The Graham Quartet - Part 3

Good Morning Friday Fiction Fans,

I hope you are ready for the next part of the Graham Quartet mystery because that's what you're getting. But don't expect it to last forever. :) I only have two more parts written. I have been writing some, though not as much as I was earlier this year. Last week I reached 5k again, but then I also realized that my unfinished project list wasn't getting much shorter. Part of that is because when I near the end of one project I tend to focus only on that and push all the other ones away "until after this book is published" or "that thing if done". That's what was starting to happen and so I decided I was going to keep writing, but not as much or I'd have another book to publish before I had completed some other projects. I will be writing short stories (I have to have something to post on my blog each week), and will work on TCR-6 and the Graham Quartet as often as I can or when I get inspired. This way I will still be writing but I will also have time to complete all the many other projects that just keep sitting on my "to to" list. :)

All that being said, I'm still wanting any and all ideas you might have for either the TCR books or this Graham Quartet mystery. :) And I have some fun short stories to post before long. :)

The Graham Quartet

Part 3

    Fishing in his pocket, Matt pulled out a small flashlight. “Let’s try it with this.” In the steady beam of light, the writing on the paper was easy to see, but no one could decipher it.
    “I can’t decide if it’s some foreign language or if it’s in code,” Matt declared at last, stepping back with a sigh and snapping off the light. “I wonder if the lieutenant or Dad would be able to make sense out of it.”
    “Oh boy!” Tim exclaimed. “It just had to be our mysterious man from the boat. We know he came this direction and was around here. He probably dropped the paper and it has the secret orders for the crime ring he’s the leader of.” His eyes shone with excitement at his own imaginings. “I wish we had the F.B.I. here.” Shoving his hands in his pockets Tim moved across the room. “Elsa, you probably found a piece of valuable information. Our mystery man might not have written it, but he is probably searching frantically for that paper this very minute. Maybe he’s even on his way back here to see if he left it behind.”
    Selena shivered. The gloom of the room and Tim’s words, wild and full of his usual strong imagination though they were, combined to make a strange, almost eery feeling creep up her spine.
    “Tim, knock off that kind of talk,” Matt ordered. “I don’t think anyone’s coming here in this storm, and as soon as it’s over, we’re leaving. And besides, we don’t even know who our mystery man is. He may not be bad. Remember Elsa’s stranger this past winter.”
    With his enthusiasm dampened by his brother’s rebuke, Tim turned away and, clearing a tiny spot on one of the window panes, peered out at the whitecaps on the lake. “Um, Matt.”
    Matt turned around.
    “You might want to take a look out here. There’s a boat coming this way.”
    “What!” ejaculated Matt, springing to the window. “Tim’s right!” he declared a moment later, his eye still watching through the hole in the dirt and dust. “There is a boat. And it’s headed directly here. There’s no other place he could be going.”
    Both girls gasped. Who was it?
    “I wish Lieutenant Ashwood was here. Or Dad,” Selena whispered. No one heard her over the drumming of rain on the roof and the sigh and whistle of wind. Who would have guessed that their vacation would suddenly turn into such and adventure.

* * *

    The sunshine was bright, and the sandy beaches stretching out to the water’s edge were enticing. A breeze, blowing off the lake, made the tall grasses, growing in the sand between the house and the empty beach, sway with a soft rustle.
    “Come on,” Tim urged his siblings, pausing on the broad stairway and looking over his shoulder. “We only have a few hours before supper, and I don’t want to spend it inside.”
    A merry laugh came from one of the rooms and Elsa’s voice called back, “A moment or two longer won’t hurt you, Tim. Besides, we’ll have more than just this afternoon to spend on the beach.”
    Thirteen-year-old Tim groaned and sat down on the top step. “It’ll take them ages,” he said, addressing the empty steps below him. He leaned his elbow on one knee and rested his chin in his hand. “And after all that long trip. I want to see the lake and . . .”
    “Come on, Tim,” Matt called, giving his younger brother a nudge with his foot before bounding down the stairs.
    “Yeah, I thought you wanted to go see the lake,” Elsa said, slipping past and hurrying after Matt while Selena skipped behind. Tim scrambled to his feet and raced after the others.
    The Graham family had left their home in the woods of Minnesota for a summer vacation on the shores of Lake Michigan. Mr. Graham’s sister and her husband, James Hawkins, owned a large lake house in Wisconsin which they had opened for summer visitors. For several years Mr. and Mrs. Hawkins had urged David and Hannah Graham to come with their family and stay at the house for the summer, but things had never worked out. This summer, however, much to everyone’s delight, there was nothing to hinder the Grahams from coming.
    Having arrived only an hour or so before, the Graham Quartet were eager to explore the sandy beaches and wade in the lake’s deep blue waters. There was nothing unusual about the Quartet as they raced along the sandy path, through the tall grasses and down to the water’s edge, their bare feet making almost no noise. They all looked much alike except in size, for they ranged in age from thirteen-year-old Tim to nineteen-year-old Elsa. All had the same matching brown eyes which seemed to notice everything, rather square faces and brown hair. Their loyalty to each other was evident, for it was seldom that one was seen without at least one other sibling, except when they were in school. Full of fun, yet helpful, the Graham Quartet always seemed to stumble upon some adventure or another.
    “Look at that water!” Elsa exclaimed, staring out across the vast expanse of Lake Michigan.
    “Feel that breeze,” added Matt.
    “And the sunshine and sand and water!” Tim, who had taken off his shoes the moment they had arrived, stepped into the cool waters. “Brr, this is cold. Come feel it.”
    Quickly the three others joined Tim in the water, wading forward until the water splashed about their legs and threatening to soak the boys’ rolled up pants and the hems of the girls’ skirts. When they grew cold they retreated to the shore where the warm summer sun quickly dried and warmed their feet and legs.
    Sitting on the beach, letting handfuls of the warm, golden sand run through her fingers, Selena noticed a shadow approaching. She lifted her head and smiled at the newcomer.

Who just arrived on the beach?

And who do you think was in that boat?

What would you do if you were in the building with the Quartet?

The Graham Quartet - Part 2

Good morning Friday Fiction Fans!
It sure is wet here. I don't know about you, but we've had a lot of rain. In fact, last evening, just before supper, my dad and I set off and had an adventure in the rain. I had heard from my sister that the creek (okay, it's technically called a "drainage ditch") in the valley was flooded and over the road, so I grabbed my rain jacket, slipped on my sandals (because I didn't want to soak my shoes) and went outside. Dad decided to join me and off we set. After we decided to walk through the wet grass down the hill to the path, we were amazed by the water. It was rushing rather quickly and had spread over it's banks and in places had covered the road and the path. It was rather fun to see all the water, and after seeing cars drive through the water only to turn around after they got to the bridge, we decided to walk down there and take a look. Only we couldn't stay on the path since it was under water. We ended up making our way through the swamp that was higher than my ankles to get around it. After crossing under the bridge we saw more water. Lots of water actually, and it had covered the road even more than the other place. But, it seems that no one really cared about it and they drove through it. Crazy people. Anyway, Dad and I were both rather soaked by the time we got home. :)

We came down the hill on the far right. There is supposed to be a road in the foreground of the picture, instead it is just water. You can see the rushing current in the middle. (This was taken by a friend coming home from work.)

I know our local flooding isn't anything like it's been doing in TX and, I'm sure, other places. But I did get a new short story to write. :) You'll just have to wait until I get it finished.

Okay, I know this is later than usual, but does anyone even read it before 9:00?

Triple Creek Ranch - Set Free is coming along well. The illustrations are almost finished and my test readers are starting to get their hands on it. :) I thought you all might enjoy seeing one of the illustrations from the new book. Kate said she would. This is the first picture. One half is finished and the other shows what the drawing looked like before she painted it. What do you think? Can you guess who they are? What do you think is happening?

 

I really haven't been working on The Graham Quartet. Sorry. I'm trying to get another short story finished, and then I had this new idea. Besides, I want ideas and suggestions from you, dear readers.

But here you are.

Part 2

    He moved his hand towards the door which now stood so invitingly open. “I touched something, and suddenly the whole latch and lock came away from the door frame and . . .” His eyes were wide and sparkled with excitement though he kept his voice scare above a whisper. “Dare we go in?”
    With a shrug, Matt moved forward, cautiously put his head inside, and glanced around. “I don’t see anything.” He stepped through the door, his eyes darting around the room. It was bare. Only an old table stood in the center of the room.
    Obeying the motion of Matt’s hand, Tim eagerly joined him. “Wow! Elsa, come see! I wonder what this place used to be?” Slowly raising his head, Tim stared at the rafters up above, draped and festooned with cobwebs and layers of dust.
    It was Elsa’s voice that answered. “If you’d taken a moment to study the old sign above the door, you would have noticed that it said something about fish processing.”
    Several minutes passed as the three siblings moved about the room, trying not to breath, too deeply near the windows lest they stir up a whirlwind of dust. Matt examined the lock on the door but was as puzzled as his younger brother had been about it coming loose.
    Outside, sitting on the ground, Selena waited. What were the others doing? She hadn’t heard Tim’s exclamation and wondered about their growing absence. The sudden freshening of the breeze caused her to stand up quickly. Her dress whipped about her legs as she noticed the piles of dark clouds racing across the sky from the west as though they were an invading army out to conquer the forces of light. “Matt! Elsa!” Selena hurried to the side of the building. “A storm’s coming. Come on.”
    In a moment Matt came around the corner and joined her on shore. He frowned up at the darkening sky. “Where did that storm come from?” A jagged flash of light ripped through the oncoming mass of clouds,followed moments later by a rumble. “There’s no way we can reach the house before it hits. I think the best thing to do is take shelter in this building.” As the wind grew stronger he raised his voice and motioned to Elsa and Tim who were coming across the walkway. “Let’s get back inside before the rain starts.”
    Selena cringed at the sight of the water lashed up by the wind dashing against the shore with showers of spray. “Matt–”
    Without giving his sister time to think longer, Matt seized her hand and pulled her onto the walkway. “The building has a solid floor,” he assured.
    Large drops of rain were beginning to spatter about them as Matt and Selena raced around the corner of the old fish building and through the open doorway.
    Once the door was shut and firmly secured by a piece of wood braced between it and the table, the siblings looked at one another. Rain beat upon the roof and the wind whistled through a crack in the eaves. Thunder roared and crashed as flashes of lightning split the sky for brief seconds.
    “Well,” Matt began, speaking loudly to be heard, “I guess we’re stuck here for a little while. Maybe it will be a quick storm.” Dropping to the floor, he leaned against the wall and stretched out his legs. “Just listen to that storm!”
    The room was dim but dry. Elsa and Tim joined Matt on the floor but Selena remained standing, looking around. “Who swept the floor?”
    “Huh?” Tim raised his eyebrows. “No one swept. There isn’t any broom. And who would want to sweep an old place like this?”
    “Someone who wanted to stay here.” Selena’s words seemed to send a shock through her older siblings, for Matt and Elsa each reached out a hand and felt the floor.
    “She’s right!” Elsa stood up quickly.
    “How do you know the floor was swept?”
    “Think, Tim,” Matt said. “How much dust and dirt is covering the windows, and the table even? And how much dirt is on the floor?”
    Tim gave a whistle. “I never thought of that! It’s a good thing you came in, Selena. So, if someone swept the floor–”
    “It was because he was staying here–”
    “And didn’t want to be covered with dirt or people would notice.”
    “But he didn’t wash the windows for fear someone would realize this building was being occupied.”
    A long silence fell over the Graham Quartet as they looked at each other. Who was the person that had stayed in the building? Was it the man they had been following? When a loud crash of thunder sounded almost overhead, they all jumped.
    “If ‘he’ comes during this storm, we’ll never hear him,” Tim’s voice only reached his brother’s ears and Matt frowned.
    “Maybe we should look around and see if the occupant left anything behind,” suggested Elsa, as the storm seemed to abate somewhat and the room grew slightly lighter.
    “All right, let’s each take a side of the room,” directed Matt. “It will at least give us something to do while we wait out the rest of the storm.”
    It was difficult searching a bare room in the grey light of a storm, but the Quartet made a thorough job and at last were rewarded by Elsa’s cry of “I think I may have found something.”
    Everyone hurried over. She was on her knees attempting to get something out of a crack in the floor.
    “Here, try my knife.” Matt opened one of the blades on his pocket knife and handed it to his sister. In another moment Elsa was holding a piece of paper.
    “Does it say anything?” demanded Tim.
    Holding the paper as close to the window as she could, Elsa bent over it. “It has something written on it, but I can’t tell what it says. It’s awfully small print and the light is so bad, I can’t see very well.”

Ideas? Questions?

What do you think is going to happen?

Do you think the paper is anything important?

The Graham Quartet

Good morning Faithful Friday Fiction Fans,
I hope you have all had a good week. I have. Right now it's a little different than usual as my oldest niece and two youngest nephews are staying at our house for 4-5 days while their parents and other siblings run a booth at a homeschool conference. Right now I'm listening to the almost 4 year old read a kitty story to his 2-year-old brother.  So sweet! :)

This week the same blog that did the interview about me last week is doing a giveaway. If you've never read the Triple Creek Ranch books and would like to know what an 11-year-old thinks of them, or even if you have read them and still want to know, head over to Kristy's Cottage and watch the video review her daughter did about it. (Sorry, the giveaway is only open to residents of the continental United States.)

All right, here you are. The story you have been waiting for. Well, at least the first part of it. :) This is the start of the new Graham Quartet mystery, and I hope you'll help me out. I need any and all questions, ideas, suggestions, things you want to know, and anything else you can think of. Part 2 should be coming next week.

Enjoy!

Part 1

    The air was warm and heavy. Only a faint breeze whispered through the few trees and stirred the brightly colored flowers on the slope.
    “Matt, are you sure we should keep going this way?” fourteen-year-old Selena asked, pushing back her brown hair from her hot face and glancing around at the lonely, uninhabited stretch of shoreline.
    “This is the way Joe Blow went, Selena,” Matt replied.
    “I know, but–”
    “We don’t want to lose the trail, Selena,” Tim, who was thirteen, interrupted his older sister quickly, his eyes sparkling.
    “But Matt,” Selena stopped where she was and grabbed her brother’s arm. Her voice lowered to a mere whisper, “What if we meet him?”
    There was a long pause, even the wind stopped blowing and the waves washing up against the rocky shore seemed to hush their noise. The sun, which hadn’t yet reached the center of the heavens, shone hotly down from the pale sky on the four siblings as they looked at each other.
    “Well,” Matt said at last, “I suppose we can just try to act normal. We are exploring the shore, aren’t we?”
    Elsa, the oldest of the group, nodded slowly, “But what if he’s seen us following him before?”
    A breath of air stirred the grasses, and Selena gave a start as something brushed against her leg. “And no one knows where we went this morning,” she reminded the others, scratching her leg.
    With a slight frown, Matt looked from his sisters to the slight hill before them. “Before we go back, I want to see the building that Joe stopped at. I think it’s just over this rise.”
    “Yeah,” Tim put in, eager to be off again. “He’s probably not even there since it’s morning. Come on.”
    Nodding, Elsa agreed.
    “Selena?” Matt turned to his younger sister. He knew she didn’t get scared very easily, but he didn’t want to go forward unless they were all in agreement.
    “Just to the building?” she asked.
    Matt nodded.
    “All right.”
    In moments the old building came into view. It was drab in color, and the weathered sides gave mute evidence of long years of neglect. The front faced the water, greenish-grey near the shore and deepening to a darker shade farther out. An old wooden walkway, almost like a dock, encased the building’s front and part of its sides, seeming to invite a boat to tie up for a visit.
    “That place looks old,” Tim remarked as the four young people stopped to survey the land before them.
    “Sure does,” agreed Matt. “I don’t see any sign of ‘him’. Let’s go down and take a look at the building.”
    “Do you think it’s safe?” Elsa asked.
    No one answered. There was no movement about the house or anywhere along the shore that spoke of human life. The entire place felt deserted. Beckoning to the others to follow, Matt led the way down the slope and across the grassy, flower lined shore. Every eye was open, every ear turned to the slightest change in sound, every nerve was tingling with excitement and a sense of unspoken danger.
    “You would certainly have a hard time sneaking up on this place,” Tim breathed. “Everything is open except for those few trees.”
    “Quite a change from home, huh?” Matt didn’t take his eyes off the weathered building before them.
    Reaching the walkway, they paused. Tim hurried over and pressed his face to a window, trying to peer in through the layers of dust and grime it had accumulated. “I don’t think anyone’s been here,” he said. “At least, I can’t see anything.”
    “I doubt you could see anything through that window even if there was anything to see. I’m going to try out the walkway.” And Matt started forward onto the rickety looking planking which stretched over the edge of the water.
    Looking down at the waves washing around the pilings, Selena gave a quick shiver. “Matt, be careful,” she called. “It might not be safe.”
    “Well, if it’s not, we’ll soon find out,” was the calm reply as Matt rounded the corner of the building and disappeared from sight. The sound of heavy steps was heard moments later and then Matt reappeared. “Yep, it seems pretty solid in most places. A few of the planks are loose, but I don’t think anything’s going to give under our weight unless we all jump on it at once. Come on.”
    Needing no urging, Tim quickly joined his brother while Elsa followed with slower steps. Selena remained were she was. “Selena, aren’t you coming?” Elsa paused to ask over her shoulder.
    “No, thanks. I’m going to stay here on solid ground.” She turned to smell the tall yellow flowers which were growing in profusion.
    Out on the walkway, Matt and Tim moved from window to window. “Bother!” Tim sighed. “I was wanting to go inside an look around, but the door is locked and the windows are so dirty we can’t see a thing!”
    “I know,” his brother replied. “But I guess that means our mystery man didn’t stay here.” Matt turned to gaze out over the vast expanse of Lake Michigan. “It sure is something out there today, isn’t it, Elsa? Say, where’s Selena?”
    Nodding back towards the shore, Elsa replied, “She stayed there. I don’t think she’s too keen about the idea of trusting herself to this walkway. You know she didn’t really like going out on the pier the other day and only went because Lieutenant Ashwood promised her it was safe.”
    Matt frowned. “I’d forgotten. Maybe I should go join her. I’m not sure I like–”
    His words were interrupted by an exclamation from Tim. “Matt! It opens!”
    Whirling around, Matt and Elsa saw the door of the building swinging silently open.
    “What did you do?” demanded Matt, rushing over to join his brother.
    Tim shook his head. “I don’t know. I thought something about the latch seemed strange–”

Well, what did you think?

Would you like Part 2 next week?

Any ideas, questions or anything for me?

The Old Wagon - Part 5

Good morning Friday Fiction Fans!
Summer has come. We actually turned on the air conditioning yesterday afternoon because it was so warm and muggy. I think we've only had it on once or twice this year. But this morning we are back to having the windows open. :)

It's been a good week of staying home and getting things done! After having such a crazy month of May, June has started out at a slower pace, allowing me to feel like I'm accomplishing some things.
However, I'm afraid that writing hasn't been as productive as it was earlier this year. Perhaps it's because I haven't written much last month, perhaps it's because I got a little stuck on the new "Graham Quartet" story, perhaps it's because of many other things. Anyway, it's been slower. But, I do have the start of the "Graham Quartet" mystery and I just might post the first part next Friday. :) But you'll have to give me all the help you can. I'll need questions, ideas, suggestions, more questions, and anything else you can think of. Maybe that will spur on my brain and I'll be able to get this story written. :)

This week I was also getting an interview ready for a blog. It turned out rather fun. If you want to go read it (You may learn some new things about me.), head on over to Kristy's Cottage and read it. Kristy is also going to be doing a fun giveaway of TCR-1 and my two audios later today and as soon as it's up, I'll come back and link to it on here, so stay tuned. :)

I think that's all the news I have for you now. I hope you enjoy this final part of

The Old Wagon

Part 5

    Everyone breathed a deep sigh of relief when we again reached a flatter land. The going was easier after that, until we came to a river. This one reminded me of the large one we had crossed when I was young and I dreaded it. I’m afraid I dug my wheels in the mud on purpose to avoid getting on another ferry. But it didn’t help. Erik conquered my stubbornness and made me get on board, just as he always prevailed when one of his children got in a stubborn fit and didn’t want to mind. The crossing wasn’t as bad as I had feared, but I was relieved when we reached the other side.
    At last we reached the new home. There was no place to move into right away, and my family had to spend more nights in me while the house was being built. I didn’t mind. Even if the load was still resting in my bed, I at least had the pleasure of remaining still during the day, for which my wheels were grateful.
    My family did finally move in o the newly built home and I was unloaded once more and my canvas top removed. I breathed a sigh as the rays of the warm summer sun fell on my bed, so long hidden from the light. Perhaps now my days of long traveling were over. Would this be my home until I could no longer be used?

    As the seasons passed, I watched the Mattingly children grow. I carried them to town, on Sundays for church, during the week to go shopping, and on other occasions for gatherings of various natures. It was a pleasant life to lead. Elizabeth often drove me when her husband was busy in the fields. Sometimes I even carried a load of hay to the barn, with many laughing children piled on the top. When the children grew older, the older boys would hitch up the horses to me and, after all the children had climbed in, we’d make an excursion to the pecan groves farther away and come back with baskets filled with nuts. In winter I was often driven into the barn when the fierce cold winds would sweep across the plains sometimes bringing snow to cover everything outside.

    But my tale is growing long. Perhaps that is because I have had so many years of life. The Mattingly children grew up and not one of them sought a new life away from their home. I often wondered what would have happened had any of them decided to head west. Would they have loaded me up again, or would they have taken a train? I’ve seen those steam cars many times.
    One time I remember well. I had been driven to the station by Elizabeth’s oldest son, Bern. (They had named him Bernard, but no one would ever remember to call him that.) Bern had gone to meet his younger brother Lee who was returning from somewhere. The horse driving me was a young thing, not well acquainted with trains. I’m not sure how it happened, but when the train roared in, the horse became frightened and shook its reins loose from the hitching post and raced away. There I was, bouncing along, turning every which way as though I was a young inexperienced wagon bent on mischief. It took me a little time to collect my startled thoughts, for the jarring and jolting of my wheels over the rocks was not pleasant. At last it came to me that if I were to turn over, I might stop the horse. There wasn’t much time for reflection. I spied a grassy slope ahead and suddenly I flipped over. Let me tell you it was a nail jarring crash. My wheels spun in the air faster than I had ever known they could. I had stopped the horse all right, but every board and nail in me protested.
    There was quite a commotion over me and the horse when a crowd from the station reached us. The horse was calmed down and unhitched, and, with difficulty, for I was no light spring wagon, I was turned back over onto my wheels. Much to my amazement, I had received very little damage and was able to be driven home. I doubted that anyone ever knew what a large part I had played in stopping that runaway horse that day.

    Well, the children grew up and married and had children of their own. I saw the new invention, the automobile, and, like many another wagon, wondered how long it would last. They are still around, but I’ve never met any as old as me, and I wonder if they have as long a lifespan as wagons do.
    Elizabeth kept me at the farm, for she couldn’t bear to part with me, and when the family would all gather, I was often hitched up to take the younger children for a ride. I was painted several bright colors over the years, but the weather of the changing seasons has worn most of it off.
    But all that fun and delight seem to be over. Elizabeth has been dead so many seasons, and no longer do I get to enjoy the feel of moving along the dirt road with a load of children all talking and laughing. Here I sit on a plot of grass alone and watch those young automobiles race by at speeds never dreamed of by wagons. Sometimes children come and climb up on me and pretend they are pioneers heading west. I love those times, for they bring back such pleasant memories. There have also been times when one of the long line of Elizabeth’s descendants chooses to have a family picture taken on or beside me because, “it’s a neat old thing and Great Grandma loved it.”
    I creaked my delight at being remembered, but someone only said, “Be careful climbing on that thing, Joe, it might break.”
    I could tell you more stories if you cared to listen, but not many do these days. They are always in a hurry. But thanks for stopping by.

So, what did you think?

Will you ever look at an old wagon the same way?

Are you looking forward to "The Graham Quartet"?

Did you go read the interview?

The Old Wagon - Part 4

Hello FFFs,
It's a rainy morning here at my grandparents'. We are going to help my aunt get her new house organized and decorated today and, since we have to move many boxes, we're rather hoping the rain lets up before we get to work. :)

Last week's History Day was such fun! And it didn't rain. :) There were so many different era's represented that it would make the post much too long to post individual pictures of each outfit. However, I will let you see the group shot.

L-R: 1760s, 1770s, 1810s, 1850s, 1860s, 1870, 1880s, 1890s, 1920s, 1930s, 1950s, 1970s, 1980s

My writing has gone better this week than it has all month. I wrote more than 3,000 words. And the first chapter of the new Graham Quartet is written. It hasn't been checked at all, but it's written. :) Anyone interested in reading it on here? Let me know.
I'm hoping I'll be able to write more next week as this story is quite fun. :) I think you'll like it.

But now I'm going to end this post and go eat some breakfast. Enjoy the next to last part of 

The Old Wagon

Part 4

    Well, the days and seasons passed. I grew used to carrying the Bergman family into town to church or for shopping. I brought supplies for the farm out from town or carried sacks of harvested grain to be milled into flour. Some of my most pleasant memories of that time are of carrying the family and friends out onto the prairie for picnics, and later taking Elijah and Wesley to pick up their girls for a social function in town.
    The time passed swiftly, and it seems like just yesterday when I think of the children growing up. Elizabeth grew up too, and though I think she was still fond of me, she was busy. A young man started calling on her, but to my sorrow, he had a buggy of his own, and it wasn’t often I had the delight of carrying them places. On her wedding day I did carry her, her parents, and Will and Ester into town to the church. It was a lovely spring day and the windows of the church were opened, so I heard part of the doings inside. It will always be a regret of mine that I didn’t get to carry Elizabeth and her new husband on their first trip as Mr. and Mrs. Erik Mattingly.

    More time passed and I thought I would remain there with the Bergman family the rest of my days. But then one day Elizabeth and her husband, arrived at the farm in their buggy with their three children. That wasn’t unusual, for the Mattinglys lived only on the other side of town, but something was in the air. I could tell. After the children had run off to play, the adults began talking as they strolled slowly towards the house. Pausing beside me, Elizabeth placed a hand on me and suddenly asked, “Pa, is this wagon still in good shape?”
    Mr. Bergman looked surprised. “Sure it is. I wouldn’t have gotten a new wheel for it if it wasn’t. Why, I’d say this wagon is good for another thousand miles of travel and at least another fifty years.”
    “Would you consider selling it to us, sir?” Erik asked.
    “Sell it? Whatever for? You folks aren’t thinking of moving west are you?” Mr. Bergman looked somewhat sharply at his son-in-law.
    It was Elizabeth who answered. “No, Pa, not west. We want to move south.”
    “South? How far?” Mrs. Bergman asked quickly.
    Looking up at her husband, Elizabeth waited for him to answer.
    “We aren’t just sure yet. Some folks have a yearning to head west and settle in the vast land beyond, but our calling is to the south. We heard that Texas is an open land.”
    There was much more talking, but I didn’t get to hear more, for Mrs. Bergman suggested they go inside out of the sun where they could sit down. I was left to wonder and dream. South. What land lay to the south which would attract and draw folks? Travel. Another trip with a family. Elizabeth’s family. I was pleased about the prospect, and even the thought of the heavy load I must again carry, were I chosen to go, couldn’t keep me from being eager to get started. After all, I had been built for travel.
    When at last the family came from the house, Elizabeth patted me once again and said, “I’m glad we can take this wagon with us. It was such a good wagon on our trip out here.”
    And Mr. Bergman said, "Do you recall how you said good night to it every evening before you would go to sleep?”
    “Yes. And it always said good night to me.” Elizabeth smiled. “No one else could hear it, but I did.”
    So it was true. I was going to be going south.

    I remember the day we started off. I had been loaded almost as full as I had when I was carrying a family of seven, and now I only had a family of five. But there was no cow, and no chickens were tied to the side. There were horses pulling the wagon and not oxen, so I knew we might move at a faster speed than on my first trip. I felt like a veteran as the wagon started forward and good byes were called to Mr. and Mrs. Bergman, Will and Ester. Even Elijah and Wesley, with their families, had come to see their sister off for the great southern lands. I wondered if I would ever see them again.
    That first day was spent getting everything settled in the most comfortable position for me. Of course, Erik complained that things must not have been packed right, but I think Elizabeth knew I was just trying to get comfortable. After all, I wasn’t a new wagon any more. My canvas top had been replaced with a new one, and I was glad because the old one had become torn and dirty. I would have been embarrassed for Elizabeth to ride in a wagon with such a cover on it.
    Crossing small streams and rolling across the flat prairies, we traveled south. Then we came to the hills. I heard folks talking and they called them the Ozark Mountains. All I know is they were very difficult to cross. There were times when the rocks caused me the greatest difficulty staying upright. I got so tired of fighting those hills and rocks and steep slopes that I was strongly tempted to just tumble over on my side and roll down to the bottom. But then I would remember who was riding in me and I would put forth my greatest effort to remain upright. I knew that if I fell over, it would cause immense trouble not only for myself, but also for my Elizabeth and her family. So I fought those treacherous places and kept going.

Will you come back for the last part?

Do you want to read the first chapter of the new mystery?

Which era did you like best?

The Old Wagon - Part 3

Good morning FFFs,
I almost forgot to post this morning because I was so focused on the big day before me. You see, today is "History Day" and we are having a party. :) Each girl (Yeah, only girls are coming.) is dressing in an outfit from a different era in American History, bringing a food dish from that era and is going to share a little about that era. We are going to have 14 different eras represented and boy, is it going to be fun! We're just praying for no rain and a little bit warmer weather so those of us in light summery dresses don't freeze. :) You wanted to know what era I am doing? Well, for those of you who know me, it's not what you might expect. I'm doing the 1920s! Short hair, headband and all. :)

This week was a little better for writing. I actually started writing part of the new Graham Quartet story. However, I need your help!!
This story takes place on the shores of Lake Michigan and I need a picture. I would really like a picture of an old boathouse, shack or cottage along the water's front. And I don't really care if it is on Lake Michigan or not because I can always "put" it there. :) So, if you can find a picture online, copy and paste the link into a comment or, if you have a picture that you or a family member took and are willing to share it with me, please, send it to me.

Well, that's all for now. I have things I need to get done before people start arriving. I hope you enjoy this next part of

The Old Wagon

Part 3

    I don’t know how many days we spent on the trail before we came to a large river, I never learned to keep track of days and weeks; after all, I never went to school. The river was larger than anything I had ever imagined and I wondered how we would get across. I knew I would never be able to float across with my heavy iron wheels. If they could have been taken off easily, I think I would have made a fairly good raft. Thankfully, I didn’t have to try. There was a ferry, and I was driven on and we were taken across. I didn’t like that ride. I’ve never felt so dizzy as I did then. I was rather wobbly on my wheels when the oxen pulled me up the farther bank, but no one seemed to notice. Perhaps they were all feeling the same way.
    There were more days of travel and more nights spent under the stars. The boys had each been allowed to sleep outside with their father a few times, but I always liked having them in where I could feel them moving in their sleep. Every night Elizabeth would whisper good night to me, and every night I managed a slight creak in response.
    During the days, the children often walked along beside me. Baby Ester was learning to walk, and often Elizabeth or one of the older boys would steady her steps in the grass as I slowly rolled along. There were days when everything was cloudy and grey. Sometimes it would rain, and all the children and Mrs. Bergman would sit in the back of the wagon with my canvas pulled tight and sing and tell stories. If the rain got too hard, Mr. Bergman would unhitch the wagon and join the family in the shelter of my canvas. Then the stories would grow more interesting, for he was a good story teller. Perhaps that is where I learned to tell a story.
    But many days were sunny and everything was beautiful. The flowers growing in the tall grass smelled so pleasant, and the songs the birds sang sounded so sweet, that I wished every day was as nice. On and on we went, traveling slowly, for I did discover early on that oxen are plodders. They don’t seem to have the lively get up and go that the horses do. But, for the sake of the younger children’s shorter legs, I was glad we moved slowly.

    At long last we reached a town. It was quite small in comparison to the one where I was made, and there weren’t people all around. Mr. Bergman stopped the oxen on what seemed to be the main street.
    “I’ll just go in and ask about our land,” he told his family. “You all wait here.”
    The children were anxious to get out and explore the town, and Mrs. Bergman said they might get out, if they stayed right near the wagon. I was rather interested myself and would have enjoyed a quick trip around, had I not been carrying the load I was. I wondered if any of my fellow wagons had come this far, but I didn’t see any.
    Long before the children tired of looking around, Mr. Bergman was back. “It won’t take us much longer to reach our place, children,” he said, climbing back up to my seat.
    Quickly the children scrambled back in and we were off, lumbering down the street and out of town, back to the seemingly endless prairie. Mr. Bergman had been right, it didn’t take us even an hour to reach our new place. I heard Mr. Bergman mention that fact to his wife when we arrived.
    There was a cabin already built, and soon everyone was running around, in and out of the door, and shouts and exclamations filled the air. When at last they had all settled down and the oxen had been unhitched, Mr. Bergman said something about unloading me, but Mrs. Bergman shook her head.
    “Not yet, Henry. This cabin needs cleaned first before we put any of our things in it. Who knows what kind of people lived here or what kind of creatures have made themselves at home here.”
    I heard the groans from the children, but soon everyone was busy scrubbing the house. Everyone that is except Baby Ester. I was left to watch her while the others worked. She had been tied to me by a stout string attached to her little pinafore. Perhaps some wouldn’t think that was very kind, but what else were they to do? There were no neighbors to watch her, and she had become quite an active young thing. Attaching her to me was the only sensible thing to do. I wouldn’t let her toddle off and get lost, nor would I allow her to wander too close to the oxen or the horses and risk being stepped on. Neither of us minded. I was content to sit still and rest in the lovely sunshine, listening to her baby prattle as she played with the rocks or tried to grab a grasshopper.
    Finally the cabin was clean enough for Mrs. Bergman and the unloading began. You’ll never think what a relief it was to me as each thing was lifted from my bed and carried inside. I creaked my gratitude, but I think Elizabeth was the only one who understood me. My canvas top was taken off and the sun felt so wonderful on my bed, where I hadn’t felt sunshine for such a long time.
    That night, I no longer bore the heavy load I had carried for so many weeks, and I missed it. I felt lonely. My family was not with me, and I missed feeling them settle down to sleep in my bed. Elizabeth came out and whispered good night to me, just as she had every night on our trip. At least she hadn’t forgotten me. The stars were bright and all the night sounds meant little to me, for I no longer had to think about the safety of my family. They were inside a sturdy house with a solid roof over their heads.

How would you feel to finally sleep in a house again?

Do you think you'd like to travel by covered wagon?

Would you like to read a part of the new Graham Quartet?

The Old Wagon - Part 2

Good Morning FFFs!
It's a bit cloudy this morning and there is a chance of rain. It's rained a lot these past few weeks. But we are really hoping and praying it doesn't rain tomorrow as we are attending a large outdoor "craft fair" (for lack of a better term to give it). My sis and I have a tent and my books will be there as well as other things. I'm also in charge of the "games." Don't you wish you could come walk on the stilts, play tug-of-war, jump-rope or participate in our "Farm Girl Challenge" and earn a candy stick? Farm Girls is always a lot of fun, and we're looking forward to it. (We've done it in the rain before but this is a new tent and we aren't sure it's waterproof.)

My writing last week and this week has not really happened. I think part of it is because I am not in the middle of a story, and we've been really busy trying to get ready for Farm Girls, and a friend and I are putting together a History Day party next Friday, and I've been really busy with that. Not to mention that I was re-reading TCR-5. I think there is one part I need to change a bit, but otherwise it sounds pretty good. I don't think it's as good at TCR-4, but . . . :)

I did get another "Ria and the Gang" story finished or at least almost finished. :) And I hope you like it because it is 10 parts long!!!!! But that's for later. Right now I'm going to get busy with other things and let you enjoy the next part of 

The Old Wagon

Part 2

    One day she came out with her little brother and brought him over to the wagon. “See, Wagon, this is Will. He’s only three, but he gets to ride in the back with all of us older children. Mama is going to hold Ester much of the time, she said. Wagon, we are going to leave very soon!” She gave me a soft pat, and I watched as she skipped off with her little brother.
    The packing went on and I stretched my sides as much as I could without cracking my boards so they could fit in just a few more things. I really couldn’t tell you all that they piled inside under my canvas. They not only tied crates with chickens on the outside, but there was a large keg of water and several tools, an axe, a saw, parts for a plow, a butter churn and a few other things tied on as well. I was loaded heavily.
    At last the morning came to start off. Two oxen were yoked up front to pull me. The eldest son, Elijah, tied two horses on behind me, along with a cow. Then Mr. Bergman helped his wife up onto my high seat, handed her the baby, and climbed up himself. The other children had all scrambled up into the back and we were off. I rumbled proudly down the lane, onto the dirt road and off towards the west. My load might have been a heavy one, but I didn’t notice. All I could think of was the fact that I was finally taking Elizabeth to her new home.

    That first night was a new experience for my family. We were the only ones to be seen and they sat around the fire eating their supper. The horses and oxen were grazing and the cow had been milked. As the sun sank in a glowing sky and dusk settled around us, we heard the night sounds.
    “It’s time for bed, children,” Mrs. Bergman said at last. “Ester is already asleep in the wagon, so be careful not to wake her.”
    “Pa, can’t I sleep out here with you?” Elijah wanted to know.
    “Can’t I too, Pa?” Wesley pleaded.
    But Mr. Bergman shook his head. “No, not tonight.” His voice was low and rumbled in the silence of the night. “Perhaps later on I’ll let you. Now get to the wagon. I’ll pass Will up to you, Elijah, once you are in. He’s already asleep so just take his shoes off and tuck him in bed. No need to wake him up.”
    I felt the children climb up into my bed, and soon they settled down.
    “Good night, Wagon,” Elizabeth whispered.
    “Elizabeth,” Wesley hissed, “who are you talking to?”
    “I was just saying good night to the wagon.”
    The boys tried to smother their laughter, but I heard them. “She talks to the wagon,” Wesley chuckled.
    “Did the wagon tell you good night?” Elijah whispered.
    The wind rippled my canvas top and I managed a slight creak. Perhaps Elizabeth would understand.
    She did. “Yes, it did,” she assured her brothers. “It’s a very nice wagon.”
    The boys exploded into muffled laughter once more.
    “It did say good night,” Elizabeth insisted. I felt her sit up in her little bed. “You were just too busy laughing to hear it.”
    “What’s going on in here?” the low question from Mr. Bergman brought instant silence.
    “Oh, Papa,” Elizabeth said, “they were laughing because I told the wagon good night, and I heard it creak and I know it was telling me good night."
    I heard Mr. Bergman clear his throat before he spoke. “You can tell the wagon good night every evening if you want to, but right now you need to get to sleep. And boys, there’s to be no more laughing at your sister’s ideas, understand?”
    “Yes, Pa.”
    “Then get some sleep. We have another long day tomorrow.”
    Soon everything was quiet. The flickering of the fire cast strange lights on the faces of Mr. and Mrs. Bergman. They talked softly together, but I was tired and didn’t try to listen. Only Mrs. Bergman climbing into her bed beside Elizabeth roused me some time later. And then all was still.

    I was awake to see the sunrise, or I would have seen it had the trees not been in the way. But I could tell by the lightening of the world that the sun was coming over the eastern rim of the world, where ever that was. Mr. and Mrs. Bergman were the first ones up, but soon the children were tumbling from the wagon, wiping sleep from their eyes as they hurried to do their assigned chores. Elizabeth paused just long enough to whisper good morning to me before she went on her way.
    It was another long day, as Mr. Bergman had said it would be. We crossed a few streams, but the water didn’t even reach the boys’ ankles. They had taken off their shoes and stockings and crossed the streams on foot. There were many hills, and I was glad for the horses’ sakes, as well as my own, that the oxen were pulling me. Oxen are more steady and dependable on hills. Going up the hills was hard work, but going down was a different story. If the hill was fairly steep, Mr. Bergman would set my brake and I’d almost slide down on my front wheels. That was rather fun except for the rocks and the fact that we had to go so slowly. I think perhaps I would have enjoyed racing down just one hill, for I was a young wagon at the time. But I never did. Had I been allowed to do so, I might have gotten so excited before I reached the bottom that I might have indulged in a few jumps and flipped over. Such scandalous doings could have had terrible consequences for me and my family, so I am glad Mr. Bergman knew enough to keep me in check.

Would you have said good night to a wagon?

Are you looking forward to reading my new story?

What would you like to read about on here?