Smiling in the Rain - Part 4

Good morning Friday Fiction Fans,

It's cloudy this morning, but I don't think it's supposed to rain today. The last few days have been sunny and warm. Upper 70s to 80º warm. Yep, spring. Flowers blooming, trees budding, birds singing madly, squirrels acting crazy. (I actually saw one push another one off the tree the other morning!)

I was writing this week. Only got 20 words written yesterday though. I seemed stopped. Not as though I had taken a wrong turn in the story, but as though there was a pause. I'm hoping and praying I can write tonight. You can be praying too. :) I'm about 2/3 of the way done with "Dylan's Story" and I'm still wondering how it is all going to end.

I hope you enjoy this next part of your Friday Fiction. It ends next week. And then I really don't know what to post. Again. :P I keep having that problem. If I could get a short story written I could post that, but . . . I don't seem to have time to write a short story. But maybe if I got a few started I could work on them if I get stuck in my book. Sound good?

Smiling in the Rain

Part 4

    “Nonsense! You look fine!” remonstrated Zoe. “I love your curls. They fit you. Now let’s go down before Wally eats all the cake. What do you suppose the other girls have done in our absence?”
    Kelsey had completely forgotten about the other girls. Perhaps it had been rude to run off and leave them even if they had offered the others a chance to go with them. Candace would be sure to make some remark about her hair or her borrowed dress. For the first time since she had arrived, Kelsey wished it was time to leave and she could set off for home. But Zoe didn’t give her time to think any longer, for she linked arms with her in the friendly fashion she had, and together they descended the stairs.
    Aunt Olive called them into the living room and when they made their appearance, they were motioned to an empty section of the sofa. Plates of the moist lemon cake were handed to them and glasses of root beer. On a low table stood the vase of coreopsis.
    Glancing about half shyly, Kelsey found the other girls, except Candace, looking at Wally who was seated on the love-seat beside his cousin. With a slight shake of her head, she dropped her eyes back to her plate. Why did girls have to be so crazy about boys?
    For some time the room was full of small talk, Kelsey keeping silent and listening as she did every day in school. Finally Aunt Olive set her empty plate down and said, “I think I would like to tell you a little story, if you don’t mind. It is the reason I love these bright flowers so much.” And she nodded to the full vase.
    At her words silence fell on the room; only the soft patter of rain could be heard through the open windows.
    “I was young, just out of high school in fact,” Aunt Olive began, settling herself in her chair and folding her hands. “I had a job in the soda shop and loved every minute of it. But my favorite time was when a certain old friend of mine would walk through the doors. No,” she said, shaking her head at the significant smiles several of the girls exchanged, “he was much too old to be my boyfriend. In fact, he was more like a grandfather. But when I was young, I had found him an interested listener when I needed someone to pour out my troubles to, for my parents were both quite busy. Mr. Williamson would often bring me a posy when he came. It might be a rose, or a wildflower he had picked along the side of the road.
    “One day he came in with a single coreopsis in his hand. ‘For you,’ he said, handing it to me. ‘Because you make every day like sunshine.’ It was so sweet of him, and I didn’t notice the young man who was standing beside him. The young man was his grandson and we were introduced. For several days Mr. Williamson brought me a coreopsis or two each evening. They brightened up my room at home.
    “Over the next few weeks I began to notice his grandson, Ernest. We would talk, and before long he would show up at the soda shop when Mr. Williamson couldn’t. Yes, girls, we fell in love over the course of the following months. We got engaged and planned on being married the following early summer when the coreopsis were in full bloom. But the Japanese bombed Pearl Harbor that December. Ernest wasn’t in the army, but he joined before Christmas.”
    A long pause followed, and the room was so quiet that Kelsey distinctly heard the purring of Miss Olive’s cat from across the room where it lay curled up on the back of the love-seat.
    “He was given a short furlough before being shipped out,” Aunt Olive began again, one hand holding something which hung from a chain about her neck. “It wasn’t very long, but it was time I have always been grateful for. We could have gotten married then, but neither of us wanted to. Ernest said he wanted me to be free should anything happen to him, and I–well, I didn’t want a rushed wedding. We wrote to each other often. I wrote every day, and when the coreopsis were in bloom, I pressed one and sent it to him. He carried it tucked inside his small Bible the rest of his life.” Closing her eyes, Aunt Olive drew a deep breath. “He was killed on the beaches at the invasion of Normandy.”
    A gasp came from the girls in the room, and Kelsey felt her eyes fill with tears.
    “The fields here at home were full of coreopsis.” Tenderly she took off her necklace and held it in her open hand: a pair of dog-tags and a ring. For a long minute she sat looking at them. “Mr. Williamson died shortly after the news of Ernest’s death reached us. He hadn’t been well for months.”
    A half sob came from Zoe, and Kelsey gave her hand a gentle squeeze.

What did you think of this part?

Do you like listening to stories about others?

Will you return next week for the final part of this story?

Smiling in the Rain - Part 3

A lovely Spring morning to all my Faithful Friday Fiction Fans.

Yes, it's spring. We seem to have thrown away winter and welcomed spring with open arms. The trees and bushes are budding, the crocuses are blooming, the daffodils are coming up and the sun is rising in a clear sky. It's supposed to be 70º today. Doesn't sound much like winter, does it?

This has been a good week. Kindle of crazy and such, but good. I've gotten some writing done though I couldn't write Tuesday or yesterday. And I wrote until I made myself nervous on Wednesday night. (I was home alone in the evening writing "Dylan's Story.") I'm hoping to write more this evening, but we'll see how things go. My grandparents came down for supper last evening and then Grandpa and I went to a concert. We are going out to breakfast with them, and my brother and his family this morning. Then my grandparents will stick around here until after lunch. It will be nice to visit with them.

If you haven't noticed, I have an audio giveaway going on at Read Another Page. Go check it out!

And now, because I need to get some other things worked on, I'm going to let you all get to the reason you get on here in the first place. The story. I hope you enjoy this next part of:

Smiling in the Rain

Part 3

She wasn’t content to remain on the slope at the edge of the water, for she saw more lovely ones growing on a tiny island in the stream.
    “Kels! Be careful!”
    Zoe’s shout made Kelsey pause in the middle of the stream and look back at the bridge. Some boy was standing beside Zoe, but she wasn’t sure who it was.
    “Don’t worry, I’m just going to get a few of the ones with more red in them, then I’ll be done.” She chose to ignore the presence of the stranger though she couldn’t help wondering who he was. “If it’s someone from school, the news will be all over by Monday that I was seen walking barefooted in the stream picking weeds. But these are not weeds. Humph! Why do I care what they think of me?”
    When she couldn’t hold another flower in her hand, she carefully walked back up stream and then paused glancing at both banks. Which would be easier to climb up?
    “Here, I’ll give you a hand up,” a masculine voice said, and the young man left the bridge and stood on the bank of the stream with his hand out.
    It would have been rude to refuse, and Kelsey hated to be rude. In a few minutes, therefore, she was standing on the road again while Zoe exclaimed over the beauty of the flowers.
    “Oh, excuse me, Kels,” Zoe said after a moment, “let me introduce you to my brother, Wally. Wally, this is Kelsey.”
    “Hi,” Wally greeted her cordially. “I’ve seen you at school but have never been introduced. It’s nice to finally get to meet you.”
    “Hi.” Kelsey nodded and focused her attention on rearranging the flowers so that the ones with red were more mixed with the others. Having grown up with a house full of girls, she wasn’t sure what to say around boys. Except for her sister’s friend; he felt like one of the family.
    “Say, do you girls want a lift home? Aunt Olive told me where to find you and said you’d been out a while.”
    “We’d ruin your car, Wally,” Zoe laughed. “In case you hadn’t noticed, we are rather wet.”
    “You can stand on the running boards on either side. I’d drive slowly. It would be faster than you could walk. And easier on your feet.” He glanced significantly at Zoe’s bare feet. “Come on,” he coaxed.
    Linking her arm in Kelsey’s Zoe replied, “What do you have up your sleeve, Wallace?”
    “A piece of Aunt Olive’s lemon cake,” admitted Wally with a grin. “She promised me one if I’d bring you two back.”
    Kelsey, having finished arranging her flowers, looked at Zoe and raised her eyebrows. It really didn’t matter to her what they did. She wouldn’t mind a lift, though she had never ridden on the running board of a car before.
    It only took Zoe a moment to give in, provided that Kelsey would come with them. Not feeling the need to refuse, Kelsey nodded and was soon laughing with delight as the gentle rain pelted her face and the wind tossed her wet curls.
    The ride was brief and when they had reached the house, Kelsey gathered her flowers which had been laid on an old shirt on the seat, and thanked Wally shyly.
    “Come along, girls,” he said, motioning them forward. “I believe Aunt Olive would rather see you dripping water in her kitchen then in the hallway.”
    Aunt Olive’s greeting was cordial and she handed each girl a towel, telling Zoe she’d probably find clean, dry clothes in the guest room. “Come down when you’re dry,” she told them.
    Kelsey held out her flowers. “These are for you, Miss Olive. I thought they matched your kitchen.”
    “Coreopsis! Kelsey, did Zoe tell you these are my favorite flowers?”
    “No.”
    “I didn’t know they were, Aunt Olive,” Zoe turned around at the door to say.
    “They are. Wally, would you get that vase.” She opened an upper cabinet and pointed. “I think there are enough flowers to fill it.” She was right, and soon the vase with its bright nodding flowers stood on the table. “These take me back a long time ago,” she mused half aloud. Her hand reached up and she clutched something inside her dress. “I–” With a quick shake of her head, she turned to the girls. “Go on. Get out of those wet clothes and then come back. I’ll have some lemon cake waiting for you.”
    Kelsey soon found herself dry and in borrowed clothes. The dress was a perfect fit and Zoe nodded approvingly.
    “Candace and I have spent so many nights here at Aunt Olive’s that we’ve taken to leaving some of our clothes so we don’t have to pack every time. That dress fits your slender figure much better than it ever did me. Are you ready to go down?”
    Giving another look in the mirror, Kelsey shrugged. “My hair looks terrible, but it always does after it gets wet unless I spend a long time fixing it properly.”
    “Nonsense! You look fine!” remonstrated Zoe. “I love your curls. They fit you. Now let’s go down before Wally eats all the cake. What do you suppose the other girls have done in our absence?”

Have you ever ridden on the running board of a vehicle?

Have you ever picked flowers for someone else?

Will you be back next week?

Smiling in the Rain - Part 2

Good morning Friday Fiction Fans!

It's a lovely morning! The sky was a glowing pink earlier and now the sun is coming up. I can hear a dog barking in the neighborhood. A bird chirping. Traffic on Broadway. Yep, life is stirring this fine morning. And it's supposed to be 70º today. Spring. We still haven't gotten much winter yet, but there is a chance of snow Monday night. Ha! Crazy, I know. 70's today and 80º tomorrow, and then snow on Monday night. But that's our weather for you. If you don't like the weather today, just wait till tomorrow.

But I don't think you came to read about the weather.😊

I've had a good writing week which has been nice. I'm working on "Dylan's Story" and am over half way done! It's been fun because twice now I've reached a "dead end" so to speak where I didn't have a clue what came next. Then I prayed, the idea came, and away my fingers went. I don't have quotes or pictures on Pinterest for this story. Only one lone picture. But I have never really used Pinterest much for stories except to get an idea.

Anyway . . . Today is going to be busy. We are going to clean the house (it needs it!), and then this afternoon my sister and I are going to go help set up and decorate for the Widows' Valentine Luncheon at church which is tomorrow. It's the time when all the Secret Sisters reveal who they are. The widows look forward to it every year! So do the rest of us.

Now I hope you will enjoy this next part of this story. Even  if you don't like playing in the rain. ;😉

Smiling in the Rain

Part 2

    Kelsey shrugged. The afternoon was not starting off as she had thought it would. Well, it had started off with the usual stiff circle of girls, and one in particular who didn’t want to do anything, but things had rapidly changed.
    Before Kelsey could think of something to say, Aunt Olive was back. “It looks like you girls are on your own. Have fun and don’t catch a chill, or your mothers will never let me invite you again.” With that laughing remark, Aunt Olive waved the two dripping girls back out into the rain.
    The walk was delightful. Kelsey, used to walking barefooted through wet grass, over rocks and along broken sidewalks, thought the paved road an easy path and walked along confidently. But Zoe, her feet tender, felt each small pebble and, though she said nothing, half wished she had worn her sandals. To keep her mind off her feet she asked, “How many brothers and sisters do you have, Kelsey?”
    “Seven. One older sister and the rest younger sisters.”
    “No brothers?”
    “Not one. Poor Dad always wanted a son, but he got daughters instead. He likes to tease Lauren, she’s my older sister, and me by saying that all the girls have been used up in the family now and we’ll no doubt get a house full of boys when we get married.” She laughed brightly and tossed back her wet hair.
    “Do you believe him?”
    “It doesn’t matter if I believe him or not. Neither one of us is married. Lauren does have a boyfriend though. And I think–” she hesitated and then lingered in the road until Zoe was right beside her. “I think he’s going to propose soon.” The sparkle in her eyes and the bright smile showed just how delighted she was.
    “Oh, Kels! How exciting!” And Zoe clapped her hands.
    “But you must not say anything about it, because I don’t know for sure, and I don’t want Lauren to suspect anything.”
    Zoe promised silence and then exclaimed, pointing ahead, “Look, there’s the bridge!”
    Soon the girls stood leaning over the railing watching the water dance and swirl below them.
    “Kels,” Zoe asked, “why are you so quiet at school?”
    Without turning around, Kelsey replied, “I’ve never been good in large crowds; besides, everyone else always has things to say, and I like to listen.”
    “Well, what things do you like to do? Besides take walks in the rain.” And Zoe smiled.
    Kelsey laughed and tipped her face back and closed her eyes against the falling moisture. “I often ride my bike to the old folks home and visit with the residents. Sometimes one or two of my sisters will go with me. I could sit and listen to them tell stories for hours.” Shaking off some of the water from her face, she looked over at the girl beside her. “I suppose you think I’m strange.”
    “Why? Because you enjoy visiting the older folks?”
    Kelsey nodded. “Most girls give me a sympathetic look and soon after find an excuse to leave me.” Picking up a pebble from the side of the bridge, she dropped it into the water below. It made a soft splash and the ripples spread out to mingle and combine with the ripples from the raindrops.
    “I don’t think you’re strange. I like listening to my grandmother, well, actually she’s my great grandmother. She lives with us, you know. You should come see her sometime,” she invited warmly. “I know she would enjoy a visit. And so would I.”
    Stealing a glance at the speaker, Kelsey wondered if Zoe was just being polite or if she was in earnest.
    Almost as though Zoe read her thoughts, she added, “I’m mean it, Kels. I would love to have you come over. Sometimes it gets rather dull in our large house. Do you live in a large house? I would think you’d have to with all you girls.”
    A merry laugh escaped Kelsey’s lips. “Large house? Us? You wouldn’t call it large.” Another laugh burst forth. “Zoe, the eight of us girls share two bedrooms and in each bedroom are two sets of bunk beds. Mom and Dad have the other bedroom. There are two bathrooms in the entire house, and the kitchen is so small that if anyone is in there cooking, you have to practically go outside to turn around. I could invite you over some time, but it’s not exactly the kind of place most people want to come to.”
    “Well, I want to see it.”
    “You’d be the first person who does.” There was no bitterness in Kelsey’s voice, just a matter of fact statement. “Come on,” she suggested, changing the subject. “Let’s see what the water looks like on the other side of the bridge.”
    Quickly the girls crossed the road and leaned over the railing.
    “Oh, Zoe! Look at those flowers!” Kelsey pointed to the golden yellow coreopsis which bloomed all along the bank. “Wouldn’t those look lovely in your aunt’s kitchen?”
    “Yes. And Aunt Olive does love flowers. But Kels, we’d get drenched trying to pick some in this rain with the grass so tall.”
    “Zoe, we already are drenched,” Kelsey chuckled. “We have been out in the rain, you know. But you might tear your dress. Mine will be fine. Wait for me; I’m going to get a handful.” So saying, she hurried from the bridge, and was soon pushing her way through the long wet grass down to the water’s edge where the flowers were growing thickest. Looking up, she waved at Zoe before proceeding to gather one flower after another. She wasn’t content to remain on the slope at the edge of the water, for she saw more lovely ones growing on a tiny island in the stream.

Have you ever picked flowers in the rain?

Is your house large or small?

How many brothers and sisters do you have?

Smiling in the Rain - Part 1

Hello Faithful Friday Fiction Fans,

The sun is just coming up this cold Friday morning. Is it cold where you live? Do you have any snow? I want snow so badly right now. It just doesn't feel like we've really had much winter yet. Hmm, maybe that's because the weather keeps changing from winter to spring to winter to spring. It has us all confused.😕

I really haven't done much writing this week. I know, it's sad. I did finish, edit and correct this short story, and worked on something for another story, and tried starting another short story, but I guess it's just been a slow writing time. I'm really hoping that I'll be able to get back to it next week. Though I don't know what I'm going to write. Short story? Long story? Hmmm . . .

This week I taught writing class, spent time knitting, made corsages for the Widows' Luncheon next week (and did some other things for that ministry as I'm taking over after the Luncheon), worked on the Bike Trip book, wrote blog posts for Read Another Page, sent emails, talked to my best friend, and other things. No, I haven't gotten to read since Sunday. 😞 It's quite sad. And I'm not sure I'll get to read this coming Sunday either because we are hopefully going to have my youngest niece's 2nd birthday party then.

This story was started last year some time, I think, when I was stuck on all my stories and I needed something to just write. I didn't get very far. In fact, I think I only got the first 5 paragraphs or the first 13 lines written then. And the story sat. And sat. Then in the fall I wrote a little more on it before leaving it once more. Last Saturday I didn't know what to write, so I started on this and finished it on Monday. 😃 hope you enjoy it!

Smiling in the Rain

Part 1

    Feeling foolish, Kelsey ducked her head and stared at her sandal as she spun it around with her toe on the wooded floor of the neat living room.
    An uncomfortable silence pervaded the room for thirty seconds before Zoe laughed. “Of course I think that going outside in this rain would be fun. Who cares about our hair. Come on, Kelsey, let’s go.” Springing to her feet, Zoe almost skipped across the floor and pulled the blushing girl to her feet.
    No one else made a move to join them as they disappeared from the room.
    Once the two girls were alone in the hall, Kelsey stopped short. “You don’t have to go outside, Zoe,” she whispered. “I just made that suggestion because the others wanted something new to do, and Candace kept vetoing every sensible idea. I–”
    “I know.” There was a merry twinkle in the taller girl’s eyes. “Candace likes to rule the girls, and most of them are more than willing to follow her lead. But she’s not the only leader. I’m just glad you did suggest this. I’ve been longing to get out in the rain all day!”
    “You have?” And Kelsey eyed the well-dressed girl in astonishment.
    “Yep.” At Kelsey’s continued stare, Zoe went on. “Look Kels, just because I come from a family with considerable means doesn’t necessarily signify that I’m a snob.” Her grin took away the sting such blunt words might have caused. “Now come on, let’s go have some fun.”
    Leaving their sandals on the covered porch, the two girls, one from the upper, wealthier side of town and the one from the other side of the tracks, ran down the steps and into the light summer rain.
    Kelsey loved the rain. Tipping her head back, she squinted her eyes against the drops. With a toss of her head that freed her red hair from the confines of bobby pins, she laughed in pure delight.
    “Oh, this is fun!” Zoe exclaimed. “Kels, do you ever stomp in the puddles?”
    “Of course! Where are they?” And Kelsey, feeling that for the first time in years she might have a friend, blinked the drops from her lashes and hurried over to Zoe who was standing before a large puddle. “Come on, let’s jump on the count of three.”
    “All right. One, two, three!”
    The splash sent the water as high as their knees and caused both girls to laugh merrily.
    After several minutes of enjoying the puddle and the rain, Kelsey ventured to remark, “I love to walk in the rain.”
    “Barefoot?”
    “Uh huh.”
    “All right, where shall we go?” questioned Zoe, apparently ready for anything.
    Kelsey looked around. “I don’t know. I’m not in this part of town very often. At home I like to walk down to the creek and watch the water. Sometimes I go visit old Mrs. Mead. She always has a fire going on rainy days and I get dried off there and listen to her tell stories.”
    “Oh, Kels, that sounds like fun. How far away is Mrs. Mead’s house?”
    Kelsey raised her eyebrows. “Too far for us to walk.”
    Zoe looked disappointed, but she shrugged and said, “Oh, well. Let’s walk down to the drug store. We could get something to drink there.”
    At that suggestion, Kelsey burst into laughter. “Zoe, we look like a couple of drowned rats! We’d never hear the end of it at school if we did such a thing, for someone we know is bound to be there with it being Saturday!”
    Reaching up, Zoe pushed back a bit of her dark hair which was plastered to her face. “I suppose so, but don’t you think we could walk down to the stream? It’s not too far from here.”
    Looking back toward the house, Kelsey hesitated. “I wish some of the other girls would come out,” she remarked softly. “I feel sort of bad going out and leaving them.”
    “Well, don’t feel bad. Aunt Olive invited all of us girls so we could enjoy the day together. She loves both her nieces, but she knows Candace can be a snob and overly bossy. Suppose we run around to the kitchen, I’m sure Aunt Olive will be in there, and we can ask her.”
    With a feeling of relief, Kelsey nodded and squeezed Zoe’s hand as hers was taken in a friendly clasp.
    Aunt Olive was indeed in the kitchen and stared in astonishment at the two girls standing on her back porch before she began to laugh heartily. “Oh, girls, are you having fun?”
    “Yes, Aunt Olive,” Zoe nodded. “But Kels and I want to walk down to the stream, but we want to know if you think it would be rude to run off and leave the others.”
    “Didn’t they want to join you?”
    Zoe shrugged. “Candace is in one of her moods, and I don’t know if we can convince any of the others to join us or not. But may we take a walk, Aunt Olive? You have no idea how delightful this rain is!”
    “Suppose I go and find out if any of the others want to go too.”
    Zoe nodded quickly and Aunt Olive disappeared.
    “I don’t think anyone will come, do you?” Zoe asked in low tones.
    Kelsey shrugged. The afternoon was not starting off as she had thought it would. Well, it had started off with the usual stiff circle of girls, and one in particular who didn’t want to do anything, but things had rapidly changed.

Do you like to play in the rain?

Have you ever taken a walk in the rain? 

Do you think any of the other girls will join them?

Whom Should She Trust? - Part 3

Good morning Friday Fiction Fans,

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

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

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

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

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

Whom Should She Trust?

Part 3

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

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

Did it end the way you thought it would?

Did you enjoy this story?

What do you want posted next week?

Whom Should She Tust - Part 2

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

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

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

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

Whom Should She Trust?

Part 2

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

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

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

Is John Miss Hannah's "lubber"?

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

Would you recognize them if they showed up?

Whom Should She Trust? - Part 1

Good morning Faithful Friday Fiction Fans,

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

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

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

Whom Should She Trust?

Part 1

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

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

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

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

How would you have known whom to trust?

Who do you think has come to see Miss Hannah?

Are you getting winter weather?