Kate smiled innocently.
    “Kate!” Kylie clutched her purse strap and glared at her sister. “Don’t ever suggest such things if Mitch is around! I may not even like him anymore.”
    “Well,” Kate said practically, “you won’t know unless you actually meet him. Now, if you aren’t out in that car and backing out of the driveway in two minutes, I’m texting Mitch and telling him you might be coming down with something.”
    “You’re impossible!”
    “I know.”
    Kylie couldn’t help but grin at her sister. Sometimes Kate got under her skin, but she couldn’t do without her. “If you start having contractions closer together or stronger, let me know at once! I’ll come right home.”
    “I’m fine, and I’ll let you know. Now get going!”
    Kylie got. Moments later she was driving toward the local cafe, a place much loved by nearly everyone. “Lord,” she prayed, “I don’t know what I’m doing. Please help me. It would be nice if I still liked Mitch, but it has been so long. And I’m nervous. Why did I run into him on the 4th? Please be with Kate while I’m gone. I don’t know which I’m more nervous about–Kate having her baby or having lunch with Mitch.” She heaved a sigh and pulled into the parking lot of the cafe, glad to find it not too busy. The lunch rush must not have arrived yet. “Well, here we are. Please help me, Father!”
    She could see Mitch standing casually near the front of the quaint building. One hand was shoved into his pants pocket just as he used to stand waiting for her. Pausing before she got out, Kylie studied him, for it had been dark when she had seen him on the 4th. His hair was cut short, and he was watching a mother with three children walk by as a smile spread across his face.
    Letting out a breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding, Kylie grabbed her purse and reached for the door handle. “He still looks like the Mitch I knew.”
    The air was humid and hot. Mitch saw her and smiled as she approached. “Hi,” he said. “Hungry?”
    Kylie nodded. “It doesn’t look too busy. I think we beat the lunch rush. Thanks.” She stepped through the door Mitch opened for her. “Do you eat here often?”
    “I’ve actually never eaten here before,” admitted Mitch, casting a quick glance around. “Reminds me of Ma’s Kitchen back in Iowa.”
    “Table for two?”
    Kylie nodded and then followed the waitress to a booth near the back of the cafe.
    As Mitch slid into the seat across from her, Kylie wondered for the seventh, or was it the seventieth, time why she had agreed to this plan of having lunch together. Picking up her menu, she scanned it even though she already knew what she wanted.
    “So, what’s the best thing to get?”
    Kylie looked up. “That depends on if you want chicken or beef.”
    “Tell me the best of both and I’ll pick.”
    A smile found its way to Kylie’s lips. That was exactly what Mitch from two years ago would have said. “The grilled chicken sandwich is the best chicken meal. But if you want beef, go with the smothered cow.”
    “Wow, they both sound good.” And Mitch studied both selections with care. “Although a smothered cow sounds a bit–interesting. But I’ll try it. What are you getting? Chicken?”
    Kylie nodded. “Sometimes I get the pasta, but Kate can’t stand the smell of chicken right now, and I’ve been longing for some.”
    “When’s she due?”
    “Three weeks. She’s had some contractions today, so if I get a call or text, I’m leaving.”
    Mitch grinned. “I don’t blame you. Is this the first niece, nephew–?”
    “Yes. Kate and Joe decided not to find out, and I can’t wait!”
    Just then their waitress returned with waters for them and took their order. When she left, Kylie squeezed two lemon slices into her water and then ate another one.
    “I still don’t know how you can stand to eat those things.” And Mitch made face.
    Kylie laughed, remembering his shock the first time she had eaten a lemon slice. 

 

Do you like lemon slices?

Are your temperatures in the triple digits?

 Should I repost the first parts of Lawrence & Lenexa?

Liberty & Mr. Pickup's Problem

 Good morning!

I'm going to keep this short as I have a lot of things to do today. For one, it's the first official day of camp. That means it's July! Wait, what? I need to clean the house, and send emails, and write, and prepare to teach Children's Church on Sunday since we're heading to a church family picnic tomorrow and I'll be too busy to prepare then.

This week has been good. We had lovely weather at least in the morning since Monday! So nice that we had the windows open and went and walked. Not much writing at all done, but I did reach the end of Don Wood and got it sent off for a synopsis. Yay! One step closer to publishing this story.

I searched and searched for some patriotic story to post, but I had either posted it only a few years ago, or had published it. So I'm giving you a patriotic poem and a short story. Enjoy!

 

 

Liberty

In this great land where Old Glory does fly
Have you ever stopped to ask yourself why?
Not even a thought to why we are free
In this great land with all our liberty?

Go ask your neighbors, the man on the street,
Ask your relations, whoever you meet,
Over our heads where Old Glory does wave,
Why does it fly o’re the land of the brave?
Does it display with its red, blue and white,
True freedom and liberty, honor and right?

Watch as our flag bravely snaps in the breeze,
Its colors show best when its not at its ease.
Even in this we can learn a great thing,
From the midst of our struggles bright freedom will ring.


True liberty comes, the price we must pay,
Say thanks to the soldier who fought in the fray.
Remember this price, blood won’t pay it all
For to you and me sweet Liberty calls.
“Unto you I’ve given a charge don’t forget,
You’ll lose all your freedom unless you repent.
Stand on your honor, remember to pray,
God heard us before, He’ll hear us today.
Turn to righteousness, dishonor defy,
And with God’s Liberty, Old Glory shall fly!” 

Mr. Pickup’s Problem

Once upon a time, in a small town somewhere in the world, lived a man. His name was Mr. Pickup. Now Mr. Pickup owned a small store in the center of town where he sold many useful and some not so useful things.

One morning as Mr. Pickup walked to his store, he stopped to look at someone moving into the the shop next door. He paused for a few minutes to watch the men working.
“Hmm,” he said to himself, “they seem to have the same things that I sell.”

All during that day, Mr. Pickup wondered about the store next door.

The next morning as Mr. Pickup walked to his store, he stopped and his eyes opened wide as he looked at the shop next to his. It had a large sign over the door which read: “Best Buy.”
“Oh no,” Mr. Pickup thought, “what can I do?”

All that day he thought about that store beside his and wondered what to do.

The next morning as Mr. Pickup walked to his store, he stopped, his eyes opened wide, and he whistled as he looked at someone else moving into the shop on the other side of his store. On looking closely, he realized that they too had the same things he sold in his store.
“Oh no! What am I going to do now? Mr. Pickup thought.
All that day he thought about the new store and wondered what to do about the sign on the first store.

The next morning as Mr. Pickup walked to his store, he stopped, his eyes opened wide, he whistled and shook his head as he looked at the new store. The new store had an even larger sign over it’s door which read: “Lowest Prices.”

All that day Mr. Pickup sat alone in his store and wondered what he could do about the first store. And he wondered what he could do about the second store. And he wondered what he could do about their signs. He thought and thought.

He was still thinking as he walked home to his house. He thought as he ate his dinner. He thought as he got into bed and turned out the light.
Suddenly, a wonderful idea came to him, and he bounced out of bed. Not waiting to get dressed, he ran out to his garage and started working. He worked hard.

In the morning Mr. Pickup walked to his store. He was earlier than he had ever been. He didn’t stop, his eyes didn’t open wide, he didn’t whistle and he didn’t shake his head, but he got out his ladder and put up his own sign. In letters larger than the other signs were the words: “Main Entrance.”
All that day Mr. Pickup didn’t have time to wonder and think about the two other stores. He was very busy all day long. Mr. Pickup had solved his problem.

The End

 

Do you have plans to celebrate the 4th?

Have you read any stories on here from 2019?

Have you had nice weather this week?

The Old Porch Swing

 Good morning!

I wasn't going to give you anything besides a life update today. I hadn't even really thought about trying to find something to post until last night. And then I only had a short time. So you get a short poem.

This week has been hot. We did get clouds on Wednesday and some yesterday. But they weren't thick, heavy clouds except some yesterday. But no rain. I'm glad I don't have to mow this week. The heat is supposed to break on Sunday and at least the beginning of next week is supposed to be in the 80ºs instead of 90ºs+. I'll go for that.

I have been writing pretty steadily this week on Don Wood. I jotted down the last scenes I needed and last night I started on what might be the final scene. So exciting to be almost done!!! Then it will have to be edited, formatted, cover designed, proof copy ordered, read and edited again all before it gets into your hands. But at least you shouldn't have to wait months for it. That's one thing I like about indie publishing instead of traditional. I can finish a story and don't have to wait a year before it becomes available.

Let's see, what else has happened this week? I've worked on getting girls registered for camp, and have gotten some other behind the scenes stuff done. Hard to believe the gates open on Monday! And I can't believe a week from today is July! Wow!

Well, I need to work on other things, so enjoy this short poem and I hope to see you next week.

 

 

The Old Porch Swing

Fondly I gaze
As I swing to and fro,
At the beauty before me
On the flowers that grow.

The warm summer breezes
How gently they blow,
And they sway the old porch swing
As if they did know,

That the memories they bring,
And that over me flow
Are the sweet days of childhood
I spent swinging to and fro.

So I sit here and dream
Of the times long ago
On the dear old porch swing
As I sway to and fro. 

 

Do you have a porch swing?

Have you had a hot week?

What do you enjoy doing on summer days?

Climbing with the Medfords - Part 2

 Good morning!

Did anyone else have mixed up days this week? I sure did! My Wednesday felt like a Tuesday or Thursday, and yesterday was a Friday–except I didn't post–and today is a Saturday. Not sure what tomorrow will be. Another Saturday maybe?

You see, I mowed the yard on Wednesday. It was the only day this week that was not in the mid to upper 90s with a heat index of 100º+. I have been so glad I finished my 100 miles of walking last week as there were heat advisories this week and I would not have wanted to go walk.

I'm still writing, but some days have just been slow this week. Not sure if it's partly because of the heat, partly just me, and maybe partly because I'm focusing a lot of energies and brain power into getting ready for camp and that is distracting me from my story. But I plan to keep working on it.

Today is my 3rd nephew's birthday. In some ways it's hard to believe Doodle Bug is turning 11, but at the same time, it seems that he already is that old. I remember when he was just a little guy. My grandpa and aunt are coming down this morning, and we are all going to head over to my brother's to celebrate Doodle Bug's birthday. (And if you are wondering, no, his parents did NOT name him Doodle Bug. His aunt BehBeh–that's me–gave him that nickname.)

Anyway, that's that. If you haven't seen my KDWC Journals, head over to Read Another Page and check them out. I have mine ordered. I can't wait to see it in print!

I hope you enjoy the rest of this short story.

 

Climbing with the Medfords

Part - 2

    The others were so busy looking at different points of the city and pointing out interesting things to the others, that only Lillian noticed an old lady looking out her window at the children on the billboard. Lillian thought she was talking on the telephone, but it was hard to tell. Feeling friendly, she waved at the lady, but received no response. “Oh well,” Lillian thought with a shrug. “Perhaps she didn’t see us after all. We are pretty high up.”
    It was Alice who, turning around several minutes later and looking down at the street, noticed the police car coming towards them and stopping under the billboard. “Hey everyone,” she said. “Look.”
    The others looked down in time to see two uniformed officers climb out of the car and look up at them before walking over to the base of the pole. One of the officers looked like a friend of theirs who directed traffic near the childrens’ neighborhood. When he spoke, they knew it was Officer Hitt.
    “What are you all doing up there?” Officer Hitt asked.
    “Catching a bird’s eye view of the city, sir,” Walter replied, glancing quickly at Frank and wondering what was going to happen.
    “And what are you going to do when one of you falls?” the other officer asked.
    “Oh, we won’t fall,” Frank answered quickly. “We’re being careful. And we’re used to climbing things.”
    The officers held a low toned conversation while the children waited uneasily. At last Officer Hitt called up, “Why don’t all of you come down now so we can talk without attracting the attention of the entire neighborhood.”
    The children exchanged disappointed glances but knew better than to disobey. Lillian, the closest to the ladder, went down first followed by Ester. Katie and Alice followed. Since Alice was small, she had to drop a little ways from the last rung of the ladder and while she hung there waiting for Katie to get out of the way, her left hand slipped. Right at that moment Walter, who was climbing down quickly and didn’t realize his sister wasn’t already on the ground, stepped on her hand.
    “Ouch!” Alice exclaimed, and Walter quickly moved his foot, but only to put it on the next rung of the ladder which in reality was Alice’s shoulder. As he shifted his weight, Alice fell onto the pile of books, catching herself with her left hand.
    With an exclamation of surprise, Walter, having lost his balance when what he thought was the bottom of the ladder disappeared from under him, fell with a thud onto his sister and the scattered pile of schoolbooks.
    To add to the confusion, Frank dropped from the ladder after Walter without looking and landed right on top of his friend!
    “Walter, get off of me,” Alice cried, hugging her left arm and trying to get to her feet.
    “Sorry,” Walter apologized, “I can’t move until Frank gets up.” But even when Frank was helped up by Officer Hitt, Walter had to be helped up too.
    “What hurts?” Officer Shepherd asked him when he saw Walter wasn’t putting any weight on his right leg.
    “I think I must have pulled something in my leg,” Walter groaned, cautiously bending his knee and then gingerly putting weight on his foot.
    “Sorry about that,” Frank told him with concern. “I should have looked before dropping. Are you all right?”
    “Yeah, I’ll be okay, but next time I’ll go last,” and Walter managed to grin at his friend before turning to the girls who were gathered around Alice.
    “Is it just your arm?” Office Shepherd asked, kneeling beside Alice.
    “My left wrist and my right fingers,” she sniffed, trying not to cry though the pain was pretty bad.
    Gently the officer checked her fingers. “I think they’ll be okay. They’ll probably be rather sore for a few days, but it doesn’t look like any of them are broken. They’re probably just bruised.”
    “That’s good!” Lillian exclaimed, “You’d never be able to write to Natalie.”
    “Or do your homework,” Katie added. Ester didn't say a thing but was quietly gathering up the scattered books and papers.
    After carefully checking Alice’s wrist, Officer Shepherd said, “I’m not a doctor, but I think your wrist is lightly sprained.”
    A collective sigh of relief came from the gathered children at that, but their relief was short lived. Officer Hitt, with a series face, gave them a stern lecture about the dangers of climbing billboards and told them never to do it again if their fathers weren’t there.
    “Do you understand?” the officer asked the sober children.
    “Yes, sir,” they replied.
    “All right then,” he said in a more cheerful voice, “let’s get you all home.
    “I think Alice should get a doctor to take a look at her wrist.” Officer Shepherd said. During the lecture he had improvised a sling for the injured arm from Lillian’s scarf, and Alice was grateful to be able to rest her arm in it.
    Never again did any of those girls climb a billboard. As for Walter and Frank, I can’t say for certain that they never did, but, if they did, they never told.

 

 Do you think Frank and Walter climbed billboards again?

Would you like to climb one? (If you had permission.)

Did you have mixed up days this week or were they normal?

Climbing with the Medfords - Part 1

 Good morning!

Are you sure it's Friday? Isn't it Wednesday or something? No? Maybe Thursday? Well, I suppose if you and the calendars insist that it is Friday, I should post.

This week has been busy. Not a lot of extra things at the beginning, but it was still busy. Between trying to get some blog posts done for Read Another Page, and editing and publishing Lessons from Liberty (yes, it's published now), and writing, and really starting prep for KDWC, and normal life, I guess it was a bit busy. Yesterday my mom, sis, and I went up to help my aunt clean out some things. Then this evening I'm heading over to a friend's house to help her try out her new ice cream maker. :) She invited the other single gals at church too. Maybe I should start calling us the "Unmarrieds". Oh, and my best friends are back in town, and I'm hoping to get together with just them (no kids for one time) to talk and celebrate their birthday that is coming up. And I need to get my final 2 miles for the Spring 100 challenge walked. I don't think I'll have any trouble doing that. I also need to finish getting ready to teach Children's Church on Sunday. I taught a last minute review last Sunday because there was a mix-up in schedule. And we have music practice after church again.

Anyway, I have a 2 part story for you this time. Well, you can have the first part this week. I first posted this back in 2016. I have a whole lot about the Medford family written, but it's all in letter form. I hope you enjoy this! And if you've subscribed to my newsletter and have read "The Medford's 4th of July" this is the same family.

 

Climbing with the Medfords

Part 1

    It was a beautiful October day. The sun was shining in a cloudless sky and the air was brisk as the Medford children of school age climbed onto the school’s bus. It was time to head home and the bus was full of chattering children.
    “What are you going to do when you get home?” Alice asked her best friend Katie.
    “I’ll probably have to help with some chores or start on my homework. I wish we could do something fun.”
    “Me too.”
    “Maybe we could go roller skating later.”
    “Oh, that would be fun. I’ll check with my mom after we get home.”
    The two friends continued to talk as the bus stopped here and there to let children off. They were discussing their teacher’s upcoming wedding when a sudden noise and the jerking of the bus interrupted them.
    “What’s happening?”
    “Did something break?”
    “Why did we stop?”
    The questions were asked so quickly that Mr. Benton, the driver, held up his hands. “I don’t know. You kids just sit there a minute and let me take a look.”
    After waiting a few minutes Mr. Benton climbed back into the bus. “I don’t know what we’ll do. There’s something wrong with the engine. Don’t know how long it will take and I’ve got to get you kids home.”
    “Oh, we can walk home,” Walter Medford spoke up.
    “Yeah,” Frank Burton put in. “We all live near each other. Why can’t we walk home?”
    “Please,” the rest of the children begged, eager to be out in the sunshine and fresh air.
    For a moment Mr. Benton looked at the excited, pleading faces of the school children. “All right,” he began. “But,” he raised his voice to be heard above the sudden clamor of tongues, “you must all promise to stick together!”
    A loud chorus of “We promise!” filled the air as the children eagerly grabbed their books and climbed down off the bus. With many shouts and waves, the children set off down the street in a happy bunch, jackets open or slung over shoulders. It was glorious to be outside at last with a tramp through the town ahead of them.
    They had walked a few blocks when suddenly Frank exclaimed, “Walter, look!” He pointed to a very large billboard. It was the largest one the children had seen and it excited their interest. “Let’s climb it!”
    “Yeah, let’s!” Walter shouted eagerly, running towards it with Frank on his heels and the rest of the children tagging along. Climbing billboards was a favorite activity for Walter and Frank as well as several others in the group, though no one had climbed one that high before.
    Reaching the bottom of the billboard pole, the schoolbooks were quickly dumped on the ground and the girls waited eagerly for Walter and Frank to tell them it was all right to climb. The two boys, feeling responsible for the welfare of the rest of the children, wanted to make sure the billboard was safe.
    “I think they just wanted a chance to enjoy it by themselves,” Alice whispered to Katie.
    Katie nodded.
    After what seemed like hours to those waiting below, Walter called down, “Okay, come on up!”
    There was a scramble for the ladder and before long Lillian and Alice Medford, Katie Burton and Ester Hershal were standing with the boys at the top of the billboard taking in the amazing bird’s eye view of Boonsville.
    “It feels like we’re birds in a nest,” Ester laughed. “But I don’t see any mother bird coming with a bug to feed us.”
    The girls laughed at that thought and Katie added, “Good, because I’d hate to have to eat a bug!”
    “Look!” Walter pointed, “there’s our house!” Sure enough the Medford house could be seen among the trees many blocks away.
    Turning to look in another direction, Frank pointed out the large church on Clark street.
    “Why, I think I can see the school,” and Alice pointed in the direction where a building of some sort could be partially seen that might indeed be the school.
    “I don’t know if it is,” Frank said.
    “It rather looks like it though,” Walter added, not wanting to sound too critical of his younger sister’s idea.
    “And see there,” Katie pointed near the Medford’s house. “Is that Rob and Sara?”
    “Where?” Ester and Alice asked at once.
    “There, at the corner grocery. Don’t you see them?”
    Frank and Walter turned. “Wouldn’t that be funny if it was? We ought to ask them if they were at the grocery at this time,” and Walter looked down at his watch. “Too bad we didn’t bring any binoculars with us. Then we really could have seen things.”
    “Walt, you and I should come back some time with a pair.” Frank grinned at the idea.

 

 Did you have a busy week?

Have you ever climbed a billboard?

Do you think you'd like to?

A Writer's Regret

 Good morning and happy Friday!

    Today is my sister's birthday and my parents' anniversary. (Yep, they share the same day just like I share a birthday with my Mom.) It's a beautiful morning. The sun is shining and the birds are singing and chirping. It's in the 50s right now, but is supposed to warm up to the 70s today. Not sure if my sis and I will walk before breakfast or afterwards. We do need to clean the house.

We've had rain, and humidity and warmth, and are now enjoying the cooler temperatures. Lovely walking weather.

This week has been pretty normal. I taught my final writing class for the school year. I mowed the yard. I've been writing. I think I have at least 5k already this week. And I know what comes next, so I'm eager to write it. This version of "Don Wood" is so much better than the last one. Don actually cares about this mystery instead of not being interested.

I've been practicing the violin this week as we have ensemble practice right after church on Sunday. And the children are playing bells for church, so we'll have to run over our song between Sunday school and church. They love playing bells!

I really had no idea what to post this week. So I looked at some of my old poems I've posted and this one just seemed to fit. Enjoy! :D

 

 

A Writer’s Regret

Dear readers and critics, family and friend,
I jot these regrets on paper with pen.
I fear I am ailing, I must have a disease.
It comes suddenly upon me like some giant sneeze!
There’s nothing to do, I can’t stop it you know
For if I should try to a gasket might blow.
Perhaps it is useless to try and explain
I have some strange symptoms, but no fever or pain.
My brain races on full of stories and words
It won’t stop its spinning, it’s growing absurd!
My mind moves much faster than hand with a pen
Perhaps I’ll get NEO and try him instead.
It still doesn’t help much, oh what can I say
It’s no use, I’ve failed to write them today.
The words keep on coming, I’m trying to sleep
Forget what they said, it’s no use to count sheep.
The stories are waiting, piling up with great speed
I know you are longing, your story to read.
But alas I can’t help it, I’m very perplexed
What thing should I write first, and what should be next?
Confused and bewildered, I’m sure you can see
The serious trouble that now faces me.
So accept my apology, understand my regret
If your story is not written, don’t go off and fret.
Some day it will happen, I think, I believe,
But now it seems something hard to achieve.

 

Was your week normal or different?

Do you ever have more than one story wanting to be written at once?

Should I post another short scene next week or a poem or nothing?